style="font-size:15px;"> “They’ll keep asking,” he said. “We’ve stirred their imaginations and given them a gift good enough to put under their Christmas tree and talk about for months to come.”
“Speaking of trees...” Jo laughed a little, although he thought it sounded forced. “Yours is, how can I put this, Brody? Like the last Christmas tree in the lot on Christmas Eve. A Charlie Brown tree.”
He glanced at the little tree he had set up in the corner for the party. “It’s artificial.”
“I do realize that. I just wondered what the manufacturer used as a model.”
“I’m offended you think it’s less than perfect. I got it at the Trading Post last year—after Christmas.”
“If you paid more than a dollar, you paid too much. Aren’t you going to decorate the poor thing?”
“It is decorated. Didn’t you notice?”
“Brody, you hung three ornaments and a star. That’s not decorated. Did you get those on sale, too?”
He smiled. “So what’s on your tree?”
“Hey, I’m just visiting. Of course, I don’t have a tree. I might not even be here for Christmas.”
He didn’t want to think about that. “So what would be on your Christmas tree back in California?”
“It varies. Last year I came home from work to a pale blue tree, kissing cousin to a toilet bowl brush, decorated with Japanese origami ornaments in gold and silver. Sophie had spent weeks folding them to surprise me. It was an homage to her ancestors.”
“Your mother is Japanese?”
“Not in this life. Three lives ago, I think.”
He heard a mixture of emotions in her voice. Humor. Love. Frustration. “Living with Sophie’s like living with a roller coaster, isn’t it?”
“These days it’s like being visited by one. And she’s better. I don’t see nearly as much of her. As odd as it might be, she’s making a life for herself.”
“Does she know where you are right now?”
“Not exactly. I needed a Sophie break. So tell me about all those books under your tree.”
He noted the neat change of subject. “Every year when we were growing up my sister and I got a new Christmas book. These days I get novels with Christmas in them somewhere, but I’ve kept every one of them. So has Kaye. We both put them out in December to remember those good years. Someday I want to do the same thing for my own children.”
She briefly rested her fingertips on his knee. “Brody, your father died some time ago, didn’t he?”
“His life was too short.” He hoped that would do.
“You must miss him.”
“Holidays are the worst.” He decided to take a chance. “I’m glad you’re here, Jo. You’ve brightened this one already.”
Neither of them said anything for a long moment, then she broke eye contact and looked back at the fire. “Think the coffee’s ready? I just take a little milk, if you have it.”
He returned a few minutes later to find her on the sofa looking through some of the books he’d stacked under the tree.
He set down the coffee and joined her.
“Do you have a favorite?” she asked, placing the books beside her.
“Probably The Gift of the Magi, by O. Henry. My mother used to read it to us every Christmas day, just in case we weren’t wild about a present or two. To remind us that whatever’s given in love is the best gift of all.” He grinned. “Even if it sucks.”
“I don’t remember the story.”
“It’s about a young couple, not so much as an extra penny to spend, but very much in love. Her one prized possession is her beautiful hair. His is a gold pocket watch that’s been passed down to him. Because she loves him so much she sells her hair to buy a watch chain for Christmas, and in turn, without knowing what she’s done, he sells his watch to buy her a comb for her beautiful hair. In the end, of course both gifts are useless.”
“But their love is absolutely clear.”
“Like the Magi, they gave their best.”
“It’s hopelessly romantic, don’t you think? Do you know anybody willing to give up so much for so little?”
“Love’s a powerful motivator.”
“I guess I haven’t seen the proof up close.”
She started to pick up her coffee, but he put his hand over hers, then he leaned forward and kissed her. Lightly. Sweetly. He took his time, and in a moment her lips softened under his and she sighed.
Heart pounding he finally pulled away. “If you were talking about us, we were awfully young, Jo. And we had so many strikes against us.”
“Is that what it was?”
“Were you really ready to settle down? When I told you that I wasn’t, you looked so relieved, I thought I’d made the right choice for both of us.”
She searched his eyes. “We were young,” she said at last.
“We aren’t that young anymore.”
“But we tried this once, and it wasn’t exactly a rip-roaring success.”
“We can take it a step at a time.” He smiled. “Baby steps.”
“I have a life and a job and a condo across the country.”
“And who knows what kind of Christmas tree is waiting for you this year? Neon? Goth? Are you really in a hurry to go back and find out?”
With an audible sigh she cupped his cheek, her fingers threading into his hair. “This is so crazy. We can’t just pick up where we left off, Brody. Ten years have gone by.”
“And I’ve missed you for every one of them.”
“You could have found me.”
He heard the hurt, and it tore at his heart. He almost blurted out the truth, that he’d had nothing to offer except poverty and death. But he didn’t want sympathy.
He wanted love.
“Can we just start over?” he asked. “Get to know each other? Have fun together? Will you stay through Christmas and spend it in Kanowa Lake?” He didn’t add “With me,” although that was perfectly clear.
He thought she was going to refuse, then she smiled, and her fingers burrowed deeper in his hair. “Friends, then, but just friends. On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You
