Hunter closed his eyes.
“I’m too tired for this, babe. You need to let it go. We’ll have a nice holiday dinner together and then tomorrow we’ll get the truck situation figured out. It’s all good.”
I crawled under the covers, leaning up on my elbow to study his pulped face.
“Promise me it’s over.”
“What’s over?” he asked, his voice sleepy.
“Your shit with my dad. Or do we have to go out and buy him a herd of goats, too?”
“Naw,” he whispered. “Pic said kegs were just as good. He’s a practical man.”
“You’re going to drive me crazy. This isn’t okay.”
“I know. Love you, babe.”
“Love you, too.”
“Can we please go back to sleep now?”
I snorted, then rolled onto my back.
“Sure, why the hell not,” I said. “Not like we can have sex, which sucks for you. I’ve been studying that book. Did you know there’s a whole chapter on erotic massage? Apparently a man’s penile tissues actually extend way down into the scrotum, and if you press gently—”
“Em?”
“Yes?” I asked innocently.
“You’re an evil, evil woman.”
I smiled, savoring my small victory. Then I decided I might as well go back to sleep—I’d need my strength to make it through the afternoon. Knowing my luck, Uncle Duck would decide to tell Hunter the story about when I’d been six years old and sang “Jingle Bells, Batman Smells” in a surprise solo at the school holiday program.
Uggh.
We were definitely spending Christmas in Portland.
EPILOGUE
SIX WEEKS LATER
PORTLAND, OREGON
The coffee shop was supposed to close at four that afternoon, but of course I had a couple of customers lingering. That wasn’t usually a problem. I just flipped the “Closed” sign and cleaned up while they finished.
Unfortunately, these two guys were camped out for the long haul. They’d each bought a small cup of tea two hours ago and had been arguing ever since about whether God was dead or simply never existed. Cookie didn’t like to kick people out, but she was also willing to draw the line in situations like this. I hated to ask them to leave, though. We couldn’t afford to lose customers.
Unfortunately, the shop wasn’t doing that great and I was worried about her. I felt guilty over moving to Kelsey’s apartment, too, although realistically Cookie hadn’t been charging me enough to make much of a difference in her monthly budget. I still tried to babysit for her whenever I could, and I’d even gone over last week and cleaned the house.
That single-parenting shit was exhausting just to watch. I couldn’t imagine actually being in her shoes.
The door jingled as it opened.
“I’m sorry, we’re close—” I started to say, then broke out in a smile when I saw it was Hunter. I supposed eventually I’d get to the point when I didn’t feel totally giddy every time I saw him, but we weren’t there yet.
“You get off work early?” I asked. He’d started a regular job at a mechanic’s shop two weeks ago, although they seemed to be unusually flexible with his hours. I figured there was a story there. I also figured I’d probably never hear it. So far as I could tell, the shop was heavily financed by the Devil’s Jacks. At least he didn’t lie about it—Hunter had been painfully truthful with me ever since our fight over the pictures. This was a double-edged sword, something I discovered the first time I asked him whether an old sweater of Kit’s made me look fat.
(Apparently it did.)
“Burke’s in town,” he said shortly. Then he jerked his chin toward the two hipsters hoarding their tepid tea dregs in the corner. “Why are they still here? You closed half an hour ago.”
I shrugged.
“Chasing out customers feels wrong to me.”
Hunter’s mouth tightened, and he walked across the room, grabbing a chair from their table and sitting down across from them. Their eyes widened as he leaned back in the seat. He reached down and pulled out the large Buck knife he kept strapped to his leg, starting to clean his oil-stained fingernails.
“See that f**kin’ gorgeous babe over there?” he asked Hipster One, jerking his chin toward me. “That’s my woman. I’d love some time alone with her right now, but she’s stuck waiting for you little posers to leave, even though the shop closed thirty minutes ago and you’re probably not even going to leave a tip. Seems wrong to me, somehow. What do you think?”
Hipster Two spoke hesitantly.
“I think we were just leaving.”
“Good to know,” Hunter replied politely. “Don’t forget the tip.”
Hipster Two nodded, standing and digging in his pocket as Hipster One grabbed his gratuitously ironic leather briefcase, swallowing. They started toward the door, but Hunter cleared his throat pointedly.
“Seems like a pretty small tip,” he said. “Those shoes you’re wearing cost close to two hundred bucks, so I think you can afford to do better. Or were they a present from Mommy and Daddy?”
I frowned as they dug in their pockets again, then decided I should put a stop to this. God help poor Cookie if they got mad enough to start trolling us—they certainly had enough spare time.
“You’re fine,” I said, opening the door for them. “I’m sure whatever you left is great, and I hope you’ll come back again when we’re open.”
“Um, right,” Hipster One said as they scuttled out the door, leaving me alone with Hunter. I slid the bolt closed and lowered the shade, turning to face him.