Grateful (4 page)

Authors: Kim Fielding

BOOK: Grateful

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She didn’t answer immediately. I heard her sip her coffee and then set down the cup. “Did you have someone in mind, Natey?”

“Gio. The dog guy. I don’t know him well. I just met him, actually. He’s not Jewish. And I don’t even know if he’d want…. But he doesn’t have any family to spend the holidays with, you know?”

I risked a glance at her, only to find her smiling warmly. “Of course he’s welcome to join us. We have plenty of food.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

I try to work out or run most days. But my gym was back in Mountain View, and I was still too banged up to jog. I took a walk instead, strolling around the stucco houses of my parents’ neighborhood. It had rained lightly the previous night—everyone was thankful for more precipitation—and now a light fog had settled, muting colors and sounds. I don’t usually spend much time wrapped up in my own head, which is probably one reason I get myself in trouble so often, but today I was introspective. My relatives had seemed happy with their gifts, and nobody had judged me for anything. But was this year really so different from previous ones, or had my brain overplayed their reactions to my stupid human tricks?

And why the hell was I feeling so drawn to a man I’d spent maybe sixty minutes of my life with? There hadn’t even been any tongue action between us!

Before I could chicken out, I paused on a street corner, pulled out my phone, and called Gio. When he answered, I asked, “Are you up for a sort of unusual expression of my gratitude?”

“I was hoping for it.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

“So, then, uh, how would you like to join the Roth clan tonight for potato pancakes and leftover ham?”

“Ham?”

“It’s a family thing.”

He chuckled. “Are you serious? I don’t want to impose.”

“I am, and you aren’t. Please?” I added.

“I’d really like that, Nate.”

I gave him the address and a time and hung up, wondering if this was the most dangerous stunt I’d pulled so far.

G
IO
SHOWED
up at my parents’ door precisely on time. I was a little shocked, though, to see Libby with him. “Sorry,” he said with a sheepish smile. “She hates being home alone. She doesn’t mind hanging out in the RV, though, so I drove that. I’ll just take her for a quick walk and then I’ll put her—”

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by a set of girlish squeals. Emma and Rose had just caught sight of the huge dog, and while my nieces were too well-mannered to rush out and fling themselves on Libby, they crowded close in the doorway.

“Is that a bear?” Emma exclaimed.

Rose rolled her eyes with all the ennui born of an additional four years of life experience. “Of course not, dodo. You can’t have pet bears in Rancho Cordova.” She was her father’s daughter.

Anyway, plans to stash Libby away were quickly abandoned. Within minutes, Libby was sprawled in a blissed-out heap in the middle of the living room, two adoring little girls piled with her.

I performed introductions. Leah and my sister-in-law took in Gio’s handsome face, his slight accent, his beautifully tailored burgundy shirt and black trousers, and both of them gave me thumbs-ups behind his back.

Not surprisingly, Gio was charming. So much so that my mother’s questioning of him was remarkably gentle, for her. When we all sat down, everyone found something interesting to talk about with him: he and my brother-in-law debated American muscle cars versus European sports cars, my parents and sister talked with him about his many travels, and my sister-in-law grilled him about Newfoundlands. And me? I felt easy and comfortable sitting next to him on the couch. Sometimes he briefly rested his hand on my knee, as if we’d been dating for ages. Sometimes he asked my parents about my adventures—and he seemed fascinated and amused by the things I’d done. Heck, I sounded interesting even to me. And often he just turned to look at me, his smile warming his dark eyes.

He ate more latkes than I thought was humanly possible, which ingratiated him with the cooks.

Eventually, my nieces tearfully detached themselves from Libby, who didn’t seem eager to be rid of them, and I walked Libby and Gio to the RV. “I hope you didn’t—”

“That was amazing,” he interrupted. “I love your family. So warm and caring.” He took my hand with his free one and clasped it tightly. “Thank you for letting me share.”

My chest felt warm and full, and I squeezed back. “Most guys would freak out over meeting the parents on the very first date.”

“No freaking.”

“Well, good, because the whole clan’s ready to adopt you.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. I cursed myself silently.
Way to go, Roth. Scare him off.

He wasn’t scared off, though. His expression softened and he leaned his head in close. “That’s something I’d like to aspire to,” he whispered.

I could almost see a glowing cloud of happiness surrounding us. He’d heard about some of my most idiotic exploits and hadn’t run away screaming. He’d met the Roths en masse and came out of it wanting more. And now he was wrapping his arm around me, holding me close, as if he never wanted to let me go. I loved feeling him against me. I wanted to see him naked, to learn the planes and textures of his body, to feel him inside me. Who could blame me, when he was so beautiful?

But you know what else? I wanted to sit with him, to listen to his life stories, and to hear him laugh at mine. I wanted to go racing down some deserted road in his Jaguar, to pedal beside him down country lanes, to cuddle with him for hours while petting his dog. I’d never felt like that about anyone. I was oddly certain he felt the same about me. And I wanted to fill Gio’s days with companionship, with joy, with the craziness of family.

Libby plopped down onto the grass with an exaggerated sigh.

“I’m still grateful,” I said.

I felt his chuckle as much as I heard it. “I’m selfishly glad to hear that.” He kissed my cheek and released the embrace, but didn’t move away. “I want to tell you something.”

Uh-oh
. Was this when he’d tell me this was all some elaborate scam? A joke at my expense?

Maybe he sensed my tension, because he brushed his fingers down my cheek. “Here’s an outsider’s objective view: your family loves you. Very much. They liked the gifts you brought this year because they showed so much thought, but they’d be just as happy if you showed up empty-handed. Your parents insist you spend several days with them, even though you live not far away. And they comment on your life. But it’s all because they care about you. They
love
you, Nate.”

I considered his words. Why did Mom and Dad make a big deal out of a minor holiday when we weren’t religious in the first place? Because they wanted an excuse for all of us to be together. And what I’d always interpreted as critiques, wasn’t that just concern? They wanted me to be safe and happy, that’s all. They
liked
that I pulled silly stunts—except when I hurt myself. They loved me the way only a good, understanding, supportive family can. I was willing to bet Gio would have sacrificed a great deal to have that. Well, maybe he wouldn’t have to. Maybe I could share.

It was my turn to grab him—somewhat awkwardly with the cast, but who cares? I kissed him hard enough that we were both breathless when our lips parted.

“I know this place on Lake Natoma,” I said.

“Yes?”

“Good swimming. It’s closed after sundown, but I know how to sneak in.”

He stared at me for a moment. “It’s
December
.”

“Yep,” I replied, grinning at him.

“I suppose… if we start to drown, it’ll give Libby a chance to practice her water rescue skills.”

I wouldn’t be cold. I was much too warm inside. “And after we take a dip, maybe you’ll show me your place.”

Oh, he was going to be a good snuggler, I could tell. “Definitely,” he purred. “And in the morning, we could— Can your parents spare you tonight?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Because I have a Hanukkah present for you. I think you’ll like it. But you’ll have to promise to unwrap it very, very slowly.” He wiggled against me, pressing his crotch into my hip.

W
E
DIDN
’
T
drown and Libby didn’t have to rescue us, but we did get very cold and very wet, and I had to be careful to keep my cast out of the lake. We were about to get out of the water when a pair of park rangers discovered us. They didn’t arrest us—didn’t even ticket us. They just stood, petting Libby and laughing as we attempted to clothe our naked, shivering bodies.

Gio declared it was the most fun he’d had in years.

Until we got to his place, that is, where we had even more fun. Also naked, but much, much hotter.

Gio came with me to my parents for the candle-lighting on the third and fourth nights. And then I had to go home and return to work. I mailed the gift cards.

But you know what? Mountain View and Carmichael are only a couple of hours apart. I’ve been driving up there on weekends, and sometimes he comes down to me during the week. We’re turning our risk-taking impulses in a good direction, and as soon as we can decide who’s relocating where, we’ll set up house together. If I move to Carmichael, I’ll have to find a new job. But accounts receivable gigs aren’t so hard to come by, and anyway, I’m thinking maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to be closer to my folks.

In the meantime, Gio’s looking forward to attending his first Passover Seder at my parents’ house tomorrow night. Although we’re going to have to explain to the family why he has that great big bandage on his hand.

Don’t miss the 2015 Advent Calendar:

31 stories of holiday love!

www.dreamspinnerpress.com

K
IM
F
IELDING
is very pleased every time someone calls her eclectic. Her books have won Rainbow Awards and span a variety of genres. She has migrated back and forth across the western two-thirds of the United States and currently lives in California, where she long ago ran out of bookshelf space. She’s a university professor who dreams of being able to travel and write full time. She also dreams of having two perfectly behaved children, a husband who isn’t obsessed with football, and a house that cleans itself. Some dreams are more easily obtained than others.

Blogs: kfieldingwrites.com/ and www.goodreads.com/author/show/4105707.Kim_Fielding/blog

Facebook: www.facebook.com/KFieldingWrites.

E-mail: [email protected]

Twitter: @KFieldingWrites

By
K
IM
F
IELDING

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