Old Flames (3 page)

“Oh, you do, do you?” I asked as I gently removed a yellow glass bauble and held it out to Brad, who gently took it in his hands and hung it high up on the tree.

“Yeah. Wanna, you know, do something?”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. Maybe dinner or something?”

I smiled as I fished out another ornament and handed it off, watching as it was “artistically” placed. To be honest, it seemed like random selection dictated what went where, but every time I had tried to tease Brad about it, he had insisted that there was a method to the madness. “Maybe we could go to that Thai fusion place you love so much. The one on Ninth?” I suggested, bringing a warm smile to Brad’s face.

“Breeze? Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Then we’ll do that,” I said as I slid the empty box of baubles to the side and leaned over to dig into the Duane Reade box for more of the pine cones. I liked these ornaments because their matte finishes and plastic material meant that I could pull a few at a time out of the box without getting reprimanded. So, while Brad began to sing along to Sinatra’s rendition of “I’ll Be Home For Christmas,” I did just that, producing a handful of four ornaments, which Brad put on the tree in no time.

We continued to work relatively quietly, only talking for the sake of chitchat or to catch up on what each other had been doing since we last saw each other five months before. At one point I began to wonder if I was being too forgiving. I got dumped for five months with a barely decent excuse, and suddenly we were back together within twelve hours of seeing each other again? There was certainly a bit left unsaid between us, and we definitely had to talk about it. Not now, though. We were decorating for Christmas, Brad looked happy as a clam, and there was nothing I could say today that I couldn’t say tomorrow or the next day. Soon, the entire apartment was decorated just so: a tree with multicolored lights and ornaments, a nutcracker on one of the end tables, garland on the windowsill, and, as requested, the candles in the window.

By the time we were finished, Brad was singing along to Frank Sinatra as he held a cup of coffee and looked out the window. The sun had long since set and there was a steady stream of snow falling outside. I looked around at the scene before me, admiring the beauty of our decorative work as well as the beauty that was my tall, dark, and handsome… well, I guess we were boyfriends again. Right? Maybe?

There was only one way to find out.

Walking up behind Brad, I slowly, gently wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my chin on his shoulder. He didn’t seem to push me away or try to withdraw in any other manner, nor did he object to what I was doing. Smiling warmly, I tilted my head a bit and gave his ear a soft kiss before whispering into it, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he replied, his voice containing all of the brightness that I remembered. The brightness that I had missed for the past five months, whether I believed it or not. “Always have, always will.”

“I never stopped loving you,” I said quietly as I began to gently rock back and forth in time with the song’s beat.

“I didn’t, either.”

I grinned warmly. “Welcome home.”

“It’s good to be back,” Brad whispered, gently resting his head against mine. We were midway through a rock when Brad stiffened up and looked around with a frown.

“What’s wrong?” I asked as I let go of him.

“It’s missing something,” he replied as he walked around me and the sofa to the coffee table where he picked up the television remote control sitting on top of a true crime book and turned on the television. Almost immediately, the screen came to life with an advertisement for a Christmas season IFPW match between heavyweight wrestlers Ray León and Kieran Ralts due to air next Friday. Brad quickly frowned and flipped the channel to NY1, the local twenty-four hour news station. He briefly appeared to be doing calculations in his head while an individual identified as Assistant District Attorney Jack Lancer spoke at a press conference in front of the New York County Criminal Court Building. I knew Jack from the days we were both rookies in our respective offices, me in the NYPD and him in the Manhattan DA’s office. He was definitely good people, and whatever case he was working was in good hands. I opened my mouth and was just about to ask Brad what he was looking for when he scrolled through a few channels before stopping at the one channel in the city that aired the Yule Log, an annual New York tradition in which a television station displays a looped recording of a comfy, homely fireplace, complete with fire and stockings.

Grinning warmly, I waited as Brad set the remote control back onto the coffee table and walked back to where he had originally been standing at the window. Wrapping my arms back around him, I grinned happily as I replaced my chin on his shoulder, all while he took a sip of his coffee. At that exact moment, Sinatra began singing the last song on the CD: “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”

I smiled warmly as I listened to the words and quietly sang along in my head. Right here, right now, everything felt right. I was standing here holding Brad, who was now my boyfriend once again, and watching snow fall out the window in an apartment that had been decorated in an act of love. Rocking back and forth gently, I began searching for the one word that could describe this scene. I smiled once I found it, allowing it to float around in my head a bit.

Perfection.

Come home for holiday romance.
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D
AVI
R
ODRIGUEZ
knows a thing or two about diversity: he has a Portuguese first name and a Chilean last name; was born in Chile; raised in Washington, DC; perfected the use of the Southern “y’all”; gained a Brooklyn accent; and fell in love with a Canadian. And that doesn’t include his formal training in criminal justice and anthropology. He began writing ten years ago and has enjoyed it ever since. When he’s not writing, he can often be found reading something, whether it be a book, magazine, scholarly journal, or the ads on the sides of busses. Davi currently lives with his partner in Washington, DC.

Find Davi on GoodReads: http://www.goodreads.com/user /show/11082819-davi-rodriguez or e-mail him at

[email protected].

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Old Flames ©Copyright Davi Rodriguez, 2012

Published by

Dreamspinner Press

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Ste 2, PMB# 279

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art by Paul Richmond   http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the Publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 5032 Capital Circle SW, Ste 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA.
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Released in the United States of America
December 2012

eBook Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-62380-205-9