Chapter 12

twelve

SYDNEY

Fucking Dennis. He was better at buttering me up than I gave him credit for. I couldn’t help but fall into this trap of liking Christmas that he was setting. Slowly, he was appealing to the parts of the holiday that I could vibe with, like cookies and bright lights. It’s like he actually listened to the problems I had with it, how bogged down in the spending and perfectionism people got.

What’s worse is I could feel myself falling harder for him with each little attempt he made at softening me toward the holiday. Being Santa and Mrs. Claus was an unexpected plot twist, because while I told Dennis the kids told me about the gifts they wanted, I could still hear the things that were dear to their hearts, like wishing their parents would work less or the heartbreaking plea that a child with chronic illness had to be healthier so their parents wouldn’t have to worry so much. I had no idea how Dennis would handle that last one. He told them that health was something out of his hands, but Santa would do what he could for his dads.

Spending yesterday decorating and baking cookies and getting orgasms softened me too much because lord help me, I even agreed to get a tree for my apartment. As I walk to Dennis’s house, it’s not a stretch for me to say that it’s less the holiday I’m softening toward. It’s him. It’s the way he balances sexy with playful and shows care for me, like running a bath after making me come on his fingers.

He’s the complete package, and I don’t know what to do with that when I don’t think I’ve ever been so thoroughly cared for in my life, not even by my parents. It’s not hard to root out that they’re the cause of so much of my Christmas-related strife, but I’m nervous to tell Dennis because I don’t know what he’ll make of the whole situation. Some of it I know I’m not at fault for, but other parts? Yeah, maybe I was to blame. I should have been a better kid.

I know his house, not well, but when driving around town I knew it every Christmas. The decorations were always teetering the line of classic and being too much. Colorful icicle lights hang over the front lines of the house as well as the garage, while standard lights traverse the other edges of the home, including wrapping around the front door and garage doors. His porch is equally wrapped in bright colors, making the space look welcoming. There are net lights over the bushes in the yard, and giant ornaments hang from the trees. Did I forget to mention the trees are also wrapped with lights?

I mean, what is his electric bill like for the month of December?

A light show is projected on one side of the house, but his front yard has the perfect number of blow-ups without being overwhelming. Or, it wouldn’t be overwhelming for a normal person.

“Well, if it isn’t pretty Sydney.” I’m surprised to find it’s not Dennis who opens his front door, but Ben Blakely, with a tone that doesn’t make me feel very welcome. Distantly, I remember Dennis mentioning that his friend has been crashing on his couch and that was why we hadn’t spent more time at his place. Ben’s a year older than Dennis so we had even less interactions in high school, but he’s been in Sips a time or two.

“Nice to see you, Ben.” I wait awkwardly on the threshold without entering.

“Ben, don’t be a dick. Come in, sugar,” Dennis calls from where he’s standing in the living room.

“Ohh, sugar . Carmen never got a cute nickname like that.” Ben steps aside and lets me in, but barely.

I’m surprised again by the interior. The entryway is open with the kitchen straight ahead and the living room right beside the front door. Dennis abandons the various boxes surrounding him so he can greet me with a kiss on the cheek.

“We’re not going to be comparing the two,” Dennis scolds, but he leans in close to my ear. “There is no comparison.”

“Sweet talker,” I tease.

“Well, I appreciate you using your day off to help decorate my tree and my whole house.”

I hold up two coffees. “I came prepared with provisions because I have no idea what this really entails.”

This stops Dennis short. “Have you ever decorated a tree?”

When I glance around between Dennis and Ben, I realize that I might have stepped into some sort of trap. Both of them have pitying looks, so I rush to cover the mistake.

“Well, of course, when I was younger, but it’s been years and years, and you know, you sort of lose the Christmas magic after finding out that Santa isn’t real, so…” I trail off, waiting for someone to say literally anything. I’ll even take a meteor falling on the house.

“Riiiiiight,” Ben drags out, pulling on his coat. “On that note, I heard Noah Callahan is reopening Gingerbread’s, and the rumor mill says that it’s thanks to little Violet Emerson, so I’m going to see if there are some cookies with my name on it. Happy to play taste tester, especially if they’re free.”

“Did you stop by his booth on Friday night?” I ask. I have no idea if Ben was even at the festival, but now I’m getting mad.

“Nope. He was still a felon then, or did you not see the artful additions to his booth?” He says it so smugly. I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“He was never a felon. What happened to his booth?”

“Some kids,” Dennis tells me. “It’s not a big deal and Violet fixed it.”

“Maybe try going and being a paying customer,” I say as Ben slides his coat on.

“Well, it’s not like I heard anything about you going, so save me the martyr act. Dennis, enjoy your decorating. Lovely as always , Sydney.” His tone is scathing and I have no idea what I did to earn his ire. I didn’t even have a chance to refute his claim, but technically he was right. Dennis was the one who paid for the cookies.

When the door closes behind Ben, Dennis draws me closer. “His apartment is only rented through the new year, and we don’t have to come here again if he bothers you.”

I give him a light shove to his chest. “I just don’t know what I did to make him so against me, but if he’s your best friend, tell him the next time he’s in Sips, coffee on me and I won’t even spit in it.”

“Was he at risk for that?”

“Absolutely.”

“It’s not necessary. I’ll talk to him later. I don’t know what got into him. He’s not usually so rude.”

It’s not like Ben said anything directly nasty to me until just before he left, but his entire tone felt wrong. I’ll give it another try. Maybe he’s just missing his bestie. I have been monopolizing Dennis since the key party .

Dennis leads me to where he has boxes on boxes piled and labeled as Christmas decorations. He points out each pile of boxes. Some are ornaments. Others are garlands or wall decor. I zone out a little as I survey his space. It’s my first time inside his home. I don’t know what I expected, maybe for it to be like any other bachelor pad I’ve been in, with naked women posters and beer cans everywhere, but I should have known better when it comes to Dennis.

With the exception of all these Christmas boxes, the space is orderly. I’m going to guess it was vacuumed before all these pine needles littered the floor. He has a decent-sized TV with game systems set up on the hutch below it. Beside each system are the matching games. I mean, he’s organized . Meanwhile, my place is the one with bras hanging off lamps.

“When my parents moved, they left all the furniture here, so don’t go thinking I have any eye for design. This is just how my mom kept it. Easier to leave it than to reinvent the wheel. Can I get you water or coffee?”

I hold up his coffee in his direction, and he gives me a sheepish smile. “I’ve got the caffeine covered. Clearly, you need it. Late night?”

“Actually, this girl I’ve been hooking up with kept me up all night. She woke me up to a handjob at two in the morning.”

“Wow, you’re just hooking up with her and she did all that for you?”

He hooks his hand around my waist so we’re standing chest to chest. With his other hand, he plucks the coffee out of mine and sets it on the table behind him before doing the same with my cup.

“She’s actually my girlfriend. I just didn’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

My whole body flushes from the term. I know it’s what we are, but it’s still sweet to hear, even if it makes me feel like a teenager again with the first blush of love. I freeze for half a second as the thought enters my mind. Love? I mean, even if my feelings for him were that big, it’s too soon, and there’s still a chance Carmen is right and he realizes that I’m not good enough.

I kiss the spot just under his ear. “And what wrong impression would that be?”

“That I’m not invested in us.” The teasing has left his voice, and if I hadn’t woken him up with a handjob last night, he would certainly be getting one now.

But his windows, like mine, look out on the street, and anyone walking by can see what we’re getting up to. And while it is a private residence, I’m sure the new sheriff in town wouldn’t love to find out that one of his deputies has a reputation for getting women naked in his living room.

“Where do we start?” I ask, breaking the sexual tension. Do I want more of him? Absolutely. Is my pussy wrecked from our repeated marathons? Also yes. Since I haven’t been able to master the nipple orgasm, I’m going to need a break for a few days so I can walk straight again.

“Right. I’m sorry we weren’t able to pick out a tree together. I always stop by Winter’s and pick out a tree before Thanksgiving, and then I get it delivered later. I haven’t really been home to get it decorated, so I thought this could be fun for us. We can go pick out your tree together.”

I ignore his last statement because I don’t know if it was the multiple orgasms or the sugar, but agreeing to a tree means now he wants to shop for one. A live tree sounds so high maintenance, but maybe this year I could do it.

Wait.

Who am I?

This year?

There’s no way there’s going to be a tree next year. I’m just indulging the guy I like in his Christmas whims. But if there is a next year, it will be a fake tree. The kind with the lights already attached. And it will be small so it’s not an eyesore on the whole town as they walk down the street and see it through my windows.

Nope. I gotta nip that thought in the bud.

We spend the next twenty minutes moving boxes around to where they’re supposed to be opened. There is a box of kitchen decorations, including all new towels and oven mitts that we throw in the wash along with the new bathroom towels and toilet cover.

Methodically, we move around, laughing at some of the absurd things I pull out of the boxes, including a fabric tissue box cover. Dennis has stories behind most of the things, and he shares them all with me between loading the dishwasher with holiday plates and directing me where to put stuff.

“Most of this is my mom’s.”

“You keep blaming her like you’re not sitting next to me setting it up while she works on her tan in Florida.”

“I like the tradition, the changing over of the house.”

“You don’t think this is a lot for just a month?”

Dennis pauses where he’s twining a fake garland around the bannister that leads upstairs. “Yeah, it’s a lot of work, but I remember how much it meant to me, and I want to be able to do the same for my kids, so I’ll hold on to these three Wise Men candlestick holders and continue the tradition of making a plate of cookies for Santa.”

I pause packing up his current plates. “You really love this holiday.”

“I really do. My parents always went above and beyond to make sure I felt the love and magic. I mean, I still got presents from Santa until they moved, not because I still believed in him or anything, but because it was symbolic of still believing in the magic.”

It’s silent a beat too long while I consider what I want to say. I don’t want to dampen his feelings for the holiday, but I don’t know when I’ll get a better chance to tell him. The longer I don’t tell him, the more I worry he’ll feel like I’m judging him on his affection for the holiday.

“I was seven when I stopped believing.” All movement from Dennis stops, and I can feel his gaze focus on me, but I can’t look at him and see the pity on his face. I already felt it when I said I hadn’t decorated a tree for years. “My parents took me to one of those stupid portrait sessions for Christmas cards where I had to put on some itchy dress and had my hair curled and put in a ponytail.”

I can still remember all the spots where the puffy sleeves rubbed my skin raw from my fidgeting.

“You wore it to school once, I think.”

My head snaps in his direction because I absolutely did and I was just as antsy that day, but we had a Christmas concert, so my mom wanted me to wear it again because it cost her so much.

“I did. Anyway, so we get to the store in the city, where I’m supposed to meet Santa while we wait for our pictures, but I was afraid to go sit on this guy’s lap. I couldn’t say why I didn’t want to, but we were all about making kids do what they didn’t want to. Which is wild because when I begged to do it at the Christmas Festival in town, Mom basically insinuated that the Santa in town was a pedophile. Not that I knew what that was at the time, but I remember it so clearly.” The annoyance in my mom’s voice, the way she gripped my hand, tugging me away from the line, my shoulder feeling tight as she did it. My confusion, and yeah, a little bit of fear.

I continue while Dennis stays silent, letting me tell him everything. “My parents were so mad at me for pouting during the photo that to try to pep me up for the family portrait, they gave me some candy while we waited in another long line. What my parents didn’t know was that there was a stomach bug circulating in school.” I remember my mother’s tapping foot. Me complaining that I didn’t feel good.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes. I tried to tell my parents that my tummy hurt and they must have thought I was faking it to get out of the pictures. No, I know they thought that because at one point my mom even got on my level and told me so. She was quitting smoking around that time and she could be so nasty sometimes. Cue my dad giving me more candy and as we got up to take our photos, I threw up right when they drew up close for a photo.”

“Oh no .”

“All over the camera, the camera person, and their fancy little set.” Just talking about it again makes my stomach roil.

“ Sydney. ”

“Now, I don’t want you to think my parents are these mean monsters. They really aren’t. I think it was just a shitty year. A week later, once I was clear from the bug, we went back, and this time I threw a tantrum about not wanting to do the photos because thinking about going back there made me sick. Usually, I was fine taking photos, but I think I must have been going through a phase because there's six months of photos of me where my hands are covering my face or I’m pouting or trying to hide behind someone. My parents got me a brand new exact same dress because the other was a total loss. They had to pay the original sitting fee and a new one and for camera repairs. My parents clearly couldn’t see the photos when they were being taken, but when they got them back, they were pissed . I mean, I’m ‘smiling’ as far as baring your teeth is smiling. There was actually one shot where I was mid eye-roll. It was brutal.”

“I bet they’re worth a good laugh now.”

“Absolutely. My grandmother had the card on her wall forever because she just loved it. My parents were less amused. They returned every present they bought me that year for Christmas and my only gift under the tree was a single box. When I opened it, it was a lump of coal sitting on top of one of those photos. My mom told me that only good girls get presents for Christmas, and she took my stocking that was full of stuff and tossed it into the fireplace.”

Dennis sits on the floor beside me and gathers me into his arms. I want to push him away, but his grip is too strong as he holds me against his chest. The tight embrace is somehow exactly what I need to feel safe and protected. Telling the story didn’t make me want to cry, but Dennis holding me does. His empathy breaks off another piece of ice from my heart.

“That’s awful, sugar.”

“Yes, it was. I remember my grandmother ripping into my parents for it when she thought I wasn’t listening, and my mom pulling out a cigarette and blowing the smoke in her face saying I was going to have to learn eventually that he’s not real.”

“That was so wrong of them to do.”

“I mean, as far as villain origin stories go, it’s a good one. Again, it’s not like my parents are bad people. I think that year was just a bad one. My grandma had a battle with cancer. My dad lost his job and got a new one. My mom was trying to quit smoking and was under pressure being the sole breadwinner. Some of this stuff was filled in for me after the fact when I was a teenager, but it didn’t really change that they sort of killed Christmas for me.”

He’s contemplative for a minute. “Did they try to make it better next year? ”

I pause to think, pulling out of his arms. “My mom asked for my list for Santa in November before Thanksgiving the next year, and I snapped at her and said something to the effect that Santa isn’t real, so why bother. I still had to stand in those stuffy photos for the Christmas card, but it was never the same after that.”

“If it’s okay for me to say, you don’t have to make excuses for them. You were a child. Their adult problems shouldn’t even be a blip in your memory. For them to have treated you that way is wrong. Did they ever apologize?”

I scoff at his words, glad he can’t see the few tears that have escaped. “Not a chance.”

Dennis is silent for a few beats before he holds me even tighter, if that’s even possible. “It’s a hard thing to recover from, both for you and your parents. We don’t have to do any more decorating.”

I hear his words, but I’m not sure I fully absorb them. He’s so right, and that makes the whole situation even more fucked up that they didn’t recognize it or even actually try to make it better. And I think that is the hurt that I hold on to more than them returning my presents. It’s that they hurt me so badly and don’t even see it.

Or maybe I’m wrong and they do see it and they just don’t care. I know what my mom would say now if I brought it up. She would say I shouldn’t be harping on something that happened almost twenty years ago, and then there would probably be some gaslighting that I was too young to remember it.

But having Dennis affirm my feelings and how wrong the whole situation was feels like a first step, first for me telling the story and another for knowing that he is a safe space, someone who won’t judge me. Knowing that Dennis is this much of an upstanding man confirms that I won’t even be able to come close to being good enough to stand beside him as a partner .

I get up and hold my hand out to him. “Not a chance. You’ve dragged me this far. Now, you have to finish the thing with me. Just because my parents fed into the wrong parts of Christmas doesn’t mean you will.”

“No pressure here, I guess, to make this the perfect Christmas.”

“Let’s start with dipping my toes in helping you decorate. I mean, it’s not my house, so I’m fine with it, but don’t even think about bringing that dancing Santa nightmare into my house. I will light it on fire.”

We both return to our tasks. I haven’t really talked to many people about that awful Christmas. Even Louis and Noah don’t know why I hate Christmas so much. Ginger knew and gave me the doll I had been eyeing that year to make up for it, and my grandma tried too, but it was too late. The whole holiday had been poisoned. But maybe now I have a new reason to love it.

I surprise Dennis by telling him I want to head to the next town over for some Christmas shopping. He offers to drive in his truck, which I appreciate. I might live in a mountain town, but that doesn’t mean I’m the best about putting my snow tires on. I keep meaning to get over to Chris’s mechanics shop, but staying in bed wrapped up with Dennis has been so much better.

“Do you think your little trick worked?”

Dennis’s hand is resting on the inside of my thigh, his thumb absently rubbing. It causes a chain reaction from that spot. The touch seems to spread from that point on my leg all the way to my pussy, and more importantly, to my heart .

“What trick would that be?”

“Buying cookies from Noah and sending them around town?”

“Ah, yes. That. I thought it was a waste of perfectly good cookies if no one was going to his booth.”

I cover his hand with mine. “Well, you’re a good man for even thinking of it.” I’m a little miffed I didn’t think of it myself first, not that I could have really afforded it. This is another one of those moments where I can’t believe Dennis is even real.

“So, what are we shopping for? Didn’t you say you got everything you needed at the festival?” The tone of his voice teases that he thinks he’s a genius for getting me to go.

“I actually adopted a family this year from the stupid giving tree in the Chamber of Commerce.”

Dennis’s head whips in my direction, surprise all over his face, and damn it if that doesn’t tug at my heart. How much of a monster does he think I am that he is surprised that I would buy gifts for kids in need? Am I flush with cash? No. But I still want to do something nice. There are people in the world who believe in the magic, and I want to help those kids have a good Christmas. Getting lost in having sex with Dennis distracted me from that goal, but last night reminded me of what I want to do. I should have done it while we were out getting Christmas decorations, but Mildred showing up threw me off completely and it slipped my mind.

“Really? Have you ever done it before? I do it every year to the point that I actually try to get the same family if I can.”

Something that I absolutely shouldn’t be surprised by. Of course, Deputy Perfect would go out of his way to try to give gifts to the same family every year. He must have an express pass to St. Peter and the pearly gates when he shuffles off this mortal coil.

“That is sweet and also not at all surprising.”

“I like to give back to the community.”

I lean over and poke his cheek. He turns to look at me just a little before focusing back on the road.

“What?”

“They make you robots look so real now.” I poke him again and he laughs.

He grabs my hand before I can do it again and twines our fingers together.“Tell me about your family and I’ll see if I can help come up with some other good gifts so you’re not breaking the bank. I need to keep my little criminal out of jail.”

The comment makes me feel sick. I never corrected him that I did nothing wrong that night, and now I’m worried it might be too late. The worst of it is, I almost was a little criminal. Okay, technically, I did break into the car, but I didn’t take anything. The fact that I even thought about it makes me feel all sorts of wrong. What would Dennis think if he knew the truth? It’s not like it’s much better if I say, “Gee, Dennis, I know I broke into that car, but I only thought about stealing the money. I didn’t actually do it.”

He gave good banter when I stole his wallet, which was an impulsively cruel thing to do. I mean, what was I even thinking? It all worked out for me in the end, but it could very easily have turned out horribly if he had come to my house or Sips to get it and outright rejected me. I really need to curb the impulsive thoughts that go through my head sometimes.

“Earth to Sydney.” Dennis’s voice breaks me out of the dangerous spiral I fell into.

I turn and look at him, studying him in profile. Honestly, they don’t make men like him anymore, and I’m not just talking about the chivalrous, good guy who wants to take care of his woman while also believing in her right to be independent. I mean his silent film movie star good looks. My gaze traces the delectable curve of his bow-shaped lips and the small imperfection on his nose that isn’t an imperfection at all.

“Right? What were you saying?”

“I was asking about the family? Where did you go?”

“I was just thinking about all the public sex I could have with the good deputy in the mall.” The lie tumbles from my mouth so easily. No, I definitely don’t deserve a man like Dennis. I prattle on about the family of seven and their ages until we get to the mall. No surprise, but Dennis has already turned in all the gifts he’s purchased.

The shopping mall is packed. That’s what happens when you live in the mountains without much nearby. All the little satellite small towns either do their shopping online or they go to this one mall, meaning weekends are an ugly affair. Already there is a kid throwing a temper tantrum in the parking lot while their parent looks on, unimpressed. I can hear the threat of telling Santa and returning gifts.

It makes an icky feeling sink to the bottom of my stomach and Dennis pulls me close against him like he can sense my unease.

“I think there are more effective ways to keep a kid behaved.” He says it so conversationally that it pulls my focus straight to his face. “I mean, sure, the threat of Santa watching you all year long can work, but a threat like that is only effective for so long. When they get older, the threat stops being real.”

“So, how would you handle it?”

We walk into the mall, where we are assaulted by sounds and smells and lights. I usually avoid the mall for this reason. There are twinkling Christmas lights around each shop in addition to the overhead fluorescent ones that usually light the space. Even the kiosks in the center row have their own lights and music flowing from them, creating a chaotic headache. It’s like the mall forgot that it’s still a mall, and everyone is doing their own thing, creating an unbearable mishmash of Christmas.

“Well, for starters, I wouldn’t make Santa out to be this omniscient neutral force. Santa is for good and for well-behaved children but isn’t in the business of punishment. He’s in the business of bringing joy and happiness. I’m going to be the one to discipline my child when they need it. And like any proper person who doesn’t have children, I clearly think it’s very easy to parent them.”

His comment distracts me from the overstimulation. “So easy to be a parent.”

“The easiest. I’ve actually seen a few videos on parenting thanks to my cousin, Ainsley, who has, like, eight kids at this point.”

“Seriously?” I ask with a laugh, unable to imagine that many.

“No, not seriously, but she and her partner have a serious breeding kink, and because she’s watching all those videos I get a ton of ‘Ainsley Seaborn liked…’ flooding my feed, never mind Wolensky’s videos. Anyway, they all talk about how kids are just tiny humans, and yes, they should be treated like children in terms of what they consume, but they also need to be treated like humans. They’re these tiny creatures that don’t understand how emotions work, and sometimes as adults we get frustrated or mad when something isn’t working out and we lash out. Why should a tiny human be held to a higher standard to control their emotions?”

“You’re not making a better case for being a real boy, Pinocchio.” It’s another example of how perfect he is. What guy in his late twenties has put this much thought into what kind of parent he wants to be?

As if it was possible for him to pull me any tighter to him, he does, just so he can growl in my ear. “I’ve got hard wood in all the right places.”

I can’t stop my laugh as I shove him away from me. “You can show me that hard wood after I spend my entire paycheck on these tiny humans.”

We scour the mall, looking for the best deals and toys that we can get these children while also looking for some nice extras for mom and dad. I make sure to get gift receipts for it all because I’m not exactly sure how this works, and if mom doesn’t like the purse I got her just to put gift cards and cash into, then I would rather she return it for something she can use.

Dennis is the ultimate pack mule, carrying all the bags, even making a trip out to the car while I wait for our food when we grab lunch. While I could dick around on my phone, I get lost in my thoughts while waiting for him.

He’s almost too good to be true. He’s good-looking and great in bed. He’s sweet and gentle and caring, not just toward me but his whole community. I half expect him to sprout wings and throw a halo over his head just to tell me I’ve been living in a paranormal world.

How am I supposed to measure up to that when I know I’m not even half as good as he is? I mean, I considered stealing from some rich guy just because I could, and a decent person wouldn’t let that thought cross their mind. That uncertain voice keeps creeping into the back of my head, telling me that Dennis is going to see through me eventually and I’ll find out that he only sees me as a rebound.

He returns from the car and presses a kiss to my forehead.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

I scoff. “At this point, you never have to pay me for anything. You paid for more than half the gifts we got today.”

“’Tis the season for giving?” He gives a halfhearted shrug before dipping his chip in the complementary salsa. He’s lucky there’s any left.

“And let me guess: you give like this all year?” I’m looking to see if the man has a single flaw.

“Is there something you’re particularly looking to learn?”

“No. Yes. I mean, you’re just so wonderful. What were you doing with Carmen for all those years?” I don’t mean the question to come out like that, but there is no putting that genie back in the bottle. A lightness in his eyes dims a little before looking up at me.

“I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was in love and that was what commitment looked like. I thought people change and you can’t call it love if you don’t love them through their changes.”

“It’s okay to change too. It’s okay to learn that you’ve grown into a different person than you were when you started dating. I mean, high school Sydney was a little bit of a troublemaker, but now, I walk the straight and narrow.”

“I don’t know… Some of the things we did the other night certainly walked the line of–”

My cheeks are flaming at his insinuation and I’m glad he stops talking because the waiter is dropping off our food.

“Okay, I’ve found your flaw,” I say once the waiter has left.

Dennis looks at me, his eyes boring into mine with interest. “And what’s that, sugar?” He lays down his hands, which have his fork and knife in them.

“You’re trying to eat a burrito with a fork and knife, and that’s a crime. Right up there with using them to eat pizza.”

He sets the utensils aside. “In my defense…”

I lean on the table, gesturing for him to go forward.

Dennis chuckles and continues. “When I was a kid, I was the messiest eater. I mean, half my meals wound up on my clothes instead of in my mouth, resulting in me being very skinny and very dirty. My parents couldn’t figure out why that was. It was bad enough that they had me see a doctor. It turns out that all those little muscles that make up my fine motor skills were too weak, so I had to go to some sort of therapy. I mean, I was still a little kid, and I never liked to play with blocks or draw, but I was good at kicking the ball and playing soccer. Anyway, part of that therapy was mastering how to use a fork and knife. I got teased for having girly handwriting because my mom made me do all those exercises to keep my hands strong. She made me use a fork and knife for everything when I was growing up for the same reason. Eventually, it just became a habit.”

“Excuse me while I stick my foot in my asshole mouth.” I want to hide myself in shame.

“Stop. You couldn’t have known. I was, like, three when my mom realized there might be a problem. Even my preschool teacher wasn’t worried, and as you can attest, my hands and fingers work quite well now.”

I almost choke on my taco. “ Sir. We are in public, ” I hiss.

“But we won’t be later, and I plan to show you just how good my hands are.”

“Do your worst.”

The smirk he gives me tells me I should beware of danger. But with him, I’m finding that I’m all-in, even if the voice in the back of my head keeps telling me that this will never last and I should enjoy him while I can.