6. Hudson

6

HUDSON

D ecember

“Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” blasted from the speakers of the brand-new pickup truck I’d purchased ten minutes after the ink had dried on the contract I’d signed with Oak Ridge Ranch. I glanced at the ocean in my rearview mirror and sang along at the top of my lungs. Man, what a difference a change of scenery made.

I’d given my uncle my notice, put my condo on the market, and spent the past two months transitioning between jobs. My friends were excited for me. I think they realized I needed a change.

My mom agreed, but she wasn’t thrilled with the move. “It’s so sudden. Where will you live? When will I see you? Will you be home for Christmas?”

I hadn’t had the heart to tell her no. I had bigger worries on my mind.

See, I hadn’t planned on moving to California. Not right away. I’d figured I’d travel between Denver and Santa Ynez and ease into the transition. But they needed me.

Tanner Spade and his brother, Jax, were my new business partners, along with a few family and college friends of theirs. Everyone had a lane and stuck to it at Oak Ridge Ranch. They were all in their early to midthirties and had real ranch experience. Tanner was the livestock guru, Jax was finance and marketing, Waylen was dairy operations and sales, Mills headed the vacation destination program, and Santiago ran the winery.

They’d taken what was once a small family-owned operation and brought it into the twenty-first century in a way that honored the past yet allowed for new ideas and substantial growth.

“We’re busier now than ever. Between the new winery, sold-out packages for the dude ranch, and the overflow of interest from tourists in Christmas Town, we’re stretched thin. I could use your help with the livestock and horses immediately. We bought a bull from a ranch in Austin, and we’re hoping to mate him with—doesn’t matter, just…think about it. Please.”

Tanner had even offered the use of a bungalow on ranch property to sweeten the deal. I’d still thought about it long and hard. Not only was this a big move, but I’d grown up on a working ranch with direct ties to reliable distribution channels. We fed people. Dude ranches were for entertainment, and wineries just weren’t on my uncle’s radar. Investing in Oak Ridge was one thing, but actually working there was almost rebellious.

I supposed that made me a rebel ’cause here I was, whistling to holiday music in sunny California on a beautiful December afternoon with nothing but blue skies for days. And you know, I was feeling pretty pleased with my decision.

The only thing that would have made it sweeter was Moody. I’d thought about him every damn day since that night in my hotel room.

Odd things reminded me of him—the rack of mysteries at the local market, my mom’s homemade chicken noodle soup, the Santa hat one of the attendants had worn on my flight to California. Honestly, anything Christmas-themed conjured an image of the sweet man with adorable glasses who got feisty as hell at the mention of the holidays.

Like this song on the radio.

It was almost obsessive. Sure, he was a great guy and I’d love to see him again, but his good-bye at the hotel hadn’t been wistful in the slightest. He’d practically bolted out the door without bothering to give me his number…a strong indication that he wasn’t interested in a repeat. I couldn’t seem to take the hint.

I’d googled his shop for the listed number and left a message for Moody with someone named Katie. I never heard from him. I’d tried emailing him. Nothing.

That should have been it. Message received, loud and clear. So what was wrong with me? Maybe I had a fetish for being dumped. Or maybe the fact that he was unavailable was somehow an extra turn-on. Weird. Trust me, I knew it. But I also knew there was no way I could live twenty minutes away from Christmas Town and not see Moody.

Just once.

And then I’d move on.

I veered off the now-familiar exit and drove down the evergreen-lined Reindeer Lane, smiling when I reached Santa’s Corner and the biggest Christmas tree in the west. Holy…cow. It was decked for the season, with enormous red and silver balls and colorful twinkling lights and surrounded by giant presents with glittery bows. I slowed to take in the mass of poinsettias, the fake snow, and the star affixed to the top. The statue now donned a real Santa hat too. It was very festive.

I wasn’t the only one who thought so. Tourists milled at the base of the tree and around the statue, posing for pictures.

The season was officially on, I mused, continuing uphill to Holiday Lane.

And…oh, my God. I’d never seen anything like it. My breath hitched audibly.

Christmas had literally thrown up all over town. It had already been pretty Christmassy in October, but they’d turned up the volume to the max. Every lamppost was wrapped in garlands and bows, every window had a wreath, lights were strung on every tree and crisscrossed the streets, the rooftops were covered in faux snow, and every shop had some kind of holiday-themed artwork drawn on the windows.

It was busy too, as in parking was scarce, the sidewalks were crowded, and there were lines out the door at Donner’s Diner, Comet’s Christmas Collectibles, and Vicki the Vixen’s Coffee Café and Soup Cantina. Also, a lot of folks were wearing hats. Elf hats, Santa hats, reindeer antlers…you get the idea.

I circled the block twice and found a parking spot on Frosty Drive in front of a Spanish-style hacienda with a lawn filled with an entire troop of Santa’s reindeer…life-sized. Their neighbors had Santa gnomes, blow-up snow globes, and mechanical elves assembling toys. I was…transfixed, amazed, and feeling even more festive than I had been ten minutes ago.

My heart soared with almost childlike joy and anticipation. For the holidays…and the prospect of seeing Moody. Only now, I let go of my doubts. I’d built up seeing him again as if it were a life-or-death meeting that might change our lives, and that was silly.

We were just a couple of guys who’d fucked around once. We’d had a one-night-stand and it had been fun, but that was all it had been. Fun.

However, we could be friends. Even in December.

I nodded to a cheery group of tourists and paused to listen to the carolers in Victorian dress harmonizing to “Good King Wenceslas” on the corner. This was nice. Very nice.

My holiday spirit was firmly intact, and my smile was so big it hurt my cheeks as I pushed open the door to Moody’s Marvelous Bah Humbug Bookshop.

“ Ugh ! People!” a grouchy voice grumbled loudly from the back of the store.

A woman wearing a gaudy Christmas sweater with Rudolph’s face complete with a glowing red nose and ubiquitous Santa hat winked from her post as queue-police-slash-greeter. “Don’t mind Moody. He’s our resident grump. Welcome to the Bah Humbug Bookshop. I’m Stella, one of Moody’s elves for the day. There are a few of us here to help. If you’re looking for anything in particular, let us know.”

“Thank you.” I tipped my Stetson and wandered the periphery of the line zigzagging in front of the register.

Moody’s Marvelous Bah Humbug Bookshop took its role as the black sheep of Christmas Town very seriously, but it wasn’t quite an anti-holiday store. Charlie Brown twig trees and spindly black plastic ones dotted the shelves. There was a section dedicated to the Grinch and Scrooge, and black paper snowflakes were cut into garlands and strung with fairy lights from the ceilings. Oh, and vaguely depressing holiday music was piped through the overhead speakers. Honestly, it was kinda cool. The darker theme was a refreshing contrast to the relentless cheer everywhere else in town. Good gimmick.

I hummed along to “Blue Christmas” as I walked the aisles, hoping for a glimpse of the owner. And if possible, I hoped to catch him on my own.

No such luck.

“May I help you, sir?” A college-aged girl with freckles, long brown hair, and a “Rudolph Didn’t Run Over Grandma” T-shirt popped up out of the blue.

“Uh…no. I’m just browsing,” I replied. “Actually, is Moody here?”

“Yep, he’s in the naughty section.”

I widened my eyes comically. “Excuse me?”

She snickered merrily. “Not that kind of naughty. We have a great selection of unique gifts that are crankier than the normal holiday stuff. It’s hard to miss, but you’ll see the sign. And Moody should be there. If you can’t find him or if you need anything else, I’m Katie, and I’d be happy to help you.”

“Thanks.”

I headed for the rear of the store and stopped in my tracks, hands on my hips as I took in the array of grumpy gifts. There were keychains, notepads, cell phone cases, costume jewelry, clothing, socks, ornaments, and more. Some were plain black or a neutral color, others had sayings, like, “Ho-Ho-No,” “Merry Grumpy Holidays,” “Is This Jolly Enough For You?,” and of course, “Bah Humbug!”

My lips twitched in amusement as I fingered the collar of an “I Can Get You on the Naughty List” sweatshirt. It was very Moody and?—

“What are you— ah-choo —doing here?”

I spun on my heels and smiled.

Christ, he was beautiful. Angelic, even, with soft golden hair and rosy cheeks. I stared at his mouth a beat too long, but that couldn’t be helped. I’d kissed those lips, damn it, and I still remembered how sweet he’d tasted.

“Moody.”

“Yeah, it’s me. I belong here, I’m stuck here. You’re not. So I repeat— ah-choo —” He pulled a tissue from his pocket and blew his nose. “Why are you here?”

“So this is December Moody,” I drawled.

“Oh, honey, he’s worse than ever this year.” The redhead I remembered from the soup place next door stepped out from behind a Grinch display. Vicki the Vixen. Her rhinestone Christmas tree earrings swayed wildly as she shook her head and massaged Moody’s left shoulder affectionately. “Poor boy has a c-o-l-d and he won’t rest. I’m Vicki, by the way.”

“Hudson. We met a couple of months ago.”

Moody glowered. “Do not waste time with pleasantries. No one has forgotten you or your hat.”

“My hat?”

He ignored me, whirling to Vicki. “And I’ll have you know that clogged nasal passages do not result in sudden difficulties with orthography, a.k.a., spelling. A small c-o-l-d is no hill for a climber like me. I’m fine, and I’m sure you’re busy at your own store, so I must politely yet profusely insist that you buzz off.”

“Isn’t he the best?” Vicki chuckled lightly, then wagged a finger at Moody. “I will not buzz off, mister. You’re sick, and you shouldn’t be here. Go home, darlin’. You have competent elves on duty. There’s nothing to worry about…except getting everyone else sick. Even you aren’t that mean.”

“I’m not?”

Vicki arched a brow. “No, you’re not. I’m going to make a soupy care package and send you home.”

Moody opened his mouth as if to protest and sneezed four times in rapid succession. His final hearty “ah-choo” left him winded with watery red eyes, shoulders slumped. “Fine. I concede defeat. Temporarily. I’m not— ah-choo —happy about— ah-choo —this.”

“I know, sugar. I know.” She patted his back and shot a pointed glance my way. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll leave you two to chat while I get that chicken noodle ready. Don’t you go anywhere, Moody.”

“I don’t want soup,” he mumbled under his breath as Vicki moved toward the front of the store, leaving me with a disgruntled, cranky, and obviously ill Moody.

“Sorry you’re not feeling well,” I hedged, cocking my head as I studied him.

“It’s not the end of the world. I’ll rest this afternoon and be good as new tomorrow.” He grunted and blew his nose. “You never did answer my query. Why are you here?”

“You’re looking at the newest investor and livestock manager at Oak Ridge Ranch.”

“Oh. You did it.”

“Yeah, I just moved into town a couple of days ago. I waited till after Thanksgiving for my mom’s sake, but I was ready for a change and a challenge, and this definitely qualifies. I’m easing into operations and getting acquainted with the animals—heck, and the ranch hands this month. I want to be up to speed so I can hit the ground running in the new year and—shoot, sorry. I’m babbling.” I gave a lopsided smile, narrowing my eyes at Moody’s glossy-eyed stare. “No offense, but you don’t look so hot. How about if I grab that soup for you and give you a ride home?”

“Oh, no, no, no.” He sniffed loudly.

“I insist. Where do you live?”

“I don’t need a ride. I can walk. And I don’t need you. You’re nice and very handsome, Mr. Babineaux, but there’s no reason to pretend that you and me—no. No point. Good luck at the ranch. Good tidings, felicitations, and all that hooey. Now, I bid you adieu .”

Exit speech complete, Moody stepped aside and tripped over an open box filled to the brim with holiday goodies: felt ornaments, coloring books, and Santa hats. I crouched to help him up, stifling the urge to laugh. Poor guy was a wreck and there was nothing funny about it.

But he was also a big ol’ pain in the ass. Barbed, bitchy, and ready to put his dukes up and punch someone’s lights out. Anyone would do.

I’d worked with a few rough characters with ornery dispositions. Some people were made to snarl through life. But the Moody I’d met a couple of months ago had been sweet, kind, thoughtful, and sexy as fuck. A ray of fucking sunshine. I knew that guy was in there somewhere hiding under the prickly facade.

I held up my right hand like a stop sign and pointed at the leather reading chair in the corner. “Sit.”

Moody growled. “I am not a dog.”

“No, you’re a snippy little dragon who could use a nice smack on the rear.” I steered him toward the chair while he sputtered indignantly. “Now stay here. I’ll be back.”

Grumble, grumble, grumble.

I pursed my lips in amusement and headed for Vicki’s Café and Cantina, and nearly plowed into her in the doorway between the two stores.

“Close call.” Vicki chuckled, shuffling a bag from one hand to the other.

“Sorry about that. I was going to grab the soup from you and take Moody home.”

“And what did Moody have to say about that?”

I rubbed my nape and flashed a lopsided grin. “In a roundabout way, he told me to fuck off.”

Vicki snorted. “Sounds like Moody. Well, he’s a grown adult and he knows his own mind, but it would be nice of you. All I can say is, you’ve been warned.”

“Understood.”

“Nice to see you again, Hudson.”

“Thanks.” I took the bag from her and added, “You’ll probably be seeing a bit more of me. I just moved to the area.”

“That’s right. Welcome! Tanner told me you’d signed on at the ranch. Congratulations. They’re a nice group of gentlemen, and they’re doing big business. Between Christmas Town and Oak Ridge Ranch, this area is on an upswing. This is obviously our high season, but they generate a lot of traffic year-round at the winery and the dude ranch, and their clients aren’t averse to a little holiday magic in July.”

I smiled. “That’s good to know. I’m looking forward to getting started.”

“Good luck to you, and thanks for delivering the soup. Please let Mr. Cranky Pants know I’ll be checking on him later today.”

“No problem. So…” I hiked a thumb over my shoulder meaningfully. “Moody really is moody during the holidays, eh?”

Vicki pursed her red lips, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, honey, he’s a bear. Add a cold, and he becomes a grizzly. Under all the huffing and puffing he’s a softy, though. Don’t let him scare you.”

I found Moody arguing with Bud near the register.

“ ‘Little Drummer Boy’ is off this year’s playlist. Don’t bother asking for it, Bud. It’s a no,” Moody said, blowing his nose.

“Now, c’mon, Moody,” the older man teased. “It’s one of my favorites. Who doesn’t love a good pa-rum-pum-pum-pum?”

“Me, that’s who. I strongly dislike it, actually. In what world would a brand-new mother want to hear some punk kid banging on the drums after giving birth?” He blinked his watery eyes and dabbed at his lashes with his knuckle. “That’s a personal viewpoint that will never be tested. Nonetheless, I’m right.”

Bud hooted merrily. “You make me smile every damn year, Moody. Don’t go changin’.”

“Grr.”

I nudged Moody’s elbow, fixing him with a faux-stern look. “I thought I put you in the corner and?—”

“Threatened me with a good time,” he finished sardonically. “You did and it was fun, but you took too long and if I’m going home, I’m going now.”

“Good-bye, Moody. Feel better!” someone called from the register.

“Later, Moody!”

“Hope you feel like yourself tomorrow.”

“Get some rest, Moody.”

He frowned at the chorus of well-wishers, his brow knit so tight that his glasses slipped as he pushed them to the bridge of his nose and reached for his coat. “ Hmph .”

I headed after him, brushing past the carolers at the corner singing “Happy Holidays.”

Moody fumbled with his zipper, muttering something that sounded like, “Happy Honking Holidays.”

I caught up to him and draped an arm around his shoulders. “Hey, sunshine, my truck is this way.”

“Yeah, well, so is my house. Whoopty-doo. Is that my soup?” he asked, pointing at the bag in my hand.

“Yes, sir. It’ll be yours as soon as I make sure you’re safely home.”

Moody scoffed. “There’s no crime in this town, unless you count the time Bailey Zedrich pilfered a lottery ticket from the market. He was fourteen, and we collectively decided he deserved a second chance.”

“Great. I’m still walking with you.”

“I could have you arrested.”

“On what charges? Carrying soup?”

He grumbled some more and trudged on to Frosty Lane, his head bent, stopping in front of a sunny yellow one-story cottage with a white picket fence, a graceful weeping willow, wide picture windows, and a generous porch. Very nice.

But unlike his neighbors, there was no wreath on Moody’s door and no lights lined his roof. However, a creepy-looking gnome with gray hair and black suspenders stood next to the door and from what I’d witnessed firsthand today, I’d say the gnome fit.

“Well, home sweet home.” He held his hand out for the bag of soup.

I ignored him. “Great place. Even the gnome is kind of cute.”

“His name is Hector.”

“Hector,” I repeated. “Odd, but cool.”

Moody narrowed his eyes. “You’re determined to snoop, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“ Hmph . Fine. Come in.” He opened his door with a flourish. “It’s adorable. I know, I know. Snoop away while I change my clothes.”

He left his shoes in the foyer on a mat under a small console table and hung his coat on a hook beside a mirror before shuffling off, in his socks, across the hardwood floor.

Okay, he was right. I was curious. The urge to peek at personal photos, scan his bookshelves and the artwork on his walls for clues was strong. And no, that wasn’t like me at all, but I was more intrigued by Louis Moody than ever.

However, I was here for soup duty, not snoop duty.

I bypassed the cheery blue-and-white living room with a comfy-looking sectional and a flat-screen over the brick fireplace and the adjoining dining area with striped wallpaper and lace curtains, and headed for the kitchen at the rear of the house. It was a small space, painted the palest shade of lavender. The appliances, tiles, and cabinets were white, but the barstool cushions were bright purple and the cups and saucers on the open shelf above the sink were a colorful mix of floral and striped patterns.

It was cheerful and fun…like the version of Moody I remembered.

I set the bag on the counter and rummaged for a bowl and spoon. The soup was still warm, but I thought he might want some tea, so I took the liberty of filling his teapot. I turned on the front burner, pivoting at the sound of bare feet on the kitchen floor.

The poor guy looked like hell. His eyes were puffy, his nose was red, and he was paler than normal.

“Here’s your soup,” I said, sliding the bowl on the table near the window. “I put water in your kettle for tea. Do you have any peppermint or chamomile?”

Moody stared blankly as if none of my words computed. “Uh…”

“Hey, are you okay?”

“No, I’m terrible. But tea isn’t so terrible, so…yes, please. It’s in the pantry.” He fell onto a chair and buried his head in his hands. “Woe is me.”

I made the tea and helped myself to a glass of water.

“Do you have a fever?” I asked, sitting across from him.

“ Meh , I don’t think so.” He picked up his spoon and skimmed it over his soup.

“Have a bite, Moody.”

I expected a sassy reply, but he obeyed. And for a short time, the clink of his spoon against the side of his bowl was the only sound in the room. Occasionally, he’d lift his gaze to me, but he seemed to have lost a little spunk. No doubt he was exhausted. Being sick and crabby took it out of a guy.

“You don’t have to stay, you know. I’m a big boy. Ah-choo . I can take care of myself.”

Okay, so he was still a pain in the ass.

“I know, but everyone could use a hand once in a while.”

“True. That’s not the case now, though. I’m perfectly capable of eating soup on my own. You’re here for your own reasons, and all I can say is your timing is doo-doo.”

“Doo-doo?”

“Yep, stinky, rotten, sucky egg balls.” He slurped a noodle into his mouth and blinked back tears. “I’m a hot mess, and guess what?”

“What?”

“I have a cold, too.” Moody cackled at his joke, which led to a wicked coughing fit.

“Oh, boy. Have a sip of tea.”

“No, I?—”

“Moody…”

“Leave me al?—”

“Drink the fucking tea, Moody.”

He narrowed his gaze, but to my surprise and relief, he picked up his cup. Of course, he made a face. “Hot…no sugar.”

“You don’t need sugar. You need rest,” I replied matter-of-factly.

Moody rolled his eyes. “Thank you for your insight, doctor. Doctors don’t usually wear cowboy hats, do they? Maybe they should. Although not everyone looks good in one. Yours is unquestionably appealing, but don’t take that as a compliment.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“Good. Ah-choo . Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to curl up on the sofa with a box of tissues and watch classic game shows.”

I gathered his bowl and the cup of tea he’d barely put a dent in, rinsed them in the sink, and turned to find Moody leaning on the wall. “Go on. I promise I won’t steal the china.”

“You don’t have to be so nice, Hudson. I’m a lost cause. I wouldn’t waste the energy if I were you.”

I furrowed my brow, but he’d already shuffled off to the living room.

Now listen, I admit I was curious. The sick, Oscar the Grouch version was the polar opposite of the man who’d sucked me to oblivion in the honeymoon suite two months ago. He didn’t want me in his house, at his store, or in his life. He couldn’t have been more clear if he’d rented space on an LA billboard. And that was before I’d pushed my way inside.

So, why wasn’t I out the door and halfway to my truck?

I didn’t have an answer. Something pulled at my subconscious and insisted that this man was someone I needed to know. That was borderline ridiculous. Logically, I knew this, but I still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was…special.

Quit being an idiot, Hudson.

I dried my hands on a dish towel and joined Moody in the living room with a prepared good-bye speech and best wishes for his swift recovery.

“I’m gonna head out and—” I cocked my head. “Do you really have tissues stuffed up your nose?”

Moody’s watery gaze slid my way. “It won’t stop. Desperate times call for desperate measures. That’s a quote by Hippocrates, by the way. He was a Greek physician. One might call him the OG MD.”

“Right,” I grunted at the goofball snort-snuffle-chuckling at his own joke from beneath the pile of blankets he’d burrowed under on his sectional. “I think the doctor would prescribe actual medication, though. Do you have any antihistamines?”

“Yes, maybe…I dunno.” He groaned, slipping lower on the sofa. “Hey, beat it, buster. I want to be miserable alone.”

See? He couldn’t have been clearer. Go, Hudson, go.

“I know you do, but I can’t leave you like this.” Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Let me at least grab your medicine and some water, okay?”

Moody flashed a deadpan glance. “You want to peek in my drawers, don’t you, cowboy? Get it? Bathroom drawers?”

“Very funny. Are you going to let me help you or not?”

“ Ugh , sure, fine, whatever.” He sat up to blow his nose and pointed in the direction of the hallway.

I sifted through the uber-organized medicine cabinet in the bathroom and returned a few minutes later with a couple of tablets and a fresh glass of water. He mumbled his thanks and snuggled into his makeshift cocoon, his eyes glued to the television.

“What are you watching?”

“ Match Game , circa 1977. It’s a hoot. Comedy genius with innuendos coming out the wazoo.”

I perched on a corner of the sofa. “The wazoo, eh?”

“Yes, have you seen it? The host presents a fill-in-the blank query for the contestants and celebrities. Simple sentences that can turn perverse in a hot second. And the seventies were very un-PC. They can make a question about how you’d spend your earnings on a million-dollar lottery ticket into a saucy advertisement for an online sex shop. Of course, there was no Internet in those days.” He wrinkled his nose as if deep in thought. “I think they had sex shops, though.”

“Definitely.”

Moody snickered softly. “Now that would be embarrassing. I can’t imagine walking to the register with flavored body oils or a toy of some ilk. Can you?”

I grinned, unsure if I was more amused by his choice of sex shop goodies or the word ilk. “No, that would be awkward.”

“So awkward,” he agreed. “ Ah-choo .”

“Bless you.” I was pleased he’d dropped the crabby act and had seemingly forgotten he wanted me out, so I pressed my luck. “What would you do?”

Moody widened his eyes over his tissue-covered nose. “At a sex shop?”

I guffawed. “No, with a million-dollar lottery ticket.”

“Oh. Uh …I’d have to think about it.”

“Off the top of your noggin…what’s your first purchase?”

“I’d pay the mortgage on my shop and Vicki’s,” he replied automatically.

I furrowed my brow. “You’d spend your first chunk of change on someone else. Gee, that doesn’t sound very scroogey of you, Moody.”

He scowled…adorably. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Nope. I’m good.”

Moody opened his mouth, then shrugged and turned his attention to the television.

And maybe it was wishful thinking, but I could have sworn his lip twitched in the teensiest hint of a smile.

Yeah, I know. That wasn’t much to go on. However, it seemed like a pretty big hint that Moody’s holiday mood was a big ol’ front. I’d bet that winning million-dollar lottery ticket that he was hiding something behind that shield of cantankerousness. Something dark enough to cause his sunny soul serious pain.

I’d had some personal experience with pain. I knew what it felt like to put on a smile when you wanted to fucking cry. Not so easy.

And though I didn’t know him well, I thought it was a safe guess that Moody wasn’t too bummed that a pesky cold had taken him out of commission for a day or two. No doubt a little escape in mindless television under a sea of blankets in the middle of the day probably sounded kind of amazing. Again, I understood. I’d had a bad case of the flu this time last year, and I’d never been happier to have an excuse to be alone with no one walking on eggshells around me.

I’d just wanted to be alone. Except…not really. ’Cause being lonely also kinda sucked.

Call it a hunch, call it a shameless tactic to ingratiate myself into his life at a low point, but my gut told me the adorable grinch with a red nose and pale skin needed company. Neutral company. So I took my hat off, tossed it onto the coffee table, and settled in to watch some TV with my new friend.