“Absolutely, lead the way!”
Although it was clear the horse would rather have stayed at the rink to eat the shrubbery, we took the carriage a couple blocks uptown to a small café Tom recommended. As we rolled to a slow stop, I saw that a small group of people had gathered in a curious crowd on the sidewalk. At first, I thought it was the novelty of the horse that caught their attention. Then, I thought it was probably the novelty of seeing a Larchwood. It wasn’t until Tom took my hand and escorted me down the stairs that I heard the strings.
“What the...”
A trio of violins was playing ‘Carol of the Bells,’ swaying in unison with their eyes closed. At first, I thought we’d caught a lucky break by stumbling into them. I didn’t understand their strategic placement until Tom caught my eye.
“Do you like it?” he said softly.
It suddenly clicked. I turned back to the strings with amazement, small tears forming in the corner of my eyes.
“This...you did this for me?”
He stared at me for a long moment, before squeezing my hand. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
The café seemed to have the same arrangement with Tom that the Starbucks had. The second we walked through the door, we were led up to a quiet roof patio where a table had already been set. A dozen streams of silver lights twinkled innocently from the trees, and I could still hear faint strains from the violins all the way up here.
As I sank gracefully into my chair, I flashed Tom a little grin. “What if I had said I wanted Italian?”
He flashed me a cocky grin in return. “Then we would have gone three blocks farther to the other set of violins and the other table at Amato’s.” Before I could ask, he continued, “Same with French, same with Chinese, same with Lebanese... I don’t really know what kinds of things you like yet, so I’m kind of playing it by ear.”
I silently thrilled to hear him say ‘yet,’ but played it cool and looked down at my menu.
We both kept it simple with bowls of hot soup to warm us back up. But as we were getting up to go, the head baker, a kindly old lady of about ninety-five, walked out with a little tray of gingerbread cookies.
“Mary,” Tom embraced her warmly, “you didn’t have to do that.”
“Don’t be silly, Tommy, I wouldn’t miss it. Merry Christmas, dear.”
He kissed her on both cheeks. “Merry Christmas.”
She vanished through the patio door, leaving the plate of steaming gingerbread behind her. I picked one up and bit into it with a huge smile. It tasted like cinnamon and pine trees and happiness—all rolled into one cookie. If Mary patented this recipe, she’d be rich.
I stuffed the remainder of the cookie into my mouth and washed it down with a swig of eggnog. “So...Tommy, huh?”
The grin washed right of Tom’s face and he lifted a warning finger. “That’s for Mary to say, and that’s only because she’s known me since I was four and she’s about five hundred and twelve. If you ever try calling me that—”
“Hey, Tommy?” I backed away to the door and locked it with my finger. “I have a small Christmas request...”
If that’s the kind of punishment sex I got when I called him Tommy...I was going to start doing it more often. Only, as usual, once wasn’t enough.
“Well I had a whole day planned,” he said a little breathlessly, zipping up his pants. “But now I’m going to have to take you somewhere and fuck you senseless.”
I nodded seriously. “In that case,” I slipped some gingerbread into my purse, “I’d better carb up—you know—sexual precaution...”
He chuckled and swept me in his arms. “Miss Harks, whatever am I going to do with you?”
“Well I don’t know,” I said teasingly, “but you always figure something out.”
We spent the rest of the day at my apartment. Kissing, screwing, laughing, and eating gingerbread. I had to admit, if this was Christmas, I could get used to it.
Tom had jumped into a quick shower, and I was right about to join him and sneakily initiate the next round when the water suddenly turned off. A few seconds later, he was dry and dressed and in a rush I couldn’t explain.