Page 61 of Christmas in Coconut Creek

“What, do you think all my brain can comprehend is camouflage and gunfights?”

She bit her lip. “No. I just can’t seem to figure you out.”

“Well good, we’re on the same page then.” I said. “When Cap and I started the business, one of our first clients was right across the street from here. I kept passing the sign every morning on my drive and curiosity got the best of me.”

“Solo butterfly date?”

“Kind of.” Ophelia looked up in awe as several wings circled our heads. “I spent a lot of time alone back then. I was here for three hours by myself just trying to see how many of them I could find.”

“And how’d you do?” She tried to catch one fluttering by on her finger, but it landed on my shoulder instead. Her blue eyes widened and she clung to the arm of my shirt to get a better look.

“Monarch.” I nodded at it, the sound of my voice sending the orange bug away. “I counted forty-seven before Mateo was blowing up my phone wondering where I was.”

“You guys are really close,” she said, continuing our slow walk. I liked the height difference between the two of us, because I got to watch her little legs work double time to keep an even pace. “I never got to ask how the whole cam sex convo went.”

It went exactly how you would expect two grown men to act around each other after something like that. We sat outside on our back patio under the bulb lights, beers in hand, and stared silently into space as we drank them. Mateo picked at the label on his bottle and made a face that looked like he was either contemplating or constipated, and I pulled the brim of my hat down low enough he couldn’t see my eyes.

I didn’t care if my buddy was fucking on camera. That was between him and his girl, and they both seemed pretty on board with it given the Broadway-level production complete with lighting, music, and costumes.

My only wish was that I didn’t have to see it to believe it. The full-frontal view of Tally burned into my mind made me feel like a permanent pervert. She was like a fucking sister to me. I wasn’t sure if Mateo was sitting there waiting for an apology, or waiting for me to address the fact that I now knew what his girlfriend looked like on all fours.

The girls had long been scattered when I broke the tension and asked, “Old Saint Dick?” to which he replied with a shrug, “Paid for the chair you’re sitting on.”

And that was the end of that.

“I’ve seen Mateo naked more times than I care to remember,” I said, amused. “So walking in on that was like any other Friday.”

Ophelia paused next to the rail to look at a Cabbage White perched on a leaf. “Nat suggested we film an orgy,” she announced nonchalantly.

My steps faltered as that image materialized. “Is that what you consider proper first date etiquette? Laying all your kinks right out in the open?”

“You were just thinking about it, weren’t you?” She grinned, pointing a teasing finger at me.

I grabbed that little palm and brought it to my chest. “You wouldn’t have an orgy with our best friends.”

She tried to make herself bigger—rolling her shoulders back, tilting her head, licking her lips a bit to entice me. Maybe she liked some kinky shit in the bedroom, but I was calling that group activity bluff.

“Wouldn’t I?” She shrugged.

“No, because you’re selfish, just like me.” I leaned in so I could whisper. “You need a man on his knees for you, and only you. I’ve told you this before, O, I don’t fucking share.”

We were in our own little bubble under the hanging plants for a moment. Our hands still clasped together at my chest, focus wavering between mouths and eyes, the soft panting of a thousand wings overhead. Ophelia swallowed and I watched her throat contract with rapt attention.

“You’re right, this isn’t first date material,” she said softly. “You should focus more on getting to know my personal thoughts and opinions on the current political climate.”

I huffed out a laugh and dragged her along the path by her hand. “For some reason I don’t think we have nearly enough time for that.”

Attheratewemoved through the exhibits, our trip to the museum would outlive the butterflies themselves. We lingered in the tropical rainforest, reading the park map, identifying what was flying above us as I bent over the informational brochure with my hand on the small of Ophelia’s back.

Natural.

Everything was natural. Spending time with her was kind of like slipping beneath the covers into freshly washed sheets. You just laid there for a while with a dopey smile on your face, kicking your feet around because it felt so damn good.

“Look at this one, Frankie.” Ophelia called me over to stand in front of the running waterfall, pointing to a butterfly with brown wings and bright yellow edges perched on a leaf. “What is it?”

I assessed it. “Mourning Cloak.” There were very few butterflies with colors that dark.

“You could be totally making this up, and I wouldn’t know either way.”

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