Page 5 of A Christmas Harbor

“Well, cheers, then.” Paul took a tentative sip. His eyes widened again as he swallowed. “That is crazy good. Probably even better if I hadn’t just burned off half my taste buds.”

“It’s ocean-aged.” Explaining Whamageddon had no doubt made David look absurd, but this topic could help him save face. “The barrels were put aboard a ship as an experiment, to see how the bourbon would react to being at sea—the salt air, the temperature fluctuations, the rocking of the vessel. And this was the result.” He shut up before he could add how the bourbon took on a briny taste from breathing the sea air, or how the sugars in the barrel caramelized to make it taste a bit like rum. No need to veer into pompous-ass territory.

“Hooray for science.” Paul held up the tumbler and studied the dark-sepia liquid. “How long does this stuff stay on the boat?”

“Long enough to visit five continents and cross the equator four times.”

“Hm. If it didn’t taste like heaven, I would say that’s a marketing gimmick.” He offered the glass, its bottom nestled in his palm. “Your turn.”

David took the drink, letting his littlest finger brush Paul’s thumb in the exchange. Their eyes met again, barely a glance, but enough to confirm the previous spark wasn’t a fluke.

His next sip was small, since he was already 1.75 sheets to the wind. There was a fine line between being charmingly relaxed and stupidly sloshed. “So what brought you here tonight?” Christ, that was barely a half-step aboveDo you come here often?

Paul gestured to the shelves of gleaming bottles behind the bar. “What else would bring me here?”

Right. Stupid question. Might as well bravado it out. “You tell me. Why aren’t you at home in front of a fireplace reading ‘A Visit from St. Nicholas’ to a crowd of adoring children?”

“I don’t have kids.”

“No wife, either?”

Paul rolled his eyes as he took back the tumbler. “Oddly enough, I never found time to marry the girl next door.” He rubbed his ear, which stuck out slightly from beneath his wind-mussed, rain-splattered brown curls. Those protruding ears, along with his freckled nose, gave him an aura of impishness that his wry smile only enhanced. Though not conventionally handsome, Paul was hard to look away from.

“I’m here in Annapolis tonight,” Paul continued, “because I need to find an apartment ASAP. I’m a visiting professor at St. John’s College next semester.” He held up crossed fingers. “Hoping it’ll turn into a permanent position.”

That didn’t explain why Paul was in a bar on Christmas Eve, but David was in no position to judge. “St. John’s, huh? I hear they’re good at croquet and, uh...” He squinted up at the wood-beam ceiling in pretend thought.

“Reading the classics.”

David snapped his fingers. “Yes, that’s it. Two skills that today’s employers are clamoring for.”

Paul laughed. “St. John’s is a bit of a throwback, but that’s part of what drew me there. It’ll be an adventure for sure.” He sipped the bourbon andmmm’d again. “The dean told me they have this intense cross-town croquet rivalry with the Naval Academy. I mean, how bonkers is that sentence I just uttered?”

“Croquet gives the Johnnies one thing to feel superior about. But I’ll tell you a secret.” David leaned closer as he reached for the glass. “We let them win.”

“We?” Paul drew back a few inches, hopefully in surprise rather than dismay. “Okay, that explains the high-and-tight cut.”

“It’s shorter than Navy regs require.” David ruffled his own hair. “But I like it.”

“No, it looks great on you. For my own head I prefer hair that keeps me warm on nights like this.” Paul picked up the cinnamon stick and twirled it through his mulled wine. “A sailor, huh? How long are you on dry land? So to speak, I mean, because the land is, um, pretty wet tonight and…yeah, never mind.” He gave a sheepish grimace.

Maybe David wasn’t the only nervous one.

“Officially I’m ashore forever. I’m what the Academy calls a Permanent Military Professor. I’ll keep teaching until I leave active duty.”

“And when will that be?”

“About a millisecond after I die.” Yikes. “Sorry, that sounded less melodramatic in my head.”

“It’s Christmas Eve. You’re allowed.” Paul took a smaller sip of the mulled wine. He winced again. “Ugh, why am I doing this to myself?”

Because you’re a nice guy. Was it too soon to say that out loud? It might not even be true.

Paul lifted his hands and applauded in the direction of Martin, the bar’s most talented performer, who had just finished his extended remix of “Last Christmas.” It had been months since David had seen the woman who used to accompany Martin on stand-up bass. Perhaps their breakup was the cause of the piano man’s recent run of sorrowful tunes.

As usual, sweet old gin-loving Eduardo clapped and hooted extra loudly. He’d probably forgotten his hearing aid again, which would explain why he was sitting only a few feet from the piano.

A new song began, its melody equally familiar but ten times as haunting.

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