Page 26 of Sweet
He figured he had eight months more of Daisy’s sweetness, and he didn’t really feel like sharing her with the rest of the world. Fuck them.
Daisy turned and swept her hand out with a flourish. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Villalobos. Your very own tree.”
He set his beer on the side table and slid to the edge of the bed, standing up to walk over and put his arms around his girl. He stood behind her, arms around her waist with his chin resting on her shoulder, and swayed with the song that was playing on the TV.
“Baby, this looks so good.” He kissed her neck, which she loved, and breathed in the scent of butter and cinnamon she’d carried to his place from the bakery.
Spider had bought a set of shiny red ornaments, multicolored lights, and a random mix of ornaments from a large bin that were four for a dollar. Mickey and Minnie; a bright yellow bird; a fat, red-cheeked Santa Claus. Nothing really matched, but he didn’t mind. She’d made it beautiful.
Spider kissed her cheek. “When you decorate your own house someday, it’s gonna be the bomb.”
She squeezed his hands and knit their fingers together. “I love fixing up old things. You know those old houses south of downtown?”
“On the other side of the highway?”
“Yeah. I think they’re so cool. That’s where Tia Imelda lives. All the old houses have porches and all that pretty woodwork like my parents’ house.”
He frowned. “That whole neighborhood is way run-down. It’s not like your parents’ place, Daisy. There’re some sketchy people over there.”
“I don’t think it’s that bad. Imelda’s never had a problem. It’s always clean. And those houses have really nice yards. The new houses in town? There’s nowhere to put a garden.”
It didn’t matter because she wasn’t gonna be living in Metlin after next fall anyway. She was going away to university, and she’d probably move to a big city. She talked more about going up north instead of going down south, which was a relief.
From the television, Spider heard the beginnings of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” and he slowly turned Daisy in his arms. She slid her arms over his shoulders, and they swayed in the sparkling, colorful lights of the tree.
Eight months wasn’t enough fucking time.
The thought of Daisy leaving left a sick, panicky feeling in the middle of Spider’s chest. It wasn’t that he expected her to stay with him, but… On the slim chance that she didn’t find someone better, he could move wherever she was. He could be a tattoo artist anywhere as long as it wasn’t in Southern California. Hell, maybe she’d want to get out of California permanently.
And leave her family?
He didn’t think that was likely. She was loyal as hell; it was one of the things he loved about her. Like her smile and her optimism. He fucking loved that stuff.
You fucking loveher.
Yeah. Yeah, he did. All the way and forever. The real kind, not the kid kind. He was old enough to know the difference now. It wasn’t a surprise or a shock to his system. That feeling had been creeping up on him since the moment he saw her.
Now the certainty of loving Daisy settled into him, marking Spider as permanently as the ink under his skin.
He leaned down and captured her mouth, trying to tell her everything since he couldn’t say anything. His kiss wasn’t the slow, careful press of lips that he’d been keeping on a leash since their run-in at the craft store. His arms tightened around her, pressing her body into his as he kissed her over and over again, nipping at her lips and teasing his tongue along the seam of her mouth.
“Spider?”
He kissed her again.
“Spider…” Her voice was a groan and a whine. “You pick now to do this?”
His head was swimming. “What?”
She stood on her tiptoes and bit his jaw with a playful nip. “I’ve been trying for weeks to get you to move a little bit faster” —she poked him in the ribs— “and you pick the day I have to go to my parents’ house for late Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Oh shit.” He’d forgotten about that. The afternoon was gone and the sky was already dark. “How late will the dinner—?”
“Probably all night ’cause my Aunt Sunny came down with her husband and all the cousins, so they’re gonna want to play a card game or something after dinner. I don’t know when I’ll be done.” She pouted. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Your family is like a TV family.” Spider smiled. “Seriously, princesa, it’s so damn cute. Holiday dinners and card games.”
“It’s mostly because Imelda hates American football so much.”
