Page 34 of A Cozy Holiday
Grandpa’s Basement
Twenty-five Days Until I Can Go Back to Work
We haveto park half a block away because the entire street is jammed with snow-dusted cars.It doesn’t look like a bar so much as someone in the neighborhood is throwing a block party.
I squint at the house from the passenger seat. “Okay. Is this place really called Grandpa’s Basement, or are you about to take me into an actual basement right now?”
“Started out like that,” Jamie says. “Doug just wanted a hangout after he retired. Then it sort of grew.”
Thebaris a three-story Victorian house painted a mustard yellow that makes the building glow like a lantern against the two snowy trees in front. Every step leading up to the porch is painted in red and white. The front lawn is packed with inflatable snowmen and penguins, and a string of multicolored lights blinks to the beat thumping out of the house.
There isn’t a sign anywhere.
Jamie glances at me. “Are you sure you aren’t gonna be cold?”
“Thebasementis heated, right?” I open the truck door and tug my Cossack hat lower over my ears. Underneath, I’m wearing tights attached to a garter belt and the little black dress I haven’t worn since a Raya date with a stock exchange guy who could barely string two words together because my clavicle distracted him. The dress deserves redemption.
Specifically with Jamie.
Kissing him earlier this week jolted my body back to life with the force of jumper cables.
And ever since, Jamie has found any excuse to touch me again. He lets his hand brush mine when he delivers my coffee in a stupidly cute snowman mug. He fixes my bangs and rubs hay off my coat after I’ve checked on Arrietty and the sick members of the herd.
The worst part?
I’m one thousand percent sure Jamie has deployed his daughters as tiny, adorable buffers. They’ve joined us for morning chores, though they do less cleaning and more twirling through the barn with brooms while begging for makeup tips. And I’ve happily provided them—all while mentally compiling a very long list of the indecent things I want to do to their father.
Jamie rounds the truck to offer his hand, steadying me onto the salted sidewalks. It’s unnecessarily chivalrous, but I still cling to his plaid jacket.
I think I’m developing athingfor cowboys.
My pulse is already misbehaving when he points to an old capsule vending machine on the sidewalk that’s decorated with faded pictures of butterflies and flowers.
“Wanna get temporary tattoos?” His grin under his mustache is disarmingly mischievous.
“No.”
“Which means you should.” He digs two quarters out of his pocket and slots them in.
“Who even carries change anymore?”
“Never know when you’re gonna need stickers or tats.” He’s such a dad. “Do the honors.”
“I said no.” It’s hellishly cold out here, and I just want to get inside.
“Afraid you’ll have fun?”
Has he been talking to Miriam?With a sigh, I twist the metal. It clinks and rattles until a plastic globe rolls down the winding chute. I pick it out of the delivery slot and hold it up between us. Inside is a pink butterfly tattoo.
“Happy?”
“Not until you put it on.”
“I need at least one drink to let you mark me.”
His eyes narrow. “Consider it a challenge.”
I shove the little globe into my coat pocket, hoping he’ll forget about it, then follow him up the steps to the house. Two men stand on the porch, laughing so hard their cigars nearly fall out of their mouths. They step aside and wave to Jamie as we pass.
