“Whatever.” Ginelle finishes her drink and hops down. “Maybe handle your own shit before you try to tell me how to handle mine.”
“Ginelle, wait!” I call as she storms away, through the office door, and out the back before I can make it around the bar.
CHAPTER 30
Toni
I step backto study the portrait of my brother and his family I’d been working on all weekend. Each of the boys has a Starfleet insignia on their shirt, and rather than poised expressions, everyone looks like they’re mid-laugh—or in my brother’s case, lovingly annoyed.
It feels distinctly them.
Ben wasn’t exactly giddy when I told him I’d decided to renew my lease, but he was supportive, which was enough for me. Apparently, my choice had ruined his planned Christmas surprise of bringing the family up to all help me pack, but they’re still coming.
In a way, I’m still surprised, both because I hadn’t been expecting to do much for Christmas and at how excited I am to see them. Me. Excited for Christmas? What a wild concept.
I should get a tree.
A knock at my door barely registers over “Bennie and the Jets.”I turn the music down, catching another round of knocks.
“Just a minute!” I call out.
I look through the peephole. A slender white man standson my porch, his back to the door as he rubs his hands over his arms. His chestnut hair is a bit shaggier than usual, but I don’t need to see his face to recognize him or the jacket I bought him last Christmas.
David.
How fucking dare he.Anger rises in my chest, quick and hot.
I consider ignoring him. Leaving him on the front porch to freeze in the early December chill. But when he turns back, softer memories of our time together tease the corners of my mind. Gentle, almost bittersweet, nostalgia tempering my rage.
Familiar brown eyes, wire frames perched on his nose. Angular features I’d loved to draw at one point, though the thick coat of stubble was new.
He raises his hand to knock once more, but I open the door before he can.
“Toni,” he says, hand frozen in the air.
“What're you doing here?” Just because I was willing to open the door didn’t mean I had to be pleasant.
“Good to see you, too.”
I cross my arms over my chest, leaning in the doorway, perfectly willing to wait for a valid answer.
“Would you believe I booked a last-minute flight because I needed to see you?”
“No.”
David smiles knowingly. “Fair.” He looks at his sneakers, scuffing them on the wood before looking back at me. “It's true, though.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
He shoves his hands into his pockets. “You're letting your heat out.”
The statement is so quintessentially David that I can’t help but grin a little, rolling my eyes. There’s no malice orjudgment in his words, only a sort of sincere practicality I’d found endearing at one point.
“Come in, I guess.”
I lead him into my home feeling both proud and protective of this space. The walls hold my art. A few Thanksgiving decorations still linger. My pink couch is cluttered with jewel-toned pillows and an abundance of blankets. The overstuffed chair I just picked up from the local buy-nothing group completes the living room nicely. Then, of course, the dining room is filled with canvas and supplies—my creative chaos on full display.
None of it would be to his taste. But all of it is perfectly mine.
