Page 62 of Naughty-ish

I had nothing against pursuing a single mother. They were typically some of the strongest women I knew. Stubborn, too, as Holliday proved to be the first time I mowed her grass. Buy yourself something pretty, she’d said. Pure honey in that firecracker sarcasm. My dick was instantly hard.

But I fell for her before that moment. When she asked me if I was okay after the fight with Monica. Not what happened. Not who that woman was. Holliday asked about me.

Monica had actually been the fourth woman I’d tried to date with consistency because everyone was telling me I was getting older. I needed to settle down. I needed to find someone. However, the right woman had been hard to find. One who wouldn’t take advantage of me. Wonder who I’d been. Where I came from. I had trouble trusting people.

That didn’t mean I don’t believe in the common good in people. Doing good deeds for others is who I am, how I’m built. I never expect anything in return. So that first time I cut Holliday’s grass and she put a flowerpot on my stoop, I was stumped.

I can’t say I purposefully planned every next action afterward, but for every action I did for her, she gave something back to me. Like she was silently grateful. Never making a big deal about anything but still appreciative.

And I fell harder, becoming a little addicted to this dance we did, where I felt like she needed me, but it was even more. She was thankful for me being next door.

I’d learned bits and pieces about her over the months. Nash and Eloise were sweet and not always silent about their mom. She didn’t drink coffee. She worked long hours at a bank. She fought with her ex.

I hated her being alone, but I’d seen her fiery spirit. Felt it, too, with the fight we had days before Christmas.

Now we were on the fifth day of Christmas, and she’d been showing me over and over again how fun she could be and how she felt about me.

That Christmas night after I tied her up, and made mad love to her wrapped in ribbon, she came back to her bed, after claiming she needed a drink of water, with a pear in her hand.

“What’s this?” I’d chuckled.

“It’s a pear. And it’s the first day of Christmas. I don’t have a pear tree. And this might be recycled from the fruit basket the bank sent as an unimaginative gift for the holidays but—”

I hadn’t let her finish, yanking the pear out of her hand, taking a big bite and then kissing her with my sticky lips. She’d been turning pink with her explanation as if slowly shutting down, embarrassed by how cute, thoughtful, and creative her gesture was on the first true day of Christmas. I loved that as a woman struggling with Christmas, she still had an affinity for the season.

I’d taken that half-eaten pear and rubbed it on parts of her I could lap up, and the rest of the night had been a dream.

As the next day returned her children from her douchy ex, and I had the day off, I played up the second day of Christmas to prove I was all-in with the package deal Holliday claimed she was with the kids. She was a gift. A built-in family and I wanted them. So, while I didn’t think Holliday would appreciate two turtle doves, I gave Nash and Eloise each a turtle instead. Nash named his Rock; Eloise named hers Snowflake. Her first question to her shelf elf next year might be: Does he like turtles?

Since I had to work the following day, I sent three French takeout dinners, so Holliday didn’t have to cook. She saved me the Napoleon bar dessert and we ate it together after my shift, when the kids were in bed. Then, we made out on her couch for a while.

On the fourth day, I had to work again, but I called her four times. Not a text. An actual call. By the fourth random one where I asked her if she had a favorite bird, she was onto me.

“Are you giving me four calling birds?”

“Nope, just four phone calls to tell you I’m thinking of you.”

“I’m thinking of you, too.” Her voice softened. I could almost see her cheeks pinkening. I wanted to see her entire body glowing again.

By the fifth day of Christmas, because yes, they actually occur after December 24th, I had something special in mind.

“Is that an extra present in your tree?”

“Where?” Holliday says leaning forward from our seat snuggled on her couch, admiring her tree one final time. Tomorrow morning she plans to take it down so she has a clean house for the new year, when traditionally Christmas trees should remain up until the twelve days of the Christmas season are complete.

Holliday squints at the softly-lit evergreen in her otherwise dark living room.

“Right there, between the karate ornament and a snowman made from marshmallows.”

Holliday turns her head toward me. “What did you do?” She whispers but a smile curls her lush mouth. One I plan to be kissing on this couch in a few minutes.

“Wasn’t me. Must have been that elf.”

Holliday rolls her eyes and laughs. That pesky holiday doll left her a new DO list on her refrigerator.

Build life together.

Love Nick forever.