Page 11 of My Boyfriend Marks Trees
She stared at him. “Is someone whispering in your ear telling you all the right things to say?”
“No, although my mom’s often in my head yattering on about being a gentleman and doing unto others and all that.”
“I told you before I don’t need charity.”
“This isn’t charity.”
“Then what is it?” She crossed her arms.
“Me putting my foot in my mouth?” He offered a wry grin.
“Ares!” Greta flung open the door and squealed at the sight of him. “You came back.”
“I most certainly did, and I brought pie.”
“Oooh. What kind?” Greta asked, craning on her tiptoes.
“Apple and sugar.”
“I wuv it!” The tyke stretched her fingers as if to grab.
“Not until after dinner!” Charlotte exclaimed.
“Awww.” Greta pouted, and Charlotte could see Ares struggling as he got blasted with the cuteness. Before he could cave and hand the kid the pies, she muttered, “Bring it inside.”
“Actually, this is just the first load.” He handed over the pies to Charlotte and the bag to Greta. “I’ve got some more stuff in the truck.”
Before Charlotte could argue, he returned with another box. Inside was a plastic-covered container and an unopened package of uncooked spaghetti, as well as a shaker of parmesan. “I brought some of my mom’s sauce. Thought it would make a tasty dinner.”
“Ooh, ’pagettis!” Greta crooned.
“I also brought something very special. Something my dad used to put on our front lawn every year. But now that we’re, like, super old, I thought a certain princess could use it instead. How do you feel about having one of Santa’s reindeer in your front yard?”
“Is it Rudolph?” Greta asked, wide-eyed.
“How did you guess?” he exclaimed.
“He’s my favorite.”
“Mine too!”
And that was why and how Charlotte’s tiny front yard suddenly ended up with an ugly plastic reindeer and lights that wrapped around her front door and window.
Charlotte wanted to be mad. Instead, she melted like a marshmallow in hot cocoa. How could she not? Ares enlisted Greta’s help, letting her climb the ladder he’d brought but sticking close to grab her if she fell. He looked so damned pleased when they plugged the strand in and Rudolph’s nose turned pink, the faded red plastic no longer bright.
Greta soaked up the attention, and it gave Charlotte a pang. If only Greta’s actual dad had been so nice. But everything changed after her birth.
When they came inside with rosy cheeks, Charlotte murmured, “How old is that thing?”
“My dad bought it when Athena was born, and she’s twenty-nine now.”
“It’s practically a family heirloom,” she noted.
“It is, but me, Mom, and my sister agreed it was time it stopped gathering dust and brought joy to another kid.”
She shook her head. “You’re something else, Ares.”
He was also unlike any man she’d ever met. He sang along to cartoon Christmas carols with Greta as they added more decorations to the tree, including a strand of lights he’d brought. A fortuitous thing, since she’d forgotten to grab some.