“You look beautiful.” Zebb holds out his hand. “Ready?”
I can’t wear a jacket with my wings, but I do grab a clutch that holds my phone and house keys. Holding his hand, we step into the hallway.
“When you called me angel after the football game, I remembered I had this costume in the back of my closet.”
He leads me to the staircase and then waves for me to take the lead since my wings take up space.
“I called you an angel because you looked like one sleeping on my shoulder.”
I smile as the sentiment is sweet.
“But maybe you’re really the Angel of Christmas Past.”
I laugh as I reach the exit door and press it outward. “More like a ghost from the past.”
Zebb takes my hand again and leads me to his truck parked at the curb. “Not a ghost. But definitely someone who has haunted me all these years.”
I pause as he opens the passenger door. “Haunted you?”
He leans on the door while swiping loose hairs around my ear. I’d put my hair up in a messy twist and left shorter pieces loose here and there.
“I’ve never been able to forget you.”
“Did you want to forget me?” Suddenly my throat is thick with the possibility.
“No. Not ever.”
I chew my lower lip before stepping closer to him. “I never forgot you either.” Tipping up on my toes, I kiss him, quick and soft. When I pull back, he catches me with a hand on my upper back and draws me back to him for a longer kiss.
“Maybe you’re an angel of what’s to come.”
“And what’s to come?” Or who. Pick your interrogatives.
“A second date.” His playful tone brushes off anything more serious. “Would it be strange to say I missed you this week?”
I shake my head and smile in response. I went to see my mother on Sunday and worked the entire week, having odd hours which included early shifts staring at five in the morning or finishing some nights near midnight because of our extended holiday hours. Too-hot-to-handle, aka Zebb, and poinsettia potential (me) have been texting throughout the week, but his shifts are just as chaotic as mine with two days on and two days off.
Zaleya was stunned when I asked someone to switch a shift with me. Finding a replacement for a Saturday night during the holiday season was nearly impossible but finally a newer floor manager agreed to cover my last two hours so I could at least leave work early to shower and change.
Ducking into his truck without answering Zebb, he closes my door and rounds the front.
“So what should I expect tonight?” I ask, fluffing out the skirt of the costume and shrugging out of my wings for comfort. Plus, wings weren’t conducive for putting on a seatbelt.
“Just a bunch of guys and their wives or girlfriends, talking shit and drinking too much. Only believe half of what you hear tonight.”
“About you or just everyone in general?”
“Especially about me.” He winks at me while driving to the end of my street. “We rented a pub. It’s low key but it should be fun.”
His radio is on and as if I don’t hear enough Christmas music throughout the day, a song begins to play.
“This is one of the saddest Christmas songs,” I say. “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” streams through his truck.
“First you don’t like Christmas. Now you’re dissing the music. What is wrong with you?” He’s teasing but he has no idea how often I ask myself the same thing.
“It’s just that some people don’t have homes to go to for Christmas.”
Zebb is silent as he turns a corner. “I get that, but he does sing if only in his dreams.”