The scent of cooking food reached his nostrils, and his eyelids grew heavy. His stomach rumbled.
“Does that smell good?” the man asked. No trace of an accent laced his words.
Max opened his eyes, his mouth dropping open in surprise. “You speak English?”
“Of course I speak English,
pendejo
,” the man said. “You don’t speak Spanish, though.” He crossed his arms and stared down his nose at Max. “Why?”
Max pushed the syrup closer. “I just want the syrup, man,” he said.
Cocking his head, the man snorted. “You can’t answer the question?”
Max sighed. “I just don’t, okay?” He tapped the five dollar bill on the counter.
The man, who Max was beginning to think was also the owner of the store, stroked his mustache with a thick finger. “Why?” he asked again. “Your mama didn’t teach you?”
“I don’t even think my mother speaks Spanish,” Max said, dropping his arm from the counter. He glanced at the door. No one moved in the streets outside. At that time of morning, most people were already at work. With the weather so cold, those who didn’t work were tucked deep in their houses.
The man frowned, shaking his head. “What about your father?”
Max frowned, too. “Sir,” he began, “I really just need the syrup.” He jerked a thumb at the door. “My daughter hasn’t had breakfast yet.”
“Daughter?” The man perked up, his brown eyes suddenly bright. “That cute
bebe
from across the street? That’s your daughter?” Crow’s feet deepened around his eyes, and smile lines etched around his mouth. His arms dropped to his sides, and he suddenly seemed less tall behind the counter.
“Yeah,” Max said, still frowning.
“She comes in all the time with that young lady,” the man continued. “Is she your wife?” Without waiting for an answer, he said, “She speaks Spanish. Why don’t you?”
Max scowled. Palming the money, he turned away from the counter.
“Wait,” the man called. “Your syrup.”
Max pivoted on his feet and watched as the man scanned the syrup and pressed a button on a cash register that he couldn’t see. The owner of the store announced the price and plucked a black plastic bag from underneath the counter. Warily, Max stepped forward and held out the five dollar bill. The man took it and counted out Max’s change.
“Have a good day, son,” he said.
“You, too,” Max called over his shoulder. He left the corner store as quickly as possible. Ducking his head against the wind, he raced across the empty street and zipped into his apartment, pulling the door shut behind him.
“About time,” Savannah called from the kitchen. “Where did you go, all the way to Stop & Shop?”
Rolling his eyes, Max shrugged off his coat and tossed it onto the back of the couch. “I will next time,” he muttered under his breath. He traipsed into the kitchen, swinging the bag of syrup at his side.
Chloe sat on the counter, the spoon from the pancake mix in one hand. A plate of cooked pancakes sat next to her, steam rising into the air. Savannah stood with a hand on her hip.
“Let’s eat,” she said, dropping her arm, one eyebrow raised at him.
“Your buddy across the street there isn’t too fond of me,” Max said, plunking the syrup onto the table.
Savannah swung Chloe down from the counter and strapped the toddler into her high chair. “What do you mean?”
Shaking his head, Max popped open the plastic bottle of syrup. He brought the plate of pancakes over to the table and made a plate for Chloe. Squeezing syrup onto the mini pancakes, he drew a happy face. He passed the plate to his daughter. Making a plate for himself, he took a bite before Savannah could press him further. “These are good,” he said with his mouth full, hoping that she wouldn’t push the issue. He had enough of people harassing him about his heritage lately.
“Thanks,” she said, dropping her eyes and joining him at the table.
Max frowned. He didn’t want her to be mad at him. “Hey,” he said. “I’ll go do the shopping. You’ve done enough.”
She shrugged. “If you want.”
He needed to lighten up the mood. “Besides,” he said, smiling, “someone has to make Chloe lunch that isn’t hot dogs or mac ’n’ cheese.”
Savannah snorted. “True.”
* * * * *
By the time Max got home from shopping, Savannah had already put Chloe to bed. He came home to find Savannah curled up on the couch, a blurry Christmas movie playing on his laptop. Her palm cupped her chin, her eyes closed. The light from the screen flickered across her face. Max smiled, lowering the bags. He watched her sleep for one long second, then shook himself out of his trance. Watching people sleep was creepy, not romantic. Trying to move as silently as possible, he shuffled past her toward his bedroom.
“Want help wrapping?” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.
He froze in his tracks. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “No, it’s okay. Get some sleep.” He didn’t need to look at the time to know that it was after midnight. Retail workers probably weren’t happy about staying so late on Christmas Eve, but Max was grateful that the stores stayed open so long.
Savannah slid from the couch and closed the browser. “I told you I would help,
papi
.” In the dark, he couldn’t see her face, but he could tell by the tone of her voice that she was rolling her eyes. Joining him in the hall, she took some of the bags from him and slipped past him. Without another word, she pushed open the door to his bedroom. His eyebrows shot up.
He shook his head at himself. Then, he followed.
Heart pounding, he left the door open behind him. He swallowed hard. The light overhead flared to life, and Savannah appeared beside him. He jumped. In the dark, he had hardly seen her. Suddenly aware of how close she stood to him, he took a step farther into the room.
“So,” he said, setting his bags down on the floor. “I got one roll of wrapping paper. Do you think we’ll have enough?”
She looked around at all of the bags and bit her lip. “I hope so.” Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she began emptying the bags.
Within a few minutes, they were surrounded by toys. Taking Savannah’s advice, Max had shopped at the dollar store and a couple of other places, avoiding the expensive stores like Toys “R” Us.
“You did a good job,” she said as she unfurled the roll of wrapping paper. She arranged toys on a section, eyes squinting in concentration.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Trying to conserve our only roll.” She winked at him and, plucking a pair of scissors from the floor, began cutting.
With the two of them, it only took an hour to get everything wrapped. By some miracle, they had just enough paper. Max stood, his arms stacked with the wrapped gifts. “Thank you,” he said, offering her a hand up. He gently pulled her to her feet. She stood, her hand remaining in his. Her skin was warm and soft. He swallowed hard again.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, her dimples showing. Dancing away, she left his bedroom. He blinked after her, wondering if he should follow. When she didn’t come right back, he traipsed into the living room. He stared at the bare room, frowning. He hadn’t thought to get a Christmas tree. The cheapest fake ones were around twenty dollars, though, so he probably couldn’t have afforded one, anyway.
He sighed. The gifts would have to be enough. Chloe probably wouldn’t care that they didn’t have a tree when she was two. Max nodded to himself. Trees were overrated, anyway. He crossed the room and began stacking the gifts against the wall.
“Hold on,” Savannah whispered from the hall.
He turned, balanced on one knee and the ball of one foot. Raising an eyebrow at her, he jerked his chin in her direction. “What’s that?”
She carried a tall canvas to him, its back facing him. Her eyes shone in the dark. In the dim light from the street outside, he could see the delighted smile on her face. Spinning the canvas around, she said, “Ta-da!”
She flipped on the light, revealing a painted tree in three or four shades of green. She had even added ornaments. He dropped the wrapped present he had been holding and stood, moving closer. Some of the ornaments were the staples, like Rudolph, a sled, and Santa. Savannah had painted Disney princesses on some of the ball ornaments, though, and added some characters from Chloe’s favorite cartoons. One of the ornaments was, of course, one of the colorful skulls that decorated her arm. Three of the ornaments bore their names in swooping cursive.
Warmth pooled through Max, and tears sprang to his eyes. Blinking them away, his breath caught in his throat. “I don’t know what to say, Savannah. This is perfect.” He crossed the room and pulled her into a hug. “Thank you,” he whispered into her ear. She let go of the canvas and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“You’re welcome,” she whispered back, her lips brushing his ear. She held him close, and he closed his eyes for a moment. His pulse pounded in his ears.
His chance had arrived. If he was ever going to make a move, there would never be a better time. Taking a deep breath, he pulled away from the embrace slightly, turning his face toward hers. His heart was a thundering drum beat in his ears, his blood shooting through his veins. Lips trembling, he leaned in close.
His lips brushed empty air as her arms parted from his and she bent over to retrieve the canvas. Dancing across the room, she tucked the painting of the Christmas tree behind the pile of gifts, against the wall.
He stood frozen on the other side of the room, fear racing through his system. Maybe she didn’t want to kiss him. Maybe he had blown it. Closing his eyes, he shut away tears. Of
course
she didn’t want to kiss him. He was her boss. He needed to start acting like it.
Opening his eyes again, he found her standing in front of him, another canvas in her arms. She held it out to him, her dark eyes wide and vulnerable.
“What’s this?” he asked, his voice thick. Wrapping paper crinkled as he clutched the sides of the canvas.
“It’s for you,” she said. “I didn’t have a chance to buy you anything, and I didn’t really know what you would like, and, well, just look at it.” She bit down on her lip, her hands hanging limply at her sides.
He peeled the paper off. Holding the canvas out in front of him, he studied it. His daughter’s face smiled back at him in perfect detail. He gasped, remembering seeing it in her room. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “Thank you.”
She blinked at him, looking up at him from under sooty lashes. “You like it?”
“I love it, Savannah. You’re amazing. How long have you been painting?” He wanted to hug her again, to take another shot at kissing her. She hadn’t exactly rejected him, but she hadn’t seemed interested in letting him kiss her, either. Girls were so confusing. He gently put the canvas down, leaning it against the couch. He shoved his hands into his pockets and pressed his feet into the floor.
She shrugged. “Since before I dropped out of art school.” Winking, she took a step toward him. “I wasn’t sure if I was gonna be able to finish it in time, and then you offered to go shopping. You’re so easy.” She gently shoved his arm, grinning.
He laughed. “I’d say you have to buy me dinner first, but you cook for me all the time.” The second the words were out of his mouth, he regretted it. Heat painted his cheeks and the tip of his nose. “That was stupid. I’m sorry—” She pressed her lips to his, cutting him off. Her hands cupped the back of his neck. Eyes wide with surprise, he stood frozen for a heartbeat. Then, as the kiss continued, he wrapped his arms around her waist.
She tasted like mint and something sweet that he couldn’t name. Her body pressed against his, warm and soft. His fingers twined in her silky long hair and she moved closer to him, breasts thrusting against his chest. Her tongue danced against his, her mouth warm, her lips mashed to his. Before he could think about what he was doing, his hands dipped lower, cupping her butt. She ground her pelvis against his, and she pushed into him until his back met the wall. Her hands ran through his hair, caressed his cheeks, brushed his shoulders. He twined his tongue with hers, pushing deeper into her mouth. She moaned against his lips.
Heart ramming in his chest, he broke the kiss. Eyes wide, he began to untangle himself from her. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Shh,
papi
,” she whispered, and crushed her lips to his again.
Warmth shot through his body. He felt the crotch of his pants tighten. She dipped her hands down to the waistband of his jeans, running her fingers along the skin of his stomach. He shivered. Teasing her tongue with his, he put his hands on her waist. Slowly, he reached under her shirt. Her skin felt hot against the tips of his fingers. She moaned again, thrusting her pelvis against his. He ran his fingers up her ribcage and cupped her breasts. She cried out and pulled her lips from his. Teeth grazed his neck as she ran hot wet kisses along his jawline.
Her fingers fumbled at the button of his jeans and dipped into his pants. Soft hands cupped his penis, and he arched his back against the wall. Blood roaring through his ears, he lifted her bra and ran his fingers along her nipples, tweaking them. She yanked her hand out of his pants and, twining her hands with his, pulled him out of the living room and into the hall.
Savannah whispered something in Spanish and pushed open the door to his bedroom. As they stepped inside, he grabbed her again, tongue prodding into her mouth. He closed the door behind them and locked it. Pushing her toward the bed, he pulled her shirt off over her head. She yanked his shirt off and tossed it to the floor. For a moment, they stared at each other. Her eyes were wide and wet, heavy with lust and something else. He bent down and kissed her cheeks, making his way over to her lips. She pulled down his jeans and motioned for him to step out of them. Then, she unbuttoned her own.
His heart raced in his chest as he gently pushed her onto the bed. Bending down to kiss her again, he grabbed a handful of her hair. Her fingers wrapped around his penis again. His back arched and he moaned.
“Do you have a condom?” she whispered.
He shook his head. His heart slammed in his chest. He hadn’t needed to buy any in so long.
Holding a finger up, she slipped out from underneath him. Yanking on his tee shirt, she padded to the door. She eased into the hall, closing the door behind her. Max lay on his back, heart thudding. He should have been prepared. He squeezed his eyes shut. The moment was probably ruined. He put an arm over his eyes and sighed.