A Holiday Tradition Page 5

  Paul lowered himself to the floor, careful to ease his casted leg into a comfortable position before he pulled the container toward him. The fine layer of dust tickled his nose, and he sneezed. A tingle ran up his spine, a sudden sense he shouldn’t be here, but curiosity already had him lifting the lid.

  “Hmm,” he muttered. The contents were jumbled together without order, like someone had wiped their arm across the top of a desk, knocking everything in and closing it up without looking back.

  Paul poked gingerly at the mess, all the usual pen and paper-clip holders, a plug-in mug warmer—nice—before settling on the edge of a large frame pushed down on the side. He looked around as if someone could see him and then lifted it out of the box.

  It was a diploma. A fancy one, the paper thick and imposing even through the glass. Paul had seen plenty of diplomas like it in his father’s office and hung on the wall of the executive who interviewed him for his internship. This one was for a Juris Doctor and was made out to K. Alexander Lombardo.

  Paul sucked in a shaky breath, tightening his fingers on the edges of the frame. Kevin was a lawyer. He repeated the words in his mind, trying to get them to make sense.

  Kevin had a law degree, but he managed the park. Paul gnawed on his lower lip. Kevin was the success Paul’s father wanted Paul to be, and yet he wasn’t. Why? And why hadn’t he ever mentioned it?

  Paul was familiar with the various ethics and other investigations some of his father’s friends were the subject of. Plenty of evenings around the dinner table had featured his father’s glee when the inquiries were shut down for one reason or another. Had something similar happened to Kevin? Paul drew in a quick breath. Had Kevin been disbarred?

  Paul put his hand on his stomach, nauseous at the mere thought Kevin might have anything in common with those men. He shook his head. No. He knew Kevin Lombardo. Maybe only a few weeks, by the calendar, but deep down, Paul knew Kevin.

  Whatever the reason behind his career change, it was Kevin’s, and that was good enough for him. Paul pushed the frame back into the box, along with his shame at intruding into Kevin’s personal life. Kevin had been nothing but welcoming to Paul, and this was how he repaid him? Thinking the worst?

  Paul shoved the container back where he’d found it. There on the shelf directly in front of his nose was a box labeled Bingo. He used his crutch to climb to his feet and rifled through the contents until he found the balls he needed.

  He juggled them in his hand until he managed to tuck them under his elbow. It only took a few minutes to turn out the lights and lock the office door. His thoughts, however…. He wished he had a switch for them.

  Chapter 7

  “YOU’RE AWFULLY quiet today.” Kevin stood on the other side of the desk, his arms folded across his chest and his biceps bulging against the cuffs of his T-shirt sleeves.

  Paul yawned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Rough night.” What an understatement. His brain had refused to shut down and kept returning to the image of Kevin’s diploma, creating stranger and wilder explanations with each passing hour. His restless night had left him dull and lifeless compared to Kevin’s vibrant personality (and biceps).

  He had eventually drifted into an uneasy doze, one filled with dreams starring Kevin. Not the Kevin who stood before him. Dream Kevin was as disturbingly handsome but dressed in tailored suits and filled in for the jerk who’d interviewed Paul for the internship. “I guess I’m in kind of a bad mood.”

  “Good thing for you I have the cure.”

  Kevin’s smug tone had Paul gazing at him with suspicion. “What?”

  “Come with me and I’ll tell you,” Kevin wheedled.

  Paul frowned at the document, open and waiting on the monitor, and at his cell phone, his father’s last few texts still unanswered. The same mulish determination that kept him plugging away at this paper had him joining Kevin on the other side of the desk. Leaving his phone behind? This time the decision was deliberate.

  “Let’s go.”

  They ended up at the local diner again. The waitress greeted them with a smile and assured them their favorite table was open.

  Kevin thanked her. Paul stayed quiet. Despite his initial determination not to fall prey to the distraction of Kevin’s charm, they had ended up going out enough to have a “favorite table.”

  They placed their orders without needing the menu. How often had they eaten here together? Paul’s mental contortions were interrupted when Kevin moved his water glass off to the side and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

  “So spill,” he demanded.

  Paul shook his head, unable to articulate his sense of control slipping away. “You first.”

  “How can I give you the right cure without you telling me the reason?” Kevin sat back with a mild pout.

  That’s the problem, Paul thought with morose humor. The more time Paul spent with Kevin, the more grounded he became. Kevin was the cure. It was like the studies showing how the positive ions in large bodies of fresh water affected the human body. “Too bad, so sad,” Paul chimed back.

  “Okay.” Kevin’s barely hidden excitement danced in his eyes. “Christmas parade!” he announced grandly.

  Paul stared.

  “For the holidays.” Kevin pointed at the decorations above the register. “Every year we have a parade for the residents. I’m talking floats, Santa, the euchre guys making up a mini marching band. The whole shebang.”

  Paul held on to his grumpiness with everything he had. “You’re kidding me.”

  Kevin flattened his hands on the table and leveled a determined glance at Paul. “You can’t be in a bad mood when Santa’s coming to town. You’ll end up on the naughty list.”

  “I’m living with sand, no snow, and temperatures that hover around seventy-three degrees,” Paul responded with dry sarcasm. “It’s totally un-holiday-like.”

  “You say that now, but if you help with this year’s celebration, you’ll change your tune.”

  Paul imagined himself taking part in a retirement village’s holiday parade, and he froze, a thin tendril of panic slithering up his spine. He could see it. Damn Kevin Lombardo. It was all his fault. Paul wasn’t supposed to have become a part of anything here.

  His father had counted on Paul staying isolated, his attention fixed on his future at his father’s side. So where did these doubts come from? Or the soft, fluffy dreams that followed? Paul rubbed his forehead, the headache he’d been fighting all day getting worse.

  “I found your diploma,” he blurted across the happy stream of Kevin’s holiday babble.

  “Okay.” Kevin’s reply came slower than usual, his voice harder. Paul’s stomach lurched when the excited sparkle in Kevin’s eyes dulled.

  “I’m sorry,” Paul said. “I wasn’t snooping. I was looking for a fresh set of balls for bingo to shut Lloyd up. But I need to ask—”

  “What did I do that was so terrible I ended up here?” Kevin snorted. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I quit. No drama, no great scandal. I woke up one morning, went to work, and I resigned.” He slumped in his seat and crossed his arms, his steady gaze never leaving Paul’s.

  Paul swallowed the lump of shame and guilt in his throat, both at his thoughts and at using Kevin’s past to derail him from including Paul in the life of the park any further. “Don’t you miss it?”

  “No,” Kevin said with a brutal frankness. “I got rid of my migraines, heartburn, and lowered my blood pressure.”

  Paul reached in his pocket for his phone, not because of an alert—he knew he’d left his phone on the desk—but out of an ingrained habit.

  “Yeah,” Kevin added. “I stopped doing that too.” He uncrossed his arms with a sigh. “I spent years chasing success. I set my sights on a partnership and never looked back.”

  “What changed your mind?” Paul desperately wanted to hear Kevin’s answer and just as desperately refused to admit why.

  “Did you know my grandmother lived here in the park?
” Kevin asked out of the blue. “I’d visit her as a kid, but then I sacrificed everything for my career.” He spit out the last word like a poison.

  “That’s life.” Paul tried to offer something to counteract the bitterness in Kevin’s voice.

  “I was so caught up in myself I didn’t notice she needed me. She got involved in an investment scam.” His lips twisted into a thin line. “Wanted something to leave me.” He shook his head. “She paid the price. She lost everything, and then she just… gave up.”

  “I’m sorry.” Paul reached out and took Kevin’s hand in his, smoothing his thumb over the rough knuckles. The hands of a hardworking man, not a manicure in sight. He remembered Grandpa Louie offering his condolences their first night at the park, yet had never given her another thought.

  Kevin pushed on. “I walked away, liquidated my savings, and bought the park. I found out who was treating the people fairly and kicked a few asses of those who weren’t. Too late to help my grandmother, but I’m making a difference.” The flood of Kevin’s words slowed, his voice softening. “I probably seem crazy to you.”

  “No,” Paul said, the words like ash in his mouth. He tightened his grip on Kevin’s hand. “I hate what I’m doing too.” His stomach churned, equal parts acid and fear rising into his throat. “I never wanted a degree in finance, and I don’t want to work for my father or his friends.”

  “Oh.” Kevin opened his mouth, those gorgeous lips forming an unspoken question.

  “You think I’m being weak, doing what my father wants?” Paul whispered his darkest fear.

  “No.” Kevin seemed to weigh his next few words with care. “I understand you want to repay your father for his support and make him proud. But what I don’t understand….” He paused, as if deciding whether to continue. “Why aren’t your dreams good enough?”

  The question echoed in the silence between them. Paul released Kevin’s hand, his stomach twisting around in time with his thoughts. He needed distance, both physical and emotional. “I’m not feeling so hot. Maybe we should get this to go.”

  Kevin looked crushed. He pressed his lips together and nodded, a sharp, tight motion. “If that’s what you want.”

  Paul didn’t have the guts to tell him it wasn’t what he wanted at all.

  PAUL DIDN’T sleep any more that night than the one before, his thoughts turning and twisting over Kevin’s question. He stumbled into the office the next morning, unsure if he should even be there, but Kevin treated him as if nothing had happened.

  Another week passed. Everything between them seemed fine. Kevin smiled and greeted him with coffee like usual. But they stopped having lunch together, and much to Paul’s private dismay, the light, friendly touches Kevin had given so freely disappeared. So did the undercurrent, the connection that used to hum just out of Paul’s awareness every time Kevin was near.

  Things were fine. Better than fine, Paul fiercely told himself, resolutely squashing his unhappiness and any hint of the doubts troubling him with dogged recitation: he had a paper to write. A future ahead. All he had to do was follow the plan and make his father proud. His art could stay a hobby, a way to relieve stress, and a reward for his hard work.

  As for his dreams? There’d be time enough for those. Later. For now he had Kevin as a friend. It was enough to appreciate his drive and concern for the residents of the park and his gentle sense of humor.

  Paul had never been very good at lying to himself.

  Which was why, when Kevin stood in the doorway to the office, a tool belt wrapped around his waist in a way Paul found too damn sexy for his own good, he didn’t hesitate to close the document on his screen.

  “Want to come help me?” Kevin slouched against the doorframe, scratching his shoulder against the wood.

  “To do what?” Paul bit back his offer to scratch that itch for him. It was the first time Kevin had sought him out in days.

  “Official park business.”

  “Official? Well, how can I refuse?” Paul teased. He doubted he’d be much help, but he reached for his phone and crutches anyway.

  “Time is growing short, and it’s all hands on deck.” Kevin locked the french doors behind them, and Paul waited while he moved the clock hands on the Be Back Later sign ahead an hour.

  Paul planted his crutches and swung down the steps. He’d been up and down them so many times now he didn’t have to watch his footing. “What’s in it for me?”

  Kevin grinned, his dark hair already tousled, a lone curl sticking to the sweat-damp skin of his forehead. Things hadn’t flowed this naturally between them in days, and Paul welcomed the return. “I guess it all depends on how much help you are.”

  They settled into Kevin’s pickup and headed toward the rear of the park. Paul was surprised by his familiarity with the layout and didn’t hesitate to return the chorus of hellos and waves from the residents they passed, several of whom Paul had assisted when they came to the park office and Kevin was out. It gave him an unexpected sense of belonging.

  They stopped alongside three other trucks, each one filled with four or five of the younger and more able-bodied residents. Paul’s curiosity grew, fueled by the crates piled in an empty lot.

  Kevin opened Paul’s door. “Jim is going to drive the truck. You can get in the back with me.”

  Still unsure, Paul let himself be seated in the truck bed along with a couple of the mystery containers. Kevin helped load the other trucks and then climbed in with him while two of the trucks took position on the other side of the street.

  Kevin removed the crate lids and hauled out an enormous roll of holiday lights wrapped around a cylinder. He dropped it onto Paul’s lap, the unexpected weight almost knocking the air from Paul’s lungs but leaving him with a glow of accomplishment when he caught and juggled the bundle into a more comfortable position.

  “Warn a guy, will you?” The bulbs strung on the wire were larger than he expected, with an industrial appearance.

  “Where’s the fun in that?” Kevin grabbed on to the side of the truck, tapping the roof with his other hand as a signal to start. “I knew you could handle it.”

  Paul held on when the vehicle lurched forward. The side windows were open, allowing them to hear the music as all four vehicles tuned to the same Christmas station. “What’s the plan? Other than hoping you don’t fall out.”

  “We hang the lights, and the trucks behind us put up the ornaments.” Kevin leaned over so he didn’t have to shout over the music, bracing himself with his hand on Paul’s shoulder, the familiar weight and warmth as welcome as his grin earlier. “You’ll unspool the wire and make sure it doesn’t tangle on me.”

  Paul shook his head. “You’re all crazy.”

  Kevin laughed. “It’s easier with a cherry picker but not nearly as much fun.”

  They stopped at the first light pole, and Kevin showed Paul how to ease the wire out when he needed more length. Another pat on the top of the truck, and they rolled on to the next pole.

  Moving his foot in time with the music, Paul greedily catalogued the flex of Kevin’s back and biceps before he felt like too much of a creep and turned his attention to the other trucks. He could find the logic, if not any real safety, in the assembly-line-like procession, both sides of the street taking on an immediately festive air.

  By the time they hit the first intersection, they were in the middle of a street party. Residents came out of their trailers and cheered them on, singing along with the carols and offering cookies and cold bottles of water as they worked in the sun. If this was merely the setup, Paul could only imagine the actual parade.

  Not for the first time, Paul wished he didn’t have the cast. “I’m not being a lot of help,” he yelled.

  “Sure you are,” Kevin replied without turning. “Give me more slack.”

  By the time they made it through two crates of lights, Paul had given in to the insanity. He sang, he laughed, he flirted with Kevin and the elderly women plying them with sweets. Take that, Gran
dpa Louie.

  Sweat trickled down Paul’s neck, the sun already reddening his skin. He might have been in Florida for a few weeks now, but he hadn’t spent much time outside.

  Their truck stopped, but Paul didn’t react until Kevin plopped a hat onto his head, the wide brim offering an instant and welcome shade. “Thanks.”

  “You were starting to look like a lobster.” Kevin squatted beside him, close enough for Paul to count the freckles that dotted his right shoulder where his shirtsleeve pulled up. He handed Paul a cold bottle of water.

  Paul pressed the bottle against his cheek. Nice. He grinned, then stuck the bottle onto Kevin’s arm. Kevin’s high-pitched squeal made the retribution promised in Kevin’s eyes definitely worth it.

  Kevin settled beside him, their thighs brushing. “We’ll pick up another couple of crates at the next street over.”

  “Does Florida have lobsters?” The question struck Paul out of the blue.

  “Lobsters are found in the ocean. Florida has plenty of ocean. But we are known for spiny lobsters. They favor the warmer waters.” Kevin elbowed him and then took a drink of water. “You haven’t been to the beach?”

  “No.” Determined not to be caught staring, Paul looked at the huge star the truck behind them was hooking into place. “It’s not like I’m here on vacation.”

  “Oh my God,” Kevin groaned, a lot louder and longer than Paul thought the moment deserved. “We’re going. As soon as we get this finished.”

  “What?” Paul said. “No.”

  “You’re a northerner in Florida in December.” Kevin jumped out of the truck to help load the next crate. “We’re going to the beach.”

  Chapter 8

  DESPITE ALL of Paul’s (admittedly halfhearted) protests, he found himself at the state park parking lot, amazed at the wide expanse of white sand and turquoise water. The scene was straight out of a postcard, with plenty of sun and calm surf—if you didn’t pay attention to the beachgoers huddled under the pavilion, all dressed in long pants and jackets zipped to their necks.