Three Christmas Wishes - Krista Wolf Page 0,57

Kade was even looking around for sticks when I held up my hand.

“All three of you are my boyfriends,” I said, enjoying the all new flavor the word had in my mouth. “So no one’s getting left out. Besides, you helped with my pieces. You’re honorary artists now! So you’re all coming along… somehow.”

Brock stepped in, the warmth of his body adding to that of the stainless steel propane heater. It all felt amazing.

“How are you going to swing this?” he asked.

“Dunno yet,” I told him truthfully. “But the three of you booked the foundry for me. You came up with the money. You even helped with the casting, and set up the trip.”

Looking back at all three of them, I winked.

“You let me figure out this last part.”

Forty-Two

SLOANE

New Year’s Eve was never anything big in my life. There was a party here, a party there, but mostly just champagne, midnight kisses, and passing out drunk a few times just before the event. One year however, I made my way all the way down to Times Square in the heart of Manhattan to watch the ball drop. I considered it a pilgrimage that every New Yorker had to make at least once in their life. A rite of passage, so to speak, for anyone who called this state their home.

As fun as that was, this year would certainly top it. And that’s because this was my breakout year. The year I’d go from a starving artist to a well-known sculptor whose work is recognized and even sought after.

And hopefully, maybe even valuable.

This New Years’ Eve however, things would be different. And that’s because this year it would be all business.

Knock. Knock.

I still rapped on Valerio’s wide-open door before entering his bedroom. He was sitting at the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, staring at the floor.

“Valerio, what is it?”

He whipped his chin up immediately, his face breaking into his trademark innocent smile. “Who, me?” he grinned. “Nothing at all, why—”

“Because you look like your dog died,” I told him. Then, with a horrifying thought: “Your dog didn’t die, did it?”

“No,” he smiled weakly. “As far as I’ve heard Samson’s still alive and kicking.”

“He’s seventeen,” I pointed out, trying to inject some humor. “Maybe you should check.”

“Eighteen,” Valerio corrected. “But yeah, he’s okay.”

“Are you going to your family’s place tonight?” I asked nonchalantly.

“No.”

Considering we’d just spent Christmas — as well as the better part of the following week — in Toronto, I thought his answer was surprising.

“I mean, I know they’re probably mad at you for missing Christmas dinner,” I said. “Brock and Kade told me you go each year no matter what. That it’s always been a big thing over there, and—”

“Not this year.”

I sank down on the bed beside him. For the first time I recognized some of the soccer photos hung about the room were of Valerio himself. His perfect body was contorted in all manner of positions as he spiked, kicked, and headed the ball.

“Why not this year?” I asked.

“Because they’re down in Argentina right now,” he said. “They went down for the holidays.”

I slid an arm around him and began rubbing his back. It was broad and hard, with ridges upon ridges of deeply-athletic muscle.

“So why didn’t you go with them?” I asked.

“Because I wanted to be with you.”

His answer was as pure and genuine as he was. The innocence of it made my heart melt, even as it caused me to become wracked with guilt.

“But your family…”

“They went down one last time to settle things,” he went on, “so they’re all set when they come down for good.”

“For good?”

My lover nodded sullenly. “They told me the other day. They want me to come with them, to go ‘home’ as they put it. Only Argentina’s not my home. It never was.”

He looked at me, and his eyes were full of sorrow. Sorrow but not regret.

“It’s just a place I vacationed while growing up here.”

I could relate, actually. More than he ever knew.

“My own parents moved south, pretty much ditching me here,” I said. “I guess I could’ve gone with them, rented my own place. But I was born and raised here. I didn’t want to leave.”

Valerio turned to look at me, perhaps taking some of my strength. There was a deep admiration in his eyes.

“I love this town,” I went on. “I love the feel of it, the people. Shit, I even love the weather.” I slid my arm further over his