Gideon.
Fuck. I did not want to talk to anyone, him especially, but I couldn’t exactly pretend to not be home. And I had lectured him about being up on that roof alone. What if he needed help? I couldn’t turn him away only to have him risking his neck again.
“Yes?” I opened the door to find him standing there holding a plastic container. The air had a decided bite to it, but he had only a fleece pullover on.
“Hi.” His smile was winning as ever, but I couldn’t find the energy to return it. Best I could do was a nod. “I wanted to say thank you again for the rescue.”
“No problem.”
“And I know you said no to sharing my pie, but Cheryl brought a giant one over with her famous butter crust.” He held the container out. “No way can I do it justice. So I brought you a piece. You can freeze it if you’d rather.”
“Okay.” I accepted the container, suddenly tired all the way down to my toenails. I shook my head, trying to clear it. I was being rude. Ruder than usual, at least. Fuck. “Sorry. Thanks. Appreciate it.”
“Are you feeling all right?” Gideon narrowed his eyes right as Jim pressed up against my leg. Taking a step back, Gideon continued to study me. “You’re pale.”
“Me? Sure. I’m great.” Earlier, I’d managed a hearty tone for Brandon, but here it came out all strained. Jim thrust her shaggy head past the doorframe, making Gideon look further alarmed. I made a shooing motion. “Jim, go lie down.”
“You don’t look great.” Naturally, Gideon didn’t seem inclined to drop his questioning and head back to his warm house. As seemed his custom, almost every light was on over there, unlike the dark living room behind me. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but if you need anything—”
“I don’t.”
He smiled sadly, like he’d expected my quick refusal. “Well, I’m here. If you need a favor or someone to listen…”
“What I need is a decorator,” I said without thinking. I definitely didn’t need help. Or to talk. Fuck that. I wasn’t a complainer. I only needed to figure out this Brandon problem and I’d be golden.
Blinking, Gideon tilted his head. “Pardon?”
Damn it. Now I’d have to explain before he assumed I was high. “I need the perfect proposal backdrop.”
“You’re proposing to someone?” His expression grew more puzzled, eyes drawing together, mouth frowning, and nose wrinkling like he didn’t much care for the notion of me marrying. As if.
“Not me. My kid brother. Just found out he’s bringing his girlfriend here for Christmas. And he wants to pop the question.” There. That was way more explanation than I’d intended to give.
“Congrats to them.” Gideon’s face lost some of its mulishness.
“Yeah, well, he’s wanting some sort of ideal setting to do it.” Apparently, I did need to talk because I couldn’t seem to shut up and get on with sending Gideon back to his house. “Tree. Decorations. Whatever. I don’t have a clue.”
“And you’re…not prepared for guests?” Wrapping his arms around himself, he shuffled his feet. I couldn’t exactly let the guy freeze any more than I could have left him on his roof, so I opened the door farther to usher him in.
“You could say that.” Flipping on the light, I revealed the living room, which had gleaming hardwoods and built-ins, but a decided lack of furniture other than one of Jim’s beds. My old couch had had too many miles on it to move, and then I’d put off replacing it while I refinished the floors and woodwork. And then put it off again to paint. And then there had been little point because it wasn’t like I had a lot of guests. Gideon and his pie were a rarity on multiple levels.
“You see?” I gestured at the open space. “Furniture hasn’t been a priority. My guest room has a table saw in the middle of it.”
“Ah.” Behind his glasses, Gideon’s perfect eyebrows flirted with his poofy hairline. “Maybe your brother could stay with another friend or relative?”
“No. It’s just us.” And no way was I sending Brandon to a hotel. I might not have some fancy guest suite like Elaine’s folks, but I had my pride.
“Oh.” Gideon nodded, more of that sympathy I hated so much in his brown eyes. He’d said earlier how he didn’t have much family either, which had surprised me, a person like him home on Thanksgiving. He was so damn cheerful that I’d assumed a life packed with family and other obligations.
“I’ll just have to do something with the room upstairs,” I muttered, looking away from Gideon. Over on her bed, Jim glanced up, ever hopeful that I might give permission for her to come inspect Gideon. “Keep meaning to finally paint in there, but other projects came first.”
“I know how that goes. But now you have an excuse to get that done.” He smiled widely. He was the type to see the bright side of a piece of charcoal. There probably wasn’t a disaster that he couldn’t spin to some sort of positive. Had to admire that mindset even if I knew better myself.
“Yeah. I’ll get it done. Buy a bed. And see about a tree.” I started a mental list then quickly got overwhelmed in a way I hadn’t been in years, too many things competing for my attention, everything with an ASAP label, and not enough time, money, or me to go around. “Fuck, I don’t even know where to start.”
“I do.” Gideon’s smile hadn’t dimmed in the slightest despite my admission. “You need help.”
Only he would see this as a good thing. “I don’t think—”
“You do. You need help. And luckily, I’ve got a plan for that.”
Chapter Six
Are those lights I spy? Congrats to the Levy Family for being the first to flip the switch this year. Let the season begin! ~ Cheryl Bridges posted to the What’s Up Neighbor app
Gideon
I had waited years for Paul Frost to need something. A cup of sugar. A spare fan. An extra chair. He probably had me beat in the tool department, but I did have a drill I was rather fond of. And I would have let him use it. But this, this was even better. He needed something I was good at, and finally getting the chance to impress him with something other than my knack for forgetting the trash cans had me all bouncy.
“I happen to be excellent at decorating,” I said with no trace of humility.
“I can’t ask—”
“You didn’t. I’m offering. You need the perfect holiday proposal. And I’m Mr. Holiday.” I gave a flourish with my hand, like a magician revealing a trick.
“I’m aware.” That Paul didn’t share my enthusiasm for the situation went without saying, but he also seemed decidedly less pale than he had when he’d opened the door.
“I’ve even helped several friends propose.” Such was the consequence of getting older. I’d orchestrated proposals, consoled public breakups, officiated second weddings, and watched most of my crowd happily pair up. Luckily, I did love a good excuse to dress up. “There was this one flash mob—”
“Please, no flash mobs.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I just need a tree.”