Lincoln
With Thanksgiving and Christmas right around the corner, there's a new sense of magic in the air around the people of New York. On any other given week, if I were to have accidentally bumped into the stranger as I just did, the man in his sixties with a carnival mustache more than likely would have strung a slew of four-letter cuss words in my direction. But with the Christmas music playing from a nearby speaker and a disguised Santa Claus ringing a bell on the corner, he grunts and continues across the busy intersection.
Now that is a Christmas miracle.
Margo clutches the sleeve of my wool peacoat as we pass multiple clothing stores near Times Square. The goal of today was to snag Sienna a present, but what am I supposed to buy a woman who could get anything she wanted by herself?
Plus, we haven't talked about the holidays. With her estranged relationship with her family, would she even want to celebrate? My Mom is the biggest freak about being able to celebrate anything. Birthdays, graduations... Even my good SAT scores in high school were a cause for an elaborate party. It's just how she is, though. Any reason to spend money and show off, my mother will take hold of that chance and run wild.
"Would you hurry up?" Margo glances over her shoulder and hauls us both through a group of teenage tourists taking selfies. "God, you just get slower with each passing year."
"And here I thought finding love would make you soften up for the holidays," I reply joyfully, not letting her mood bring me down. Margo has always hated Christmas for as long as I can remember.
"What is there to like about it?" She eyes the ice skating rink with a distasteful glare. "It still smells like piss water from the sewers, the horses are being run dry from lugging around lazy tourists in carriages in bone-chilling weather, might I add, and the snow isn't even pretty. It's a slush probably concocted of shit and more piss."
Margo, my best friend, at her finest.
"Remind me again how lucky Riley is to have you," I muse.
"Save it." She pulls me into a random store I've never seen before, but I'm thankful to be surrounded by warmth. I didn't think to wear a hat, and my ears sting in silent pain.
I pull off my leather gloves as Margo strides ahead to the counter. The shop owner seems to know her, an old woman hobbling with a cane, and I'm surprised when the woman smiles at her. Margo must be fond of her.
"What are we doing here?" I ask when I approach her side. The shop doesn't give away what is sold here. There are a bunch of random boxes stacked up in the back corner, and at the front, plants line wooden shelves in the windows, and little trinkets are placed on tables in the center. The place needs dusting, that's for sure.
"Riley is really into antiques," she explains as the old woman hobbles to the backroom. "A few weeks ago, she told me about her love for writing poetry, and she..." Her cheeks turn pink. She's blushing. I almost comment on it but think twice. "She wrote me a poem or two. Anyway, my grandma is good friends with Ms. Buckleberry, the woman who—"
I snort. "Buckleberry?"
She elbows me into the side. Hard. "I don't create last names, Linc. As I was saying, Ms. Buckleberry runs this antique store and mentioned to my mom about getting a typewriter from the late 1800s."
My heart does a little pitter-patter in my chest, and I'm not even the one receiving it.
"I decided to get her a present that combines two of her favorite things. Antiques and writing."
Ms. Buckleberry comes out, attempting to hold the large box and walk with her cane simultaneously. I quickly swoop in and grab the box from her, earning a thankful nod. She doesn't tell me thank you, but I assume that means she was born and raised here. Manners are hard to come by.
"You're making me look like shit," I say as Margo passes over her card to pay. "How am I supposed to top this? I can't buy Sienna anything she can't buy herself. It's frustrating as hell."
She rolls her eyes. "It's not about being over-the-top. It's the thought that counts. Take something Sienna enjoys and do something with that. That's it. Just a little effort. You men make things so much harder than they need to be."
I carry the box for Margo as she mutters her goodbyes to Ms. Buckleberry, and we once again head out into the busy streets. Snow has started to fall, tiny flurries blurring my vision.
"Just don't fuck it up," she adds, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her puffer coat. "I don't know if you truly comprehend the woman you have on your arm, but she's way out of your league. Like, lightyears out of it. Neptune, the furthest planet from Earth—"
"I get it," I snap. "I will put in thought and effort, but I'm not sure it will top your present for Riley. She's going to love it, Margo. Who knew she'd be the woman to melt your ice-cold heart?"
The Santa Claus we passed by earlier shakes his bell in Margo's face, but she clamps down on it to shut it up, pushing it roughly back against his chest. "Give it up," she sneers. "I saw you pocket the twenty-dollar bill those teenagers gave you on our way here, so take that bell and shove it up your ass."
She pushes her way through the thick crowds of people, and it's an effort to keep up with her. "Okay..." I mutter to myself, sighing heavily. "Maybe she hasn't melted it fully."
***
I'm pleased to find Sienna working out in the gym when I return home. Over the past week, we've gone over stances and punches, and while we haven't practiced them on punching bags, she's attempting to do so without any knowledge. She still doesn't know not to lean all her weight on her front foot, so the bag doesn't move. It barely budges when she wails on it with her fist. I bite back a laugh, leaning against the door frame with one shoulder. She still can't see me yet, her back towards me, but I'm enjoying the recoil her ass gives me with every punch she attempts.
It's quiet in here, too quiet. No music, no...nothing. She doesn't even have headphones in. "A silent workout?" I ask. When she whirls to face me, panic lacing her eyes with her hand over her heart, I quickly understand why she was working out in silence and feel horrible for scaring her. "Sorry," I say. "I should have announced myself sooner."
She shakes her head, stripping off her boxing gloves and tossing them to the ground in frustration. Sweat is trickling down her stomach, the band of her sports bra stained from the wetness, but I can't concentrate on that when she seems irritated and collapses to the floor, going right into stretching.
"How was shopping?" She asks.
I shrug and slip my sleek boots off to stand before her on the mat. "It was fine. I'd rather hear about what's got you all worked up."
"It's nothing. I'm fine."
I arch a brow.
"I'm fine," she repeats.
I extend a hand and bring her to her feet, the top of her head barely grazing underneath my chin. "Now I know that's a lie, Sienna. What's going through that head of yours?" I tilt her chin up so I can stare her in those beautiful, warm, honey-brown eyes, and as soon as our gaze locks, I know I've got her.
"I just don't know how to bring Travis down if I can't figure anything out. Who is betraying us? Who's the snoop? Maybe Travis wanted us to think that someone in our inner circle was doing this. Maybe he had the passcode to my house the entire time, and if he knows that, then how am I supposed to inflict remotely any ounce of pain when I can't even make the fucking punching bag move."
Bringing her close to my chest once she's finished, I let her take a few deep breaths after that speech and contemplate what to say next. This is one of those tricky scenarios my Mom always warned me about. Sometimes, venting doesn't call for advice. Sometimes, women just need someone to listen.
"Are you looking for advice or venting?" I ask.
Despite how upset she is, I can sense her smile. "Both?"
"Okay, well, in that case, working out takes time. Learning skills takes time."
"Time we don't have," she inputs.
"Regardless, worrying about the future isn't going to help anything. It's not going to change the situation we're facing, right? All we can do is handle the here and now, teaching you the necessary skills to kick this fucker where it hurts. That is what we focus on."
She nods into my cashmere sweater and inhales another deep breath. "I know. You're right. God, you smell good. What cologne is that?"
I shrug. "Something my Mom bought for me last Christmas. I'll show you the bottle later. But while we're on the topic of Christmas..."
She laughs. "You mean, the topic you just snuck into the conversation?"
"How would you feel about celebrating Thanksgiving with my family? My Mom makes a big deal about everyone being together, and she almost pitched a fit when I told her I didn't know if you'd be coming. By no means do you have to go, but if you want to, the invitation is there."
"Do you want me to go?" She asks.
"Of course I do. You're my girlfriend. This is what people do in relationships, right?"
She sits on the floor again and stretches her legs in the frog position. It takes everything I have not to pull those little yoga shorts down and take her from behind. "I always seem to forget you never did boyfriend-girlfriend things before me," she replies. "But spending Thanksgiving with your family sounds...nice. Well, aside from Jett. That'll be hell."
"If it makes you feel any better, Riley will probably be there, too. Margo's parents are on a cruise to celebrate their anniversary this year, so she's also been coerced into attending the party. She'll probably bring Riley as her date, so long as she's free."
Sienna tilts her head back from the floor to gaze up at me. "Party?"
"Oh, yeah. My Mom likes to throw elaborate functions on every occasion possible. You know how she is. The whole neighborhood will more than likely be in attendance."
She ponders the thought momentarily, pursing her lips before saying, "Well, I guess shaking things up this year will be nice, although Carmen will need to get an invite too, if that's okay. I normally celebrate with her on special days like those. Her family is still in Nigeria, so she doesn't get to see them. I've offered to fly her out, but she refuses. She always says she's not a charity case, but those are her parents, you know? She's got brothers and sisters and real family. People that care about her." Sienna's voice falters, and without asking, I sit in front of her and grab her hands with mine.
"I know holidays must be difficult for you, too," I whisper. Tears threaten to spill down her cheeks, but she keeps them at bay like the strong little warrior she is. "I want you to know that although your family broke your trust, we can create a new one together. Family isn't always blood, and I think we've got a good group around us to consider our own family, don't you?"
She smiles through tears and launches into my lap to hug me tightly. "When did you become so wise?"
A deep chuckle rumbles in my chest. "Don't let this outfit fool you, I'm not that smart." I glance down at my dark blue jeans, the tan cashmere sweater, and the black wool peacoat I still haven't taken off. I put on a pair of non-subscription glasses to complete the look, and Sienna takes them off my face to put them on her own. She looks cute. Adorable, even.
"I think you're very smart," she hums.
I scoff. "You're the business guru, not me."
"Good thing there are gurus for more than just business, right?"
My eyes instantly pop up to hers. I watch her lay down on her back, staring up at the ceiling with a smug smile as I rake over every curve on her sweaty body.
"And what subject am I the guru of?" I ask, already inching closer, knowing the answer.
Sienna's eyes widen, and she scrambles up to avoid my grasp. "Oh, no you don't!" She screeches when I pounce after her. She scurries away down the hall, but I'm faster, and she knows it. "Linc, I haven't showered! I'm disgusting!"
I reach her in two long strides, hauling her over my shoulder and earning a bird-like noise from her. She relentlessly groans and smacks my ass to put her down, but it's useless. My grip tightens around her thighs, causing her to laugh. "There's a little thing invented called a shower. Now come on, Sienna, it's time for another lesson on the subject I've recently been labeled the guru of."