Free Black Flame by Ruby Laska Page A

sparkling lights. And below the tree, the light reflected off a pair of gifts wrapped in beautiful silver paper.
    The gifts hadn’t been there the night before—Jimmy was sure of it. He crouched down and lifted one of them. A scalloped tag read, “To Jimmy from Santa,” and a bow made of what looked like packaging twine was knotted around a small pine bough. Tucked into the bow was a single perfect red feather.
    Jimmy thought of Deneen standing in the doorway yesterday, hiding something in her cupped hands. He was somehow sure it had been this feather, a small treasure that others would have overlooked, but had caught her eye. He examined the perfect vane, the downy barbs, the stiff quill, and imagined the delicate redbird that had left behind this memento on Christmas Eve.
    “Are you going to open it?”
    Jimmy turned to see Deneen standing sleepily behind him, covering a yawn with her fingers. She was already dressed, in close-fitting jeans and an even closer fitting red sweater that hugged her curves and gave just a hint of what lay underneath, the swell of her breasts peeping out from a bit of white lace. Jimmy swallowed hard, before taking in her hair, unstyled and falling in messy waves around her face, and her clean-scrubbed face.
    She was beautiful without even a speck of makeup, and Jimmy wanted to tell her so, but she had asked a question that required a response.
    “Uh…” His mind circled, trying to remember what she had asked him before he’d been overwhelmed by the mere sight of her. Then he remembered the package in his hands.
    “I’m sorry to say that I still don’t believe in Santa,” he said gravely.
    Deneen laughed, and plopped down on the sofa, curling her legs underneath her prettily. “That’s okay. You can still open it. Both of them, actually. You must have been a very good boy.”
    Then she winked at him, a gesture that took hold of his insides and scrambled them. At least, that was what it felt like as Jimmy tore the paper from the package, setting the feather carefully on the coffee table. Inside was a handsome leather case, which Jimmy unzipped to reveal a neat row of grooming implements including nail scissors and trimmers.
    “This is very nice,” he said. He held the kit up for inspection in the light of the tree.
    “It was supposed to be for Matthew,” Deneen said apologetically. “I’ll get him something else, though. Quick, open the other one before I change my mind.”
    Jimmy opened the second package more slowly, adding a second red feather to the one on the table. Deneen had given him the gift she had brought for her sister’s fiancé. Did that signal affection, or pity, or…
    Layers of tissue fell away from the object in his hand. It was a small round ceramic frame, fitted with a silky golden ribbon loop, and painted with a design of tiny gingerbread men and lollipops. In the center of the design, the year was painted in curlicue numerals.
    “I make one every year,” Deneen said. “Ever since I was fifteen and I bought my first set of acrylic paints. I’ve got—well, let’s see, I’m twenty-seven so I guess this one makes an even dozen.”
    She was speaking quickly and averting her eyes, classic signs of conversational discomfort, so Jimmy tried to think of a response that would serve to reassure her.
    “It’s very nice.”
    “Oh. Well. Um, thanks.”
    “The gingerbread cookies look very…realistic.”
    “Um, thanks, but they’re—it was—I mean, I should have probably just started over.”
    Instead of reassuring her, his comments seemed to be making it worse. And he was going to have to spend the next four hours in her company, in a situation that was already going to tax Jimmy’s emotional resources.
    “I saw the cake too,” he blurted. “Your work is remarkable. It’s, er, symmetrical now. And tasty.”
    Deneen’s smile wavered. Inexplicably, it looked like she might cry. This combination of happy and sad was among the worst of female