Wedded to a Wayne: A Finn World Holiday Romance

“That’s what you’re thinking about?” I eye him in disbelief and then chuckle. “It’s not even Thanksgiving and you’re already decorating the house?”

“Seamus and Bellamy put theirs up already. Penny told Barry that you can see their house from space. We don’t need to go that crazy. But maybe something.”

Getting out of my chair, I place my hand on his head and spin him around to march him out the door. “I’m sure his neighbors love that. And you know Bellamy is richer than Midas. He can afford to buy as many lights as he wants.”

Seamus Finn’s husband is an interesting character. Generous to a fault and as great with his kids as Seamus himself.

“A few months ago, you said you were too old for Christmas,” I remind him. “You were a little grumpy about it, as I recall. You told Grandma you didn’t even want a stocking.”

“Things happened and I changed my mind. It’s my prerogative.”

My son is Bobby Brown now. “Fine, Lang. If you want to help me string up some lights, we can do that. Nothing crazy. No blow-up snowmen or animatronic reindeer. A tasteful manger, tops.”

“Just lights, Dad. Can you do them soon?”

“Don’t we usually see decorations popping up December first?”

“Half the block is already doing it.”

I don’t let him see my eyeroll. It’s getting earlier all the time. One day I’m going to turn around and there’ll be Christmas music playing in June.

But Lang rarely asks for anything. And he and Barry have both been anxious since Rowena came back into the mix. “We’ll do it soon.”

When we reach his room, I lean against his bedroom door and watch him climb beneath the covers. “Love you, son. Get some sleep.”

“Me too. Don’t work all night.”

I smile as I head back down the hall to my office. I’m blessed with good sons.

There’s a response waiting on my laptop when I return.

To: Emerson Wayne

From: Tanisha Chahal

Subject: Lunch

As long as there is a margarita to go with those enchiladas, I’m available for that conversation.

Short and to the point. My smile widens as I shut down my laptop and take the file to bed for more reading. I have a little more research to do.

And I’m hungry already.

***

Based on the way her nose wrinkles as she takes the first sip of her margarita, I don’t think Tanisha drinks that often.

“You okay over there?”

She sets down the jumbo-sized glass and looks around the restaurant I’ve chosen for our lunch meeting. It’s a hole in the wall. A tiny Mexican place around the backside of a side street near a run-down strip mall. Not many people know about it, which is fine with me, because it has some of the best food in town. I go to church with the old man who owns it.

It’s private. And that’s what we need for this conversation.

“It’s strong,” she admits with an embarrassed smile. “But delicious.”

“Everything on the menu is good,” I assure her. “But the enchiladas are the best.”

“I’m sure I’ll like them.” She fiddles with the small gold earring in her ear, and then the stem of her glass, before speaking again. “You had questions?”