A Billionaire for Christmas

See? God. This dude is so… on it.

But I can tell that Emma is about to say, “Legitimate,” so I have to intervene. “Emma. Let’s think about this.” Because there’s no way we’re not landing in Key West. Her mother would hunt us down and boss our asses back to Florida so fast, our heads would be on backwards from all the spinning when we arrived. “It’s Christmas Eve eve, babe. Your whole family expects us to show up for festivities. Are you really gonna let some sea monster called Karen ruin our holiday?”

She considers this. “Yes.”

I laugh and cross the distance between us to pull her into a tight hug. “Come on. You can handle Kraken Karen, right? It’s just one party. A few hours and it’s over. You’ll never have to see her again.”

“No. You don’t understand, Jesse. Kraken Karen moved back in.” She grabs her hair with both hands. “Oh, my God. She now lives behind us! Like directly behind us! We will literally be able to look out our bedroom window and see her stupid face across our backyards. Before it was just kitty-wonkus diagonal and now it’s just… behind us!”

Even Miles is confused at this string of words.

“What?” I say.

“Her old house is the house right behind the Emma and Jesse cottage on Dumas Street! Jesus Christ. I can’t do it. I won’t do it.”

“Emma, come on. How bad can she be?”

“You have no idea. I have stories.”

I glance at Miles, who just shrugs. “The Krakkens are terrible.”

“Terrible… I’m-gonna-kill-you Mob-boss style? Or just your everyday, ordinary terrible?” Emma shoots me a look. “Well, I just need to make sure. If Miles knows the Krakkens they could be—” But Miles is making a motion of zip-your-lip-Jesse, so I stop. “What?”

“She’s just horrible, Jesse,” Emma continues. “Just… horrible. And the minute she sees you, she’s gonna latch onto you with those hooked-tentacle claws of hers and—”

“OK, stop.” I hold up a hand. “Really? Come on, Emma. You’re my girl. You’re my jam, baby! There isn’t a kraken alive that could change my mind about you.”

She pouts. And oh, my God. That pout. I mean, Emma pouts all the time. It’s a perpetual pout. That’s just her sexy lips in their natural glory. And can I just say, she’s got the sexiest fucking lips I’ve ever seen. Mad, sad, angry, happy—that pout does me in.

I hug her tighter and then kiss her softly. “Relax, babe. Seriously. It’s gonna be fine. One party. That’s it. One party and we’re done with Kraken Karen. We’ll close the drapes in the bedroom and never look out the window again. Hell, we can stay in another cottage if you want. Some of them are empty, right?”

“I don’t know for sure.” She sniffs. It’s a fake, pouty sniff, but that’s OK. She’s allowed to fake-cry if she wants. “We’re usually all booked up for the holidays. But I guess we could stay in Zach’s cabin.”

“See!” I nod at Miles. “It’s all settled. That’s perfect. I’m sure Zach would love for us to stay with him. Little fucker owes me, anyway. I let him stay with me for thirteen years.”And it does seem settled. Emma calms down, eats a couple dozen Barbie and Ken rolls, drinks three or seventeen glasses of champagne orange fizzy, and half-listens in tipsy fascination as Miles whips out a map of Vegas that details the route and check-in process for his secret underground black-ops poker game tomorrow night.

And just a little while after that’s all done, we’re getting ready to land. Miles is cleaning up, and Emma is calm again, resting in her super-luxurious leather seat with her eyes closed, Kraken Karen forgotten.

And then we’re on the ground. And the winter sun is beaming down on me like a big ol’ welcome-home bath of UV light.

I love it.

I love this place.

I could live here.

If I could talk Emma into moving the Bright Berry Beach corporate offices down here, I would. But there’s no way she’d come back to Key West for good. She’s a city girl now.

And even though I spent almost my whole life without Joey and Johnny, it’s really been great having them around again. Makes me feel like we’re kids again.

Then we’re in the car heading towards Dumas Street, which, to my surprise, has been blocked off with orange cones. “What’s this?” I ask Emma when the town car pulls over to the side of the road.

“The party.”

“You block off the cul-de-sac? And… is that a shaved ice stand I see in the middle of the street?”

“Every year, Mr. Boston. And yes, that’s shaved ice. I’m gonna buy you a cherry vanilla in a Dumas souvenir cup the minute it opens. The Dumas street party is a very big deal on the island. Even the tourists come to celebrate the palm-tree lighting.”