“And on that lovely Yuletide note, I have something for you,” Gabriel said, leading me closer to the lights of the Christmas tree before handing me a small silver-wrapped package. With visions of jewelry dancing in my head, I opened it to find a little canister with a plastic trigger. “Mace?”
“Nope, silver in aerosol form,” he said proudly. “To prevent further parking-lot fights. Just don’t stand downwind when you use it.”
“Oh, how thoughtful,” I said, lifting it carefully from the box. With all the enthusiasm I could scrape together, I told him, “It’s really, really great.”
“It’s a gag gift,” he said crossly. “Zeb said you’d find this kind of thing funny. Lift up the tissue.”
“Zeb has spent most of his adult years playing GameBoy alone on Friday nights,” I said, rooting to the bottom of the box. “Don’t take relationship advice from Zeb.”
In the bottom of the box was a tissue-wrapped bundle. It was a little silver unicorn on a fine chain.
“Andrea said that paying homage to a little quirk in your personality, the closet unicorn obsession, would show that I care,” he said.
“It really does,” I told him. “Can I touch it?”
“It would be a good first step toward wearing it.”
“But it’s silver,” I said, hooking a tissue-protected finger around the clasp.
“No, it’s white gold,” he said as he looped the chain around my neck. “Perfectly safe for vampires.”
“All of the beauty of silver without the burning and itching,” I cooed, running my fingers over the curves of the unicorn’s tiny legs.
“Does that mean ‘thank you’ in your language?” he asked, tilting his head.
“Thank you, it’s very sweet,” I said, kissing him. “This is a wonderful coincidence, because I have this for you.”>“Fibber.” I rolled my eyes.
“I don’t know any one-word insults for false modesty, but I’ll come up with one,” she said. “In the meantime, sit, catch your breath, er, relax. Enjoy this quiet time when the house looks perfect and you look beautiful and no one is frazzled or complaining that they can’t eat anything because of their lactose intolerance.”
“That’s lovely,” I said. “Which shelter magazine did you get that from?”
She grinned. “Original material. Now, I’m going to go stare at the cheese and crackers and long for days gone by.”
“You and me both,” I muttered as someone or something battered at my kitchen door. Jolene, werewolf strength abounding, threw open the door with her hip and lugged a Coleman chest cooler into my kitchen.
“Either that’s a lot of food or you’re planning a really cheap funeral in my backyard,” I said, eyeing the mansized cooler.
Zeb hefted a tray of mini-quiches onto my counter. “Given your luck this year, do you think you should be joking about that?”
“Duly noted,” I said as Jolene unpacked a ham, mashed potatoes, stuffing, rolls, and what looked like a twenty-pound deep-fried turkey. “How many people are you planning to feed?”
“Me, Zeb, Mr. Wainwright, your friend Andrea …” she said, ticking off on her fingers. “Do you think I brought enough?”
I held up a two-gallon Tupperware container of yams. “Well, if nothing else, I have some pot pies in my freezer.”
“You have more pot pies?” Jolene cried, looking at the freezer with longing.
“Now you went and ruined her Christmas present.” Zeb grinned.
Gabriel came to the door looking almost festive. He was wearing a dark blue scarf, which may have been the only time I’d ever seen him wear an actual color. He was also carrying a load of packages, several bottles, and a bright pink bakery box.
“You’re all coiffed,” he said, clearly shocked.
“I am capable of cleaning up nice,” I said grumpily.
“Very nice.” He nodded and gave me a friendly peck.
“That was just sad,” a voice behind us drawled. We turned to see Dick, radiant in a holly-green T-shirt that said, “Join me on the naughty list,” carrying presents, a bottle of Boone’s Farm, and a sprig of mistletoe. “I’ve seen old people kiss better than that. Aunt Jettie is kissing Fred better than that right now.”