Christmas Chocolat

Every year at Halloween, Wayne and I would buy candy. Despite being single and almost broke, I couldn’t disappoint the few hopeful trick-or-treaters who came to the door craving sweetness. It was just a handful of neighborhood kids who knew to come around the back, invited by my orange lights and jack-o-lantern—a Halloween-friendly house.

I finished carving two pumpkins. The pumpkins were organic, a fact I didn’t broadcast for fear of being locked away in a loony bin. I justified the splurge by roasting the seeds and eating them with sea salt. The nutty smell of the seeds mixed with the spicy candle burning on the table made my little house smell like autumn—like back home. Here we liked to pretend to have seasons, but there really was only one.

This year I didn’t have the heart to make a costume. Nevertheless, I dressed in head-to-toe black, with an aqua feather boa looped around my neck and a matching turban on my head.

Preparing for Halloween had kept me too busy to think. And tomorrow, I’d take everything down and pack the decorations away before cleaning. I didn’t have a plan for Sunday . . . yet. I wished I had a couch and a TV to watch It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. I slumped in my armchair, cradling the bowl of candy on my lap when the bell rang. I opened it to find a full-grown masked d’Artagnan, complete with boots.

“Nice costume,” I murmured. I looked over his shoulder and didn’t see any kids, let alone another musketeer. He was alone. What a creep.

“Trick or treat,” he said. His rolling r’s gave him away.

“Dante!” I refrained from throwing my arms around him. Instead, I took a step back. Why was I so happy?

“Ciao, bella Nico.” He removed his mask. “Venite qui,” he called over his shoulder. Two men came up the walk carrying a sofa. I noticed a produce truck parked on the street.

“Where do you want it?” he asked.

“Oh, Dante, no. I couldn’t.” The last thing I needed was to get arrested for being in possession of stolen goods.

“No, no. Don’t worry. The furniture is from the Goodwill. I clean and fix them.”

“You bought me furniture?” I stepped back to let him in.

“Si. Very inexpensive but still nice quality.”

The two men were still holding the couch.

“Dai, Dante,” said the shorter of the two.

“Si, si. Come in. So where?”

I pointed to the center of the room in front of the fireplace. The couch was small and covered in green nubby fabric. It looked like something from the thirties. Dante pulled a large fringed shawl from the black mailbag he had slung across his body. He draped the shawl over the back of the couch. It looked . . . perfect.

I tried to swallow the lump that had taken up residency in my throat. I had a sudden flash of my father coming home with a Deco end table and my mother dancing around the room and clapping her hands.

“Th . . . thank you,” I said, unsure of how to react. The two men left then returned, one with a floor lamp and the other with a small, round coffee table. They set one by the side of the couch and the other in front.

“It match the spirit of your chair,” said Dante.

I nodded, feeling a big, stupid smile plastered on my face. I realized I was still wearing my turban and boa. I removed them both and set them on the table.

“Grazie, Paolo, Vincente.”

In a chorus of ciaos they melted into the night, these angels bearing gifts, before I could properly thank them or offer them something. “I wanted to give them some wine or . . . candy,” I said.

“They go to their families now. Sono bravi. I tell them you need furniture, they help.” He grinned.

“Dante, I don’t know what to say.” The strange thing was that, had I been on my own all these years, it would have been pieces such as these that I would have chosen. Pieces with stories, a bit battered from life. Furniture with a soul. Wayne liked clean, modern lines.

“Come in, sit, make yourself comfortable—thanks to you I can actually say that again.” I ran my hand over the nappy upholstery.

He sank easily into the couch, looking as if he owned the space he breathed in.

“I don’t have any decent wine left. Or anything to eat for that matter, except for pumpkin seeds. And candy.” I went into the kitchen and returned with the seeds in a ceramic dish.

He ate one. “Buono. Good for pesto.”

From what I’d mistaken for his trick-or-treat bag, he pulled out a bottle of red wine—a Santa Cristina, I saw from the label. Then came two packages wrapped in waxed paper that turned out to be panini. I never ate panini.

I collected glasses and plates from the cupboard, suddenly hungry. We had a picnic bathed by the soft glow of my new lamp.

I ate almost half of my sandwich before I put it down.

“Non ti piace? You do not like?”

“I like. It’s too big.”

“Not so big. Mangia!” He nodded his head and resumed eating.

“It’s delicious.” To prove it I took another bite. It was one of the best sandwiches I’d ever had, with thinly sliced prosciutto and provolone topped with tomatoes, olive oil, and herbs. “But . . .” I shook my head and smiled.

“Something has happened, no? Something new?” His brow furrowed.

How could he guess? It would have given me the chills if it were someone else, but Dante was too gorgeous to give me the creeps. I wrapped the rest of my sandwich and put it on the coffee table.

“Your eyes. Very dark blue tonight, almost gray and also here.” He touched a spot between my eyebrows and I realized I’d been frowning. “And here.” He placed his hands on my shoulders and I felt how tight they were. His touch sent pinpricks of light through my body.

“Well.” My voice would have given a congested toad a run for its money. I cleared my throat. “You win first prize. You’re right. I seem to have lost my job.”

His eyes widened.

I took a sip of wine and amended, “I will be officially unemployed come January.”

After I’d explained, he gathered me in his arms. I curled up against him and lay my head against his chest, like a kitten. A tear rolled down my cheek. Then another.

“So, you will have no money?” he asked.

“Not a sou.”

“And do you have a plan?”

“Nope. Haven’t got one of those either.” His shirt was darker where it had absorbed my tears.

He gently pushed me a few inches away from his body and looked into my eyes. “I have an idea.”