Page 29 of Moody's Grumpy Holiday

“Meh,” Hudson finished.

We shared a smile and resumed watching the next episode as the first question dinged on the screen. “Name something engaged couples shop for.”

“Uh…let’s change the channel,” I said, faking a yawn. “Or better yet, you should go. I’m suddenly feeling the effects of the antibiotics and?—”

“I’m fine, Moody. And c’mon, if a question on a fifty-year-old game show is gonna make me cry in my beer, I’m in big trouble.”

“Cry in your beer,” I repeated. “Such an odd expression. I wish I knew the origin. It sounds like something attributed to Shakespeare, but it’s certainly a later phrase often used in country songs to evoke?—”

“Moody?”

“Got it. Cease chatter. Message received.” I made a button-lip motion and reached for the remote control. “But game show shenanigans get stale after a while. Let’s watch?—”

“Leave it. Seriously. I’m not sad, Moody. If anything, I’m the opposite of sad. I’m hopeful about the future, excited for a new opportunity. My life is good,” he replied.

I nodded slowly. “I’m glad. In that case, I’ll go first. I’ve never been engaged, but I imagine a married couple would need a house, china, appliances, rings…”

“And furniture.”

“My imaginary beau and I won’t need much. As long as he’s not opposed to holiday madness in this town, I have everything we could possibly need.”

I flung my arms wide and inhaled deeply. Yes, for the first time in days I could breathe through my nose, and my body didn’t ache. It was glorious. I had a passing thought that I should check in at the store, but Hudson was here, and there was no hurry.

“Have you ever been close to getting married?”

I did a double take, pushing my glasses to the bridge of my nose. “Uh…no. Not at all. I’ve dated a hodgepodge of decidedly uninteresting suitors: a waiter who spoke to his mother thrice a day, an accountant with OCD who split every dinner bill to the penny, and a grad student who wanted to discuss his thesis on soil erosion ad nauseam.”

Hudson snickered. “Fun.”

“Hmph. I tried a dating app two years ago, and my first experience seemed promising. I was paired with a fellow former lawyer who’d started an online consultant firm and?—”

“You’re a lawyer?” he intercepted.

“Yes. I specialized in complex litigation. Our clients were high-profile banking institutions who required assistance with compliance and regulation matters, acquisitions and mergers, and treasury management.”

Hudson whistled. “Sounds important.”

“It was stressful and demanding. I worked eighty hours a week, never saw my family, and rarely had time for amorous affairs of the heart.”

His lips twisted and his eyes sparked with humor. “That’s no good.”

“No, I was exceedingly competent at my job, but…it wasn’t for me. I’m happier now, though my love life is still a barren wasteland. I can tell you’re trying not to laugh. Please, don’t hold back on my account.” I shrugged, hiding a smile. “As I was saying, my most recent paramour was an online hookup. His name was Christopher. He was tall and skinny, and he enjoyed stamp collecting, soap making, and the opera.”

“Sounds like a good time,” Hudson snarked. “How was the sex?”

“Vanilla.”

He hooted merrily. “Oh, yeah? Tell me more.”

I rolled my eyes. “There’s nothing to tell. We dated for two months, which was long enough to ascertain that he preferred blowjobs to anal. When he occasionally acquiesced, he preferred missionary sexual intercourse in a dark room.”

He was still grinning. “Did Christopher top, or did you?”

“Oh, are we getting into the nitty-gritty?”

“You started this conversation…not me,” he singsonged.

“Hmm. Well, I don’t top. Ever.”