He pecked my lips then hugged me again, this time swaying from side to side. We danced in the kitchen alone, the Christmas lights on the tree blinking; the sun had escaped behind the mountaintops half an hour before. He kept his arm around me while we walked to the corner of the living room, sitting next to the only two presents under the tree. Both were wrapped horribly, Zeke’s with newspaper and mine with uneven wrapping paper, the white underside showing.

We opened our presents—both under fifty dollars as agreed upon. Zeke got me a diffuser with some essential oils, and I got him a new pair of sports glasses.

“These are more than fifty bucks,” he said.

I shrugged. “I threw in next year’s present early.”

He shook his head and put them on. “How do I look?”

“Tired, let’s get you in bed.”

Zeke had been asleep for forty-five minutes. His breath was deep and rhythmic, his hand relaxed against my thigh, the mattress warm beneath him and radiating to my side. I was reading a novel about angels and demons in Rhode Island when someone landed three soft knocks on my front door.

After the last twenty-four hours and no heads-up, I crept to the hall closet, retrieved Vicky, and pointed her at the ground with one hand, using the other to push aside the front window’s curtain so I could peek at the front porch.

I sighed, rolled my eyes, clicked Vicky’s safety then opened the door, hissing at Peter.

“What the hell are you doing here? It’s almost midnight!” I whispered.

“Can I come in?” Peter asked.

“No, you can’t come in. Zeke is asleep.”

He frowned. “Is he living here now?”

“I’m taking care of him. He was in the ER on Christmas Day and half the night, not that it’s any of your business.”

Peter blinked. “Oh. Is he … is he okay?”

“He’s better.”

“Naomi, we need to talk.”

“Another time,” I said, beginning to close the door, but Peter grabbed my arm.

I looked down and then met his nervous gaze. “I’m holding Vicky in my other hand behind the door.”

“Besides it being illegal to threaten me, does it escape you that I’m your boss?”

I pulled my arm from his grasp. “Well, in that case, this is sexual harassment instead of just annoying.”

“Naomi,” he said, passed frustrated. “Paige is going to file for a divorce. It will be a scandal. I might not be re-elected. Don’t you see? We’re finally free. It’s time to get rid of the glorified ditch-digger.”

“Do you want me to punch you? Did you come here hoping for a broken nose because violence is in your very near future,” I said.

Peter smiled. “I’m not afraid of you.”