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Barba was stubborn, and it had taken him three months to give up on the expensive suits. The dark colors and tailored fits, the carefully-assembled layers and designer fabrics, were not intended for Florida summers.
He made it three months, until mid-July.
He conceded gradually, first losing the undershirt and then opting for short-sleeve shirts, but by August he had no choice but to downgrade to thinner fabrics if he had any hope of surviving. Every time he looked in a mirror, he reminded himself of Don Johnson on Miami Vice.
And then he gave up the suit jackets altogether.
A sad day, indeed.
But now it was winter, and while Florida winters were nothing like New York winters the days were cool enough for him to wear a full suit again. Or at least, they would be.
The judge’s robes were heavy enough on their own.
Barba had to face the fact that giving up his suits had not been, as he’d worked hard to convince himself, a temporary concession. His life had changed forever, and his wardrobe had to change to match.
It wasn’t the clothes that he mourned the most, but they were far easier to think about than all the truly important things he’d lost. The lights on the small Christmas tree in the corner didn’t quite sparkle the way they should, and the holiday cards taped above the arched doorway between the living room and dining room were sparse and underwhelming. His own mother had chosen a cruise with her friends over spending the holiday with him, even after he’d offered to fly to New York City to celebrate there. Barba despised self-pity, but trying to shake it off was like trying to walk his way out of quicksand. The harder he fought, the tighter it squeezed.
He looked at the black robe that he’d hung on a hook on the wall of his living room. The rented bungalow was nice, small but airy, and reasonably close to the beach considering the price tag, but the closet space left something to be desired.
He should probably get rid of those expensive suits he was no longer wearing.
He had the day off and was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, anyway. He’d considered not getting dressed at all, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of wallowing. Maybe he should be productive and box up some of the clothing he’d unpacked, or unpack some of the boxes he still hadn’t opened.
He pulled out his phone and looked at the time: 8:08 a.m., December 25th. He knew it was unreasonable to expect a text so early, but he also knew he would spend all day waiting for a message that was unlikely to come if he didn’t swallow his pride and initiate.
He started to text Merry Christmas but deleted the letters before he’d even reached C. He wanted to hear her voice, so he hit the call button before he could talk himself out of it. He closed his eyes as he heard the first ring in his ear.
There was a strange echo, a reminder of how many miles separated the two cell phones and their owners. The phone rang a second time, and Barba frowned at the ghostly echo that followed it. He turned in a half-circle and lowered his phone away from his ear, listening. The phone rang again, but now both the original ring and its echo were muffled.
He crossed to the front door and pulled it open in the middle of the fourth ring.
Liv was standing on his doorstep, her own phone in her hand and his name on the screen. “I panicked and didn’t know if I should answer,” she said as he heard the faint sound of her voicemail answering his call instead.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, suddenly inexplicably breathless. It was the wrong thing to say and he knew it was the wrong thing to say, but he couldn’t think of any other words.
“I’m an idiot,” she said. She was staring at him, staring directly into his eyes in a way she hadn't done in years, and his brain floundered for a joke to buy himself time to process her presence.
“You took the wrong train?” he suggested.
“No. Yes, but…metaphorically.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.” She looked at her phone, realized it was no longer ringing, and slipped it into her pocket. “I’m sorry.”
The break in eye contact allowed Barba’s brain to reset. He shoved his own phone into his back pocket and said, “Sorry. Merry Christmas. Come inside?” He stepped aside and widened the doorway, and she glanced at him as she passed. “Where’s Noah?” he asked, closing the door and watching her appraising the inside of his rented house.
“With his brother. They wanted to spend the holiday together and I couldn’t very well refuse and watch him be miserable on his favorite day of the year.”
“You very well could’ve refused, and I’m sorry. That really and truly sucks. It’s probably not much consolation that he will realize it someday. He’ll appreciate what he had and how much it cost you to put his happiness above your own.”
“Thank you.” She gestured toward the dark robe on the wall and turned to face him. “Your grandmother would be proud.”
He grimaced. “Does it count, though?”
“What do you mean?”
“If the person’s already gone when you do the thing they wanted you to do.”
“It counts. Besides, your mother’s proud of you, too.”
“Do you want a drink or something?”
“No. Thank you.”
“Are you on your way somewhere…”
“I’m proud of you, too.”
“…else?”
“Appointed by the governor.”
“Don’t hold that against me.”
“Why would I?”
“The governor’s a shithead. I hold it against me.”
“But we need all the decent judges we can get right now. I’m sure you hated the politics of it, but you did it. And it speaks volumes that you’re too good to be refused, even if he knows you stand against everything he stands for. Now you’re in a position to save countless lives that wouldn’t have much hope without you on the Miami-Dade Circuit Court.”
Barba cleared the lump from his throat. “Did my mother send you copies of her newspaper clippings?”
“No, I kept tabs on you all by myself,” she said with the hint of a smile turning up her lips.
He scratched the back of his head. “Only fools repeat themselves, but I really feel like we need to circle back—”
“What the hell am I doing here.”
“That’s the one, yeah.”
“Do you live here alone?”
He frowned, mostly confused. “I might get a cat, but until then, yes. I’m too old to tolerate a roommate.”
“Are you seeing anyone?”
His eyebrows went up. “You mean professionally?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m not sure I do,” he answered slowly, searching her face.
“I sort of expected to just, you know, blurt it out. I thought of the different ways to say it…but somehow it wasn’t until I got here that I actually realized how presumptuous—I mean, it’s not like I expected you to be pining after me, but—”
He waited a few beats, but she didn’t finish the sentence. “I didn’t move to Florida for the shithead governor or the swampy heat,” he finally said.
“Were you trying to get away from me?”
“What were you going to blurt out?”
“And I followed you.”
“Apparently, although not very quickly. Did you walk? You know that song was meant to be hyperbole.”
She smiled even though his jokes were falling flat. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I had no right to show up here without warning. I thought…I don’t know, I asked your mom when you were coming home for Christmas, I thought maybe we could talk, but she said you weren’t and that she was going on a cruise and…suddenly I was going to be alone and you were going to be alone and I had this epiphany about how much of an idiot I’ve been.”
“I was curious about that bit, too.”
“Me being an idiot?”
“You referring to yourself as an idiot. I’m curious about a lot of things you’ve said in the last minute and a half or so.”
“I’ve never been more nervous in my life.”
“That can’t possibly be true.”
They stood staring at each other, and he could feel the anxiety crackling around her. He wanted to help, but he couldn’t say the words for her—and there was still a part of him that doubted she’d really come to say what he desperately wanted to hear.
“Do you think,” he finally said, speaking slowly and drawing out the words as he regarded her, “that you should ever need to be nervous with me?”
She smiled. “No,” she said, barely audible over the thudding of his heart.
“Come here, let’s try this,” he said, gesturing for her to follow as he stepped over to reopen the front door.
“You’re kicking me out,” she said, but she sounded more amused than worried, which was good. She crossed the threshold and turned to face him.
“Stand right there,” he said. “Don’t bolt, I have court tomorrow, I can’t go chasing after you. Take a deep breath, count to ten.” He closed the door before she could answer.
He drew a deep breath, too, and smoothed his hands over his clothes, fighting against the irrational fear that she would be gone when he looked outside. His palms were sweatier than they’d been since adolescence, and his stomach was full of butterflies.
“Knock when you’re ready,” he called through the wood.
He barely heard her muffled: “Oh,” but then her knuckles rapped lightly against the door.
He cleared his throat and pulled the door open. “Liv!” he exclaimed cheerfully. “Merry Christmas! What a great surprise, what brings you—”
“I love you.”
He closed his mouth.
“Too,” she added. “I love you, too. If…you meant it that way and I’m not too late.”
He grinned. “Come back inside,” he said, pulling her into the house by her wrist. He pushed the door closed and backed her against it, covering her mouth with a kiss that was a little too hard and a little too eager for the neighborhood to see.
Her fingers curled around handfuls of his shirt and she mumbled a mess of indistinguishable words into his mouth.
He lifted his head to look at her. “What?”
“Every first kiss I imagined included you wearing suspenders,” she said, tugging gently at his shirt.
He made a short sound of amusement. “Christmas morning when I thought I’d be alone all day? You’re lucky I was wearing pants.”
“Hm.”
He leaned his head closer. “Do we need to talk now?” he murmured, searching her eyes. “Or can we do this for a little while, first?”
She curved a hand around the back of his neck. “Kiss first, talk later,” she agreed.
His lips had gentled as they brushed against hers, and he licked almost cautiously into her mouth. He put his hands against the door to support himself, mindful not to pin her body with his, but every inch of him wanted to be closer. He wanted to melt into her until their bodies could never be separated without leaving pieces of themselves behind.
There was no caution in the way she accepted his kiss, or in the pressure of her fingertips at the back of his skull, and it didn’t take long for him to feel his control slipping. He pressed closer, moving one hand to the curve of her jaw. His other hand was still on the door, but his elbow bent further until he could feel almost the full length of her body against his.
He slid a knee between her thighs, trying to press impossibly closer, and she made a small sound in her throat that brought him back to his senses. He shifted his weight, but he couldn’t retreat very far while she was holding his hair and shirt.
He freed his tongue from her mouth. “Sorry. You know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” he breathed against her lips.
“I have some idea. Hence the part about me being an idiot.”
“Better late than never.”
“What were you calling to say?”
“Merry Christmas, I’m in love with you, please fly to Florida so we can make out.”
She laughed quietly and he shifted his hips a little further away. He didn’t want to get too far ahead of himself.
“I might not have said it all out loud,” he allowed.
“But you were thinking it,” she said, twirling her fingers in the hair at his nape in a way that made it difficult for him to think about anything .
“Do you want to go sit down?”
“I like it here,” she said, and he grinned.
He leaned in to kiss her. “How long do we have?” he asked against her lips.
“For what?” she mumbled.
He laughed, drawing back to see her face again. “You don’t even have a purse. Did you get a room somewhere or are you hopping the next flight home?”
“I didn’t bring anything. My passport, wallet, and keys are in my pockets.”
He stared at her. “Is this a booty call?” he whispered dramatically.
She made a sound, not quite a huff. “No.”
“Oh. In that case, would you like to go to breakfast?” he asked, looking longingly at her lips.
“I can get a room if you don’t want me to stay here. I just got a car straight here from the airport.”
His gaze slid back up to her eyes. “If I don’t want you to stay here?”
“Right.”
“I do want you to stay here.”
“Good.”
“How long are you staying here?”
“Monday, maybe?”
He stepped back, mostly to clear his head so he could think about something other than kissing her. “I can show you around today, if you want. I have to work tomorrow, but you can take my car—”
“You have a car?”
“—and hang out at the beach or whatever. I wouldn’t recommend swimming but it’s warm enough to sit in the sun and read a book. I have a car, yes. You walked past it, hopefully.”
“Oh. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“You were nervous. You feel better now?”
“Much. Can I watch you in court?”
He hesitated a couple of beats. “If you want.”
“I do.”
“Do you want a tour of the house?”
“That depends,” she said, stepping away from the door and closer to him. She tugged at his shirt and he leaned in obediently, meeting her lips for a kiss. “Is there a rule that someone has to leave after a booty call?” she murmured.
He smiled into her kiss. “Not in my house.”
She found his hand with one of hers, twining their fingers together, and stepped past him. “Can we start the tour in the bedroom?”
***
Liv walked out of the bedroom in her underwear and a wrinkled, light blue button-up of Barba’s that barely reached her upper thighs. She padded barefoot across the cool wood, following the smell of coffee. She could hear Barba moving around the kitchen and could tell he was making an effort to be quiet.
She stopped in the arched doorway and watched his profile as he worked on assembling turkey sandwiches. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt, but he’d clipped red suspenders to the elastic waistband of his sweats. He had a red and white Santa hat on his head. His beard wasn’t quite white enough to pull off the role, but it was white enough to remind her of the passage of time.
His fingers placed each thin, folded slice of meat delicately and precisely. “Good morning,” he said without looking at her.
“It’s afternoon,” she answered, and she saw a dimple dip into his cheek as he smiled. “How long did I sleep?”
“An hour, I think? I’ve only been up a few minutes.”
“I’ve never been jealous of turkey before.”
“Don’t worry, my fingers feel nothing for Oscar Mayer.” He transferred long slices of dill pickles from the paper towel where they’d been drying onto the folds of turkey and laid two slices of provolone on top of each sandwich-in-progress. He’d already spread what appeared to be a mixture of mayonnaise and mustard onto the final slices of bread. “Sorry, I don’t have any lettuce or tomato.”
“I’ll suffer through,” she said, and he chuckled softly. “Nice hat.”
He placed the last slice of bread and turned to face her. “My mom sent me a box of Christmas stuff. I was suddenly in the mood to actually open it.” He ran his gaze down to her bare legs. “Did you get that out of the hamper? I do have clean clothes you can borrow.”
“Yeah, but this one smells like you.”
He grinned. “Honey, I think you probably smell like me by now. Love what you’ve done with your hair, by the way,” he added. She hadn’t looked in the mirror but knew exactly why her hair was a tangled mess.
She narrowed her eyes to distract him from the smile on her lips. “Ohh, you look insufferably smug.”
“Personally, I think we should both be pretty proud of ourselves, but I’m willing to listen if you have areas for me to improve.”
“Are these for me?” she asked, gesturing at his suspenders as she walked toward him.
“Nah, they’re my kitchen suspenders. I never make a meal without them.”
She stopped in front of him and reached out, tugging playfully at the red suspenders. “I think they’re for me.”
“Mm. I never could put one over on you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her curved lips.
“Only a fool would try,” she agreed against his mouth. She sighed softly and laid a palm against his chest. “Do you want to talk?”
“Until quarter after eight this morning, I might’ve said talking was my favorite thing to do. Sadly, it’s now second.”
“You do love the sound of your own voice,” she teased. “Apparently that’s true in bed, too.”
“The only reason I kept saying your name was so I’d know you weren’t a hallucination.”
“Well.” She kissed him. “I learned a few ways to shut you up.”
“But then you got loud,” he mused, grinning again when she ducked her head to hide her smile. “Ohh I’ve never seen you shy before.” He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her head. “No more teasing, you can be as loud or as quiet as you want, babe.”
“Shut up,” she muttered, and he chuckled softly. “I’m starving, can I have one of those sandwiches.”
“Obviously.” He kissed her head again before stepping back and turning toward the counter. “Coffee or juice?”
“Coffee. Thank you.” She reached past him to grab the plate of sandwiches and carried it to his small, round dining table while he fixed their coffee. She sat in one of the three wooden chairs. The smooth wood was cool against her bare thighs, but the house was warm. “I’m looking forward to seeing you in court tomorrow. Scowling down at people.”
“With you there, I’m not sure I’ll be able to scowl. I’ll throw your clothes in the laundry, unless you want to wear something of mine tomorrow.”
“This isn’t appropriate?”
He smiled as he carried two steaming mugs toward the table. He sat in the seat closest to hers instead of across from her. “I’d never leave on time.” He sipped his coffee, watching her bite hungrily into one of the sandwiches. “I’m glad you’re here, Liv,” he murmured after a few moments. “The last few hours have been perfect.”
She swallowed her food and took a careful drink of hot coffee. “But it’s complicated,” she finally muttered.
“It’s complicated,” he agreed. “But I have absolute confidence that we can make it work, if it’s what we both want.” He hesitated, searching her face. “I don’t want to live in Miami forever, but I need to be here for at least another year. You and Noah can come visit, I’ll fly to New York as much as humanly possible. We can sync up vacations, fly away somewhere.”
“That sounds nice,” she said quietly, looking down at her sandwich.
“But if that’s not what you want,” he said slowly, “I’ll respect that. We can have the rest of this weekend—”
“I want it,” she said. “Not just this weekend but the rest of our lives. Believe it or not, I will retire someday, and I’ll live anywhere you want. If we can make this work until then—”
“We can,” he said. When she met his eyes, he smiled and raised his brows. “We can,” he repeated. “We will.”
She smiled. “I believe you,” she whispered.
“Good. How’s the sandwich?”
“Honestly? Best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
He grinned. “I’m happy to hear that,” he said, his voice cracking under the pressure of keeping a laugh trapped in his throat. He paused, watching her eyes narrow again as she correctly guessed the direction of his mind. “Would you like to know the best thing I’ve ever—”
“No,” she cut in, and the laugh bubbled out of his throat. After a moment she added: “But I do appreciate the enthusiasm.”
He leaned toward her and curled a hand behind her head, pulling her in for a chaste but lingering kiss. He pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. “I'm so glad you're here, Liv. I’ll never let you down again,” he whispered. “I love you.” He sighed softly and carefully untangled his fingers from her hair. As he straightened in his seat, he said, “But don’t think you’re getting my sandwich. Keep your eyes on your own food.”
“You’d give it to me,” she countered confidently, offering him a challenging arch of her eyebrows as she took another bite of her sandwich.
He chuckled quietly as he fished his phone out of his pocket. In a few seconds, a speaker in the living room was filling the house with the cheerful strains of Christmas music.
They ate quietly, content with the food and music and companionship, and Barba could scarcely remember the guy who’d been moping around the bungalow feeling sorry for himself.
Liv finished her sandwich first and drank her coffee, watching Barba eat. He offered her the last few bites and she smiled, shaking her head. “So,” she said when he was washing down the last bit of sandwich with a swallow of coffee, “did you get me a present?”
He snorted softly. “Wouldn’t that have been presumptuous.” He regarded her in silence for a few seconds before saying, “I’ll be right back.”
She laughed as he got to his feet. “I was kidding.”
“Of course,” he agreed, but he disappeared toward his bedroom and emerged a minute later with a narrow package wrapped in silver and blue paper. It was an inch and a half wide, five inches long, and had a blue bow that was a little misshapen and smushed on one side. “Sorry about that,” he said, plucking at the bow for a moment in an attempt to make it perkier. He gave up and handed her the box as he dropped back into his seat.
She looked down at the present. “Wait, this actually has my name on it,” she said in surprise. “When did you do this?”
He picked up his coffee mug. “It was going to be a birthday present, originally. But then, you know. I fucked things up.”
“Rafa—”
“Olivia, I love you. There were a dozen times I tried to get rid of that present in the last couple of years and I couldn’t do it, I just kept packing it around with me. You are the one hope I could never give up. And here you are. So, merry Christmas. It’s a necklace. You don’t have to open it now. You’ll like it,” he added with a crooked quirk of his lips.
She smiled. “I’m sure I will. Thank you.” She leaned toward him, putting a hand on his leg to brace herself, and he met her for a kiss. “I love you, too,” she whispered. She kissed him again and straightened in her seat. “I didn’t bring you anything.”
“You brought me you,” he murmured. He raised his mug to his lips, meeting her eyes over the rim. “You want to get married?” he asked before taking a drink.
“What, now?”
He swallowed his coffee. “Whenever.”
“Is that an official proposal? I let you seduce me one time and suddenly—”
“Are we calling that ‘one time?’ Anyway, if you were being proposed to by me, you’d know it.”
She laughed. “At least I’m pretty sure it won’t be on a Jumbotron.”
“I just want to know if I should start looking for a ring that matches that necklace.”
“Can I be honest?”
“Mm.”
“I think I need to see you in your robes before I can decide.”
He laughed. “Trust me, they leave a lot to the imagination.”
“That’s a shame.” She reached out and fingered one of his suspenders. “Nobody looks better in a fitted suit than you.”
“I’m glad you didn’t see what I was wearing in August. Atrocious. But the heat down here is nearly untenable.”
“I don’t know if I want to get married,” she said.
“Fair enough.”
“I think I do…someday…Is it stupid to think about ‘someday’ at my age?”
“No.”
“I do know I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
He smiled. “Put that on a Jumbotron,” he said, his voice soft. “Do you want to go to the beach? Or shopping? I’m sure there are places that are open today.”
“I want to go back to bed.”
He grinned. “Oh? Am I invited to tag along?”
“I suppose it would be rude otherwise…since it’s your bed…”
He turned and got to his feet, holding out a hand, and she slid her palm onto his without hesitation. He pulled her to her feet and wrapped an arm around her, pressing a kiss against her lips. “My bed is your bed, but my toothbrush is not your toothbrush,” he murmured, and she laughed quietly.
“That’s where you draw the line?”
“Luckily I have a spare. Let’s go brush our teeth so I can get my tongue back in your mouth.”
“You really don’t like sharing food,” she teased, and he tipped his head back to laugh, his arm tightening around her. She took hold of his suspenders, tugging gently. “But you put these on for me, so I’ll forgive you. Will you wear them under your robe tomorrow?”
“Only for you,” he agreed, kissing her forehead. “You want the music left on?”
“Yes…although I don’t think you can manage a silent night.”
He grinned. “Santa Claus will be coming—”
She kissed the words from his mouth and felt his smirk soften against her lips.