Page 16 of Back for Seconds

“Come on, lady. Your kids will love them.”

“I don’t have kids,” I snapped. “And I don’t appreciate being harassed for not wanting one of your…” Calm, June. “Your little fuckin’ weirdo trees.” I pointed at a dehydrated miniature spruce slowly sloping toward me. “This one looks like someone took a bite out of it. That one’s missing half its branches. And that little one! It’s not even a tree. It’s a stick.”

Now he was grimacing. Good, I thought.

“Hey, these trees are heirlooms. They’re beautiful. My dead wife planted them!”

“Yeah, right,” I fired back with a big, fat laugh. You really had to love Jersey. No one was concerned with our bubbling confrontation. The crowd just continued to swell and recede around us. “I bet you stole these trees and now you’re trying to offload them before you get caught.”

“Stole?” He yelled this, dragging out the O in stole for so long I thought he may stop breathing. All the while, he kept looking around at the busy boardwalk for allies, arms swept out for more dramatic flair. “Are you accusing me of a crime?”

A great performance. Truly, someone needed to cast the man.

I flared my nostrils and spread my arms wide too, mirroring his stance. “Yeaaaaah. I aaaaam.”

He took a step toward me. Then I toward him.

“Say it again, princess.” He had thick, gray lips that reminded me of a dead fish.

Were we about to rumble? I really hoped not. I’d never won any of the wrestling matches my brothers had forced me into, and every time they tried to teach me how to throw a punch, I always put my thumb in the wrong place. Plus, I had crazy weak ankles. One swipe at my shins, and I was done for.

But my god, if I was otherwise spending Christmas alone, I might as well spend it in jail.

This close, I could almost smell the cigarette smoke and old beer on his breath. “Criminal,” I repeated in a whisper. I grit my teeth, each word coming out strangled with rage, bit through like I was gnawing at the gristle on a cheap steak. “You. Commit. Crimes.”

“You fucking bi—”

“Darling?”

The man and I froze, eyes widening at each other. But then his gaze drifted away from mine, tracking up and over my shoulder.

That booming baritone. Peanut-butter smooth, all-American, Jeep deep.

I narrowed my eyes, pivoting slowly toward the voice, heat bubbling in my chest.

“Joseph.”

“I turn around for one minute, and I lose you,” Joey sung, slipping a heavy, warm arm around my shoulders. He looked down his nose at me, pure delight sparkling in his eyes like some 1960s Western hero. Rugged and warm, eyes crinkling. “What am I going to do with you?” For a moment, I forgot how to breath.

Joey flashed a smile at the grubby-tree criminal. “Everything alright, man?”

“Aw, yeah, buddy. We’re great!” the man jumped in, suddenly limber and pleasant. “Your wife was just about to give me twenty dollars for this little tree here. Ain’t it cute?”

My teeth ground together with the force of a trash compactor. “I am not his fucking wi—”

“Here you go, bud.” Joey tightened his hold on my shoulder, pulling me back into his chest as he passed the wretched man a crisp twenty, which he pocketed with the speed and desperation of a Victorian street urchin. I bumped back against Joey’s mass, letting myself float in the feeling of being saved by this strange, beautiful man from even stranger circumstances. Joey palmed the anemic tree and hefted it over his shoulder. “This is going to look so good in your office, babe.”

The old man gave me a proud, yellow smile. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

Before I could respond—or get my middle finger out—Joey was threading his fingers through mine and yanking me back into the boardwalk swell.

I stared down at our intertwined hands, doubling my pace to keep up with his long legs. “What the hell was that?”

“I should be asking you that question, Junebug. Why the hell were you arguing with Sneaky Pete?”

“Junebug?” I frowned at him. “Sneaky Pete?”

“Yeah, dude’s a legend. I think he owes every business in this town about eighty dollars. Great fun, though.” Joey adjusted the tree on his shoulder. “Didn’t you grow up here?”