The door opened. He almost didn’t recognize his father. His face folded into wrinkles that gravity had sucked downwards, so much so, his mouth was shaped into a downturned half circle. His black eyes stared blankly at David as though he didn’t really see his son at first.

His old man grunted and shuffled into the house, leaving the door open. A nice invitation to come inside his childhood home. David steeled his breath and stepped over the threshold.

He’d left at the age of eighteen and hadn’t been back. The interior hadn’t changed in twenty years. The grunge on the furniture had built up over the years. David’s eyes fell on the only photograph that was taken of the three of them. Still on display on a hall table. His mother looked young, beautiful and happy. She had her arms wrapped around a three-year-old David. The old man stood behind the both of them with his arms crossed. Detached.

The curtains were shut even though it was the middle of the day. Probably hadn’t been opened in twenty years either. His old man liked the gloom. Suited his disposition.

The old man sat in his well-worn chair and David took the sofa, which was the only other piece of furniture in the room. He studied his father. He looked old. Older than his sixty-five years. More like a geriatric. He was rail thin. His cheekbones could cut bread and the sour look on his face could curdle milk.

He sat with his elbows tucked into his sides, legs out front as though he was waiting to be hit. Maybe he was. Maybe he was bracing himself for David turning up like this unannounced. After all, David couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to the old man.

“What’re ‘ere here for?” The old man had a voice like gravel, as though long disused. The sound chafed against David’s emotions as much as well.

Glad to know he hadn’t mellowed in his old age. Some things never changed. David shifted in his seat, rubbing his palms on his knees. “Isn’t Christmas meant to be the time to visit people you haven’t seen for a while?” Wasn’t it also meant to be the season for forgiving?

The old man grunted again. The clock chimed the hour. “Thought you’d forgotten about me.”

“I never forgot about you, Dad.”

The old man shot rheumatic, watery eyes at him, “Been a long time since you called me that, too.”

“Can’t say you’ve been much of a Dad to warrant the name.” Not when he compared Marlowe’s family to what he’d known as family. It was blunt. He’d probably hurt his father when he said it, but he hadn’t come here to dodge the issue. He was here to meet it headlong.

Nothing was promised between Marlowe and himself, he’d left on such a bad note, but he was damned if he was going to let his father steal any more of his life. He’d already destroyed thirty years. Andrew had been right. Enough was enough.

His father’s gaze slipped to the floor. There was nothing more to describe it than to say the old man deflated. His stomach hollowed, his shoulders rolled and his chin caved to his chest. His breath left in a rush. It took a moment for David to realize that he hadn’t actually died when his gaze lifted back up.

His faded eyes were even more watery when he lifted them, “I’m sorry, son.”

He hadn’t expected that. He’d braced himself for the torrent and anger that usually came when he said something his father didn’t like. David stilled, making sure he’d heard right.

David’s father sighed, “I wished I could have told you all those years ago, but the pain of losing your mother was too much. I couldn’t do it. It was easier to be angry and mean but I should have realized you hurt as much as me. You didn’t need a mean dad. You needed to be loved and that’s something I never did.

“I’m telling you this just in case I don’t ever see you again. Can’t blame you if you don’t. I have done the right thing by you. Don’t end up like me, son. You need to share your life with someone. Not end up in dark room alone with only the TV to keep you company.”

“Dad…I…” David’s voice broke. A wash of heat and tears clogged him so he was unable to speak. He’d come expecting a fight. To relieve some anger. Had never thought his old man would come right out and say it.

He didn’t know what he should feel, but right now he was just sad. He deflated, just like his father.

“I understand if you want to go,” the old man said.

But he didn't want to leave. He wanted to open the curtains, put the kettle on for a coffee and stay and tell him all about Marlowe. He didn't know if he'd faced any issues Andrew suggested he meet head-on today, but right now he wanted to connect with the only living relative he had.

The few words his father had spoken had left him empty. There had been no enjoyment in hearing them, no cathartic end as he thought. Just emptiness. Nothing. But that left space to be filled with something worthwhile. Something joyful. Meaningful.

That was if she would give him another chance. Right now, he really didn’t know.

“Would you like me to make you a cup of coffee, Dad?”

The old man lifted his gaze, clearly surprised. His face fell slack, before a spark entered his eyes, “Well, that…that sound really nice. I’ve also got some cookies in the pantry if you’d have a look. We’ll open the packet. How does that sound?”

David stood and smiled. He couldn't believe he wanted to stay. Not for a long time, just a little time. Enough to start the healing he needed to make up for his childhood. The least his old man could do would be to help him with that, even if it took the mellowness of old age for his father to do it. "That sounds great, Dad. Really great. By the way, there’s someone I want to tell you about…”

David spoke as he made his father something hot to drink. To his surprise, an hour had passed. As he left that afternoon, he felt lighter than he could ever remember feeling. He might even pay his old man a visit next week. He had a lifetime of hurt to make up for.

* * *

The aroma of something mouthwatering wafted from the kitchen. There was no doubt Marlowe was in there cooking. Taking a steeling breath, David clutched the canister tighter and stepped through the doorway.

Pots bubbled happily, she stepped from one to the other stirring, adding this and that. She hummed a tune under her breath. She was happy. Just seeing her calmed him deep inside. Seeing her like this, felt like he’d come home to himself.

“Marlowe.” His voice sounded strained.

She turned, startled. She quickly arranged her features from surprise into…nothing. There was no laughter, no light, no animation. Just blankness. “Oh.”

Not exactly the reply he'd hoped for. But it was better than nothing. He shuffled his feet. He'd never felt so inadequate before. He'd never put his heart on the line before.

A rumble behind Marlowe and the roller slid up. A crowd of people stared back at him from the other side of the counter, some customers, some wore staff uniforms. He swallowed. Hard.

"It's Christmas. We're cooking and serving lunches fresh today. Everyone is here to help," Marlowe crossed her arms, leaning her hips against the bench and regarded him for a moment, "If you've got nothing else to say, I'm about to be very busy?"

She wasn’t going to make this easy for him. In front of a crowd to boot. Nothing he didn’t deserve. He’d just have to suck it up. And he would.

Marlowe was worth it.

If it was one thing he realized from seeing his father again – life was too short to not fight for love. His father had hurt him tremendously. It had almost cost David a lifetime of unhappiness, just like the old man, but one thing was for sure; when David saw him, he knew he didn't want to end up like that. Going to see the old man had been…healing. Not enough to make up for a lifetime of hurt, but enough to make David realise he wanted a shot at happiness.

That was why here was here and about to take the biggest risk of his life. He took a deep breath. “I want to apologize…for the other night.”

“For kissing me. You already tried to apologize for that,” Marlowe said.

A flare of anger rose, “I’m not sorry for kissing you. I’m sorry I left. I didn’t want to. Not really. I shouldn’t have.”

“You should have at least said goodbye to my parents,” she said.

“I shouldn’t have gone at all. You…you were right. I should have spoken to you. Told you what I felt.” This was so hard! He worked hard to say each word, forcing it out between his teeth. “I’m such an idiot.”

Marlowe pursed those delectable lips. Lips he wanted to kiss again and again, “Yes. You are.”

“My father… I couldn’t subject you to a life that my father gave to me…to my mother. I thought I was like him, and...”

The moment stretched. He sensed he was losing her. Losing his chance. He was doing such a mash job of this and he couldn’t blame her.

What was he thinking? That he could schmooze on up and all would be forgotten in a couple of seconds? Crazy stupid.

“You thought we might have a life together?” Her small voice brought him out of his reverie.

He rubbed his eyes, "I shouldn't have presumed anything. In my stupid head, I thought I was protecting you. In reality, I wasn't thinking straight. Here, I bought you a present." He placed the canister on the benchtop. Turned to leave. How could he ever think she'd give him a second chance? Things hadn't even really begun, but oh, how he wanted them to, with every cell in his body, "I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas and to tell you how sorry I am, Marlowe.” The weak winter sun touched his face as he stepped on the threshold. He lifted his face, hoping that slight warmth could warm his heart as well.

“It’s Himalayan Salt.”

The wonder in her voice made him turn around. She held the container, looking at it as though it was the most wondrous thing in the world.

He wheeled in the hand-trolley he’d left outside, “You might as well have the rest.”

Several boxes were stacked on the trolley. A burst of laughter erupted from Marlowe, “That’s quite a lot of salt.”

“Two hundred canisters to be exact. I didn't only come here to tell you how sorry I am. I came here to tell you that your costings are spot on. You were right. There's no way I can slash costs from your cooking. So I came up with something else."

She quirked a brow, arms tightened around her chest. He took that as a sign she was willing to listen. "The business I'm buying has a lease on this building. I've secured the entire ground floor to build a night shelter for the homeless. I've had plans drawn up and the proposal is going to planning. Just thought you’d like to know.” He took one, long-lasting look at the woman who had the potential to ensnare his heart. "I'm sorry, Marlowe. I won't upset you anymore."

“Stop, David. You think you can apologize with a few containers of salt and everything will be OK?”

The tone of her voice made him wince. He sighed and turned, facing what he knew he should face. He stilled when he saw the amusement of her face. Not the look he thought he’d see.

“You think you can waltz in here, bare your soul, tell me these amazing plans for the kitchen just because it’s Christmas, and then just…leave?”

She stepped towards him. A small smile curved her mouth. He eyed her, nervous and unsure. He nodded, a slight movement, wondering where she was going with this.

She stopped, a hand-span distance between them, and tilted her head up to look at him. She wound her arms around his neck, stood on her toes and pressed against him, “You think you can leave when we need every bit of help we can get today?”

He placed his hands on her waist, palms absorbing her warmth, hardly hoping to believe this was happening. He didn’t know whether to nod or shake his head, or say anything at all. This was all so tentative, he didn’t want to do anything to scare her away. He’d done enough of that.

“You think I’d be happy with just one kiss from you?” Her smile lit the room.

It was all he could take. He captured her lips with his, his heart and soul flying. He crushed her against him, never wanting to let her go. His hand slipped up her spin, the other clasped her hip.

He massaged her lips with his, swept his tongue against hers. Her arms tightened around his neck and she melted against him. She kissed him as thoroughly as he kissed her.

Vague sounds grew louder. Cheering, whistling and clapping. The crowd behind the counter. They’d seen the whole thing.

She pulled back, eyes round, “Oh no! The onions!” She broke from his arms to the stove. She drove a spoon into the pot.

She gestured behind her back, fingers moving in a give-it-to-me gesture. “Salt.”

He grabbed the canister, “Himalayan?”

She looked over her shoulder and winked, “Of course. What other kind of salt is there?”

He hung his jacket on the coat stand and reached for the floral apron, “Apparently there’s ionized, sea, kala namak...’

“You know about Nepalese black salt?” Marlowe asked, handing David a spoon and gesturing to a pot.

He stirred some chopped vegetables into the mix, “I found out about all kinds of salt from your friend Harold. He told me pretty much all he knew.”

“Did he sell you anything else while he sold you the salt?” she asked.

David flicked a glance at her, “How did you know…Never mind. I think I fell for the oldest sales trick in the book.”

"Not to worry. I'll show you how to deal with him. Once he gets to know you, he's a pussycat," she said.

"Well, when you're going next, I'll come down with you." He'd do early mornings cheerfully if it means being with her.

“What about tomorrow morning?” she asked.

“I’d like that.” He smiled, “I’d like that very much.”

Marlowe leaned and kissed him. “I could get used to having you around.”

“And I’ll love every moment of it.”

She smiled, “This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had!”

It was his too. His heart soared. His future was no longer clouded with grim unhappiness. For the first time in his life, he had something worth living for and a future he looked forward to.

The End