Christmas Moon

I picked up the kids from school and, as promised, we made a dollar store run. Once there, I gave the kids each a hand basket and told them to have it.



They had at it, tearing through the store like game show contestants. Tammy crammed some packages of red velvet bows in her hand basket and moved onto the jingle bells, shaking them vigorously. I chuckled as I watched little Anthony grab some scented Christmas candles. The candles filled up at least half his hand basket. Now, what did an eight-year-old need with Christmas candles? Nothing. He simply grabbed them because it was the first of the Christmas items he'd seen. I was fairly certain that he would later regret his choice.



As the kids attacked the many holiday rows, I smiled to myself and strolled casually through the mostly-clean store, trying like hell to ignore the way my legs shook, or the way my skin still burned from the five-second sprint from the minivan to the store.



Sadly, even with the winter-shortened days, we were still about two hours from sunset.



Two hours.



That thought alone almost depressed me.



Since my transmutation seven years ago, I'm supernaturally aware of the location of the sun in the sky. I can be in any building at any time and tell you exactly where the sun is, either above or below the Earth. Even now I could feel it directly above me, angling just over my right shoulder, heading west.



I powered through the shakiness and heaviness, and worked my way down an aisle of discounted hardback novels. I paused and flipped through a historical mystery novel, read a random paragraph, liked it, and dropped it into my own hand basket. For a buck, I'll try anything. Hell, the Kindle app on my iPhone was filled with free ebooks and .99 cent ebooks that I had snagged in a buying frenzy a few days ago. Now, all I needed to do was to find the time to read them. I'm sure the one about the vampire mom - written, of all people, by a guy with a beard - should give me a good laugh.



I continued down the aisle. I didn't often shop at the dollar store, but when I did, I made the most of it. And the kids, I knew, had been waiting all week for this trip.



It was, after all, a Christmas tradition with us. Each year about this time, the kids were given an empty basket and told to fill them with Christmas decorations. At a dollar a pop, no one was going to break the bank, and once home, together we hung or displayed the decorations. Usually with cookies baking in the oven. Of course, this was the first year we were doing it without Danny, but so far, neither of the kids had mentioned the exclusion of their father, and I sure as hell wasn't going to say anything.



Seven months ago, just after a rare disease nearly cost my son his life, I had filed for divorce. Just last month, the divorce had been finalized. I was technically single, although my relationship with Kingsley Fulcrum had taken on legs. Or teeth. We had grown closer and more comfortable with each other, and for that I was grateful to him.



The famed defense attorney - never known for his moral compass, nor morals of any type - had suddenly developed a conscience. Now, he was a little more selective with his defense cases, a little more discerning. He winnowed out the obvious slimeballs. Of late, he seemed to choose his clients with some care.



He did this, I knew, for me.



After all, I had found it nearly impossible to get too close to a man who actively defended murderers and cutthroats, rapists and all-around jerk-offs. He got it. If he wanted me in the picture, he was going to have to change.



And he did.



Yeah, I'm still amazed and a little in shock.



But we were taking things slowly. I had to move slowly. Anything faster, and I would have seriously freaked out. So I only saw the big lug a few times a week, sometimes only once a week. He never stayed over...and only rarely did I stay over at his palatial estate. Half the time, he took me out. The other half, I cooked for him. It took me months before I formally introduced my kids to him. And even then, I only did so as my "friend."



I knew the friend comment hurt him, but he went with it. Anthony, I knew, had never seen a man this big in his life, and Kingsley was immediately the designated jungle gym. I couldn't help but laugh every time Kingsley showed up, especially in his two-thousand-dollar Armani suits, only to watch Anthony climb all over him.



I chuckled at the recent image of Kingsley sighing resignedly as Anthony used the defense attorney's massive bicep as a pull-up bar. To Kingsley's credit, he always let Anthony play, and never once did he mention his clothes. I figured that someday he would wise up and show up in jeans and a tee shirt.



We'll see.



I had just spotted an end-cap stacked with organic soup. Granted, I couldn't eat organic soup, but my kids could. And at a dollar a pop, I eagerly started scooping them up.



As I did so, I sensed someone behind me and paused and turned.



And gasped.



Okay, a small gasp. After all, I wasn't expecting to see such a beautiful man there, leaning casually against a shelf full of cheap spatulas, and smiling warmly at me. His eyes even twinkled, and I couldn't help but notice the soft, silvery aura that surrounded him. Never before had I seen a silver aura, and never an aura so alive and vibrant.



Who the hell was this guy?



I didn't know, but one thing was for sure: I was especially not expecting him to say my name, but that's exactly what he did.



He crossed his arms over his massive chest, and said, "Hello, Samantha. How are you?"



This time, I definitely gasped.