Chapter 12 #2
Tāne cut him off with a raised hand. “Let me tell you,” he began, “about young Kai and the Great Christmas Pageant Debacle.”
Kai’s soul visibly left his body.
“No,” he whispered.
“Yes.” Tāne sounded delighted. “Because this one … this one is a classic.”
I leaned forward, chin in hand, savoring every second. “I’m listening.”
Kai shot me a look of both betrayal and resignation. As if to say he had accepted his fate, but hated the circumstances leading to it.
This only made me smile harder.
Tāne cleared his throat as though he were about to deliver a TED Talk.
“So. The Great Christmas Pageant Debacle.”
Kai slumped back in his chair, arms crossed, jaw set in a rigid line. “It wasn’t a debacle.”
“Oh, it absolutely was,” Tāne said. “You traumatized an entire congregation.”
That got my full attention. “Proceed.”
Kai pointed at me. “You don’t have to sound that excited.”
“Incorrect. I absolutely do.”
Tāne steepled his fingers. “Picture this … a small rural Australian town. A packed holiday crowd. Children in itchy angel wings. Carols being sung out of tune. And one eight-year-old Kai—”
Kai buried his face in his hands again. “Please don’t.”
“—assigned the role of Shepherd Number Three.”
I snorted. “Important part, clearly.”
“Oh, crucial.” Tāne nodded his head, agreeing. “Except little Kai decided Shepherd Number Three needed … flair.”
Kai rubbed his face. “I thought it was boring.”
“Oh, we know,” Tāne said. “Because instead of walking onstage like a normal child, he burst out from behind the nativity hay bales and shouted—” Tāne spread his arms dramatically, “—‘BEHOLD, MORTALS!’”
I choked. Actually choked.
“I was eight—” Kai protested feebly, but Tāne barreled on.
“And then — then — he tried to ‘herd’ the other shepherds with his crook, except he swung too wide and caught Joseph across the shins.”
I wheezed. “He attacked Joseph?”
“Flattened him,” Tāne declared proudly. “Kid dropped like a sack of potatoes. Mary screamed. Baby Jesus went flying. Rubber or not, it bounced into the communion plates.”
I had to put my plate down then, because I was laughing too hard to hold on to it.
Kai sat there rigidly, the tips of his ears reddening. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“Oh no. You’re right. I forgot the grand finale.”
Kai’s eyes widened. “Uncle. Don’t.”
But Tāne ignored him. “When the pastor tried to restore order, what did young Kai do? Climbed onto the edge of the stage, lifted his shepherd’s staff like a battle-axe, and shouted—”
Tāne took a deep breath.
“‘YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO, I’M FROM THE WILDERNESS!’”
I absolutely lost it.
I had to curl up with my forehead on my knees because I genuinely thought I was going to pass out from laughing so much.
Kai swore under his breath. “It wasn’t — okay, it was kind of like that, but—”
“No,” I gasped, wiping away tears. “No just — oh my God — ‘I’m from the wilderness?’”
He scrubbed a hand down his face, looking defeated. “I grew up near the bush. It made sense at the time.”
I sat back up, still breathless. “You dramatic little menace.”
Kai glared at his uncle. “You’re supposed to love me.”
“I do,” Tāne countered cheerfully. “It’s why I share.”
I pointed between them. “More. I need more of these.”
Kai closed his eyes and slowly shook his head.
Tāne pretended to consider. “Well … there’s also the incident with the drop bears—”
Kai sat bolt upright. “Not that one.”
I tilted my head, relishing the fear in his eyes. “Drop bears?”
Tāne grinned. “Oh, this one’s a masterpiece.”
Kai muttered a prayer, his accent so thick I didn’t understand a single word.
Tāne leaned in, resting his elbows on his knees, and I did the same because if this was the warm-up, I fully expected the next story was probably about Kai accidentally triggering a small-scale natural disaster at age nine.
“Alright,” Tāne declared. “Eleven-year-old Kai, a camping trip, and one extremely gullible—”
Kai hid his face behind his hands.
I smiled with wicked delight. “Continue.”
Tāne leaned back in his chair as though he had been waiting his whole life for me to ask him to tell this story.
Meanwhile, Kai slid lower and lower in his seat until his chin nearly hit his chest. If he could have melted through the living room floor and escaped into the crawl space, he would have.
“So,” Tāne began, clasping his hands together like a schoolteacher addressing a very slow class, “drop bears.”
I blinked. “Please tell me that’s not a real thing.”
“It’s not,” Kai snapped immediately, lifting his head just enough to send his uncle a murderous look. “It’s not real, Tori.”
Tāne nodded solemnly. “He’s right. They’re absolutely not real. Though Kai, at age eleven, was not aware of that.”
I turned to Kai. “You fell for a fake animal?”
“It’s not my fault he was very convincing.”
Tāne continued, utterly delighted. “So we take the boys camping. Very standard. Fire pit, sausages, the works. And then, as night falls, I say…”
He switched into an overly serious tone, “‘Now keep your voices down, lads. Don’t want to attract the drop bears.’”
Kai covered his face with both hands. “Oh my God.”
“And Kai,” Tāne continued, “goes still. Like someone unplugged him. His eyes were wide, his mouth was open and his brain just—” He made a little fizzing noise.
I snorted. “I’m listening.”
“So,” Tāne went on, “I explain in great detail how drop bears are basically carnivorous koalas leaping from trees onto unsuspecting victims.”
“You traumatized me.” Kai lifted an accusing finger in his uncle’s direction.
“Only temporarily.” Tāne shrugged. “He spent the entire night sleeping inside his sleeping bag like a burrito so no ‘drop bear’ could get him. All you could see were a pair of terrified little eyes.”
Kai groaned into his palms. “I’m never talking to you again.”
Tāne leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “And then, when a possum knocked over the kettle, Kai screamed so loud three wallabies fled the area.”
I wheezed. “Oh my GOD.”
Kai dropped his hands, his cheeks flushing. “I was ELEVEN.”
“And brave. Such a big, brave boy,” Tāne added, smirking. “We all remember the burrito battle stance.”
Tāne hopped up, bent his knees, and curled his arms into his chest like he was about to roll down a hill. Kai swore viciously.
I wiped tears from my eyes. “Okay. This one might beat the nativity play.”
“It does,” Tāne stated proudly. “It’s the undefeated champion.”
Kai thumped his head gently against the table.
I, meanwhile, couldn’t stop smiling.
Once the Drop Bear story had faded into my wheezing laughter, Tāne sat back with that smug uncle expression saying he was nowhere near finished ruining Kai’s life.
Kai tried to recover what dignity he had left, straightening in his seat. That’s when Tāne wiped his mouth with a napkin and remarked, far too casually, “Well, at least I didn’t bring up the name thing.”
Kai’s whole body went rigid with a snap.
“Uncle. Don’t.”
I perked up instantly. “Name thing?”
Tāne gave me a look like Christmas had come early.
“Oh, he hasn’t told you? You’re in for a treat.”
Kai let out the quietest, most pathetic “please” I’ve ever heard, but his uncle ignored it with Olympic-level skill.
“His name’s actually Mikaere.”
I blinked. “Wait — really?”
Kai slumped back in surrender. “It’s just a name.”
Tāne raised a finger.
“Oh no. No, no. You see, Mikaere is the normal name. Perfectly respectable. But this one,” he said, jabbing a thumb at Kai, “decided he didn’t want to be called Mikaere.”
I tilted my head. “Why?”
Tāne beamed. “Because he insisted on going by Kai.”
“And?”
“And,” Tāne continued, savoring the moment as though it were some kind of delectable treat, “Kai literally means ‘food’ in Te Reo Māori.”
I could not breathe.
Kai covered his face. “I didn’t know that when I was two!”
Tāne leaned forward. “We told him — repeatedly — but he can be really stubborn when he wants to.”
I stared at Kai, fighting a grin. “So your chosen nickname … is food?”
“It’s just a word.”
“Sure it is.” I giggled. “Snack.”
Tāne practically howled. “Oh, that’s good.”
Kai shot straight up. “Absolutely not.”
“Snack,” I repeated, smiling sweetly.
“No.”
“Little snack pack.”
“Tori.”
“Midday meal.”
He glared. “You’re enjoying this.”
“I’m delighted,” I corrected him.
Tāne wiped tears from his eyes. “We tried calling him ‘Kai’ at home, but every cousin and auntie kept asking, ‘Who? The kid or the leftovers?’”
Kai put his head back down on the table like he was trying to suffocate himself.
I leaned on my elbow and studied him.
“Honestly? It fits.”
He peeked up. “How?”
I shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, even though my heart did a little flutter. “You’re easy to … consume.”
Both men froze and Tāne’s eyebrows shot into orbit.
Kai slow-blinked like his brain was buffering, then his mouth tugged into the slowest, cockiest, prettiest smile.
I shoved a bite of pavlova into my mouth to hide the very real heat crawling up my neck.
Snack, indeed.
Tāne cleared his throat, grumbled something unintelligible and went to the kitchen to get more drinks, which left me and Kai alone.
He just sat there with his arms crossed, lower lip pushed out, glaring at the floor like it had personally wronged him.
“You good?” I sipped the last of my water.
“No.”
I blinked, amused. “You look like someone stole your birthday.”
“My dignity,” he said flatly. “He stole my dignity.”
“Please,” I scoffed. “You never had any to begin with.”
His head snapped up. “Wow. Harsh.”
“True.”
“I’m not slow,” he muttered. “I just — was gullible. Once.”
“And the Christmas pageant?”
“Twice.”
“And the magpie?”
He huffed exasperatedly. “Okay, maybe three times.”
I slid forward in my chair and nudged his outstretched ankle with my foot. “You know I’m not laughing at you because I think you’re an idiot, right?”
Kai looked up at me, his eyes soft and unsure.
“Then why are you laughing?” he asked quietly.
“Because you were a dramatic little menace. And because it’s adorable.”
His pout wavered.
Eventually, Tāne returned with more drinks, ready to launch into a story about Kai accidentally joining a folk dance troupe at the age of thirteen
“I didn’t know it was a troupe, I thought it was a line!” Kai exclaimed.
I laughed until my sides hurt, and somewhere between Kai’s horrified “UNCLE, STOP” and Tāne miming a folk-dance kick, I realized I hadn’t felt this light in … a long time. Suddenly, my chest tightened with an odd, unwelcome little pull.
Because I knew better.
I knew better than to get comfortable — to enjoy him, to enjoy this.
Kai wasn’t mine. But when he grinned at me — big, bright, stupidly warm — and nudged his knee against mine like he didn’t even think about it…
I could feel my reality shifting ever so slightly.
Like gravity had opinions I wasn’t prepared to hear.
I cleared my throat and sat up straighter. “Alright, one more story.” I pointed at Tāne. “Then I’m going home before Kai dissolves into a puddle.”
Kai frowned at me, but it was softer than before. “You’re mean.”
“Yeah, but you like it.”
He gave me a slow and dangerous smile. “Yeah. I kind of do.”
I looked away before my face could give anything away. The night hummed on, and I tried — really, truly tried — not to get pulled in any further.
Their bickering wasn’t sharp; it was warm and easy, a rhythm they’d clearly honed over many years.
It loosened something in my chest, something I didn’t often allow to relax. “Thanks for the pavlova,” Kai murmured as I finally stood. “Really.”
I shrugged, pretending my pulse wasn’t racing. “It’s whatever.”
“Still,” he said with a slow smile. “I’m glad you came over.”
I rolled my eyes and ignored the warmth spreading across my face.
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late,” he whispered, barely audible.
Kai insisted on walking me to my door — the whole twenty yards from his front door to mine — but it was kind of sweet.
There was an awkward pause, and even though I knew what I wanted to do, I hesitated. Would he misinterpret it? Would I come off as too eager?
When I finally broke the silence, it was with a softer tone than usual.
“Happy birthday, Kai.”
I peered up at him through my lashes and watched a genuine smile spread across his face.
“Wouldn’t have been half as good without y—”
My body was acting on its own. I fisted his shirt in one hand, pulled him down to me and rose onto my tiptoes. Before I knew it, I had pressed my mouth against his.
Kai froze for a moment before moaning against my lips, wrapping one big arm around my waist and pulling me against his chest.
I gasped in surprise, and his tongue darted out to take advantage of my parted lips. With deep, sensual strokes, he drew me into a dance sending shivers racing down my spine.
Holy shit, this bastard could kiss.
After what felt like both an eternity and a blink of the eye, he pulled back and pressed his forehead against mine, our breaths mingling.
I bit back the embarrassing whimper threatening to escape at the loss of contact. What the actual fuck was wrong with me?
“Christ, you’re good at this birthday shit. Making my fucking day over and over again.”
“Don’t get used to it.” My voice sounded breathy, and I was trying desperately to ignore the urge to throw myself at him again.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He winked at me and slowly released me, taking a measured step back as though he, too, was holding onto his self-control by a thread. “Good night, Tori.”
“Good night, Kai.”