Hallie nodded. “It’s my first year. I want it to be perfect. You ever been?”
“My family used to go every year, but I haven’t been back since my dad died.” Christian didn’t realize he’d squeezed the steering wheel until his knuckles had turned white. Thinking about Dad would do that.
She was quiet for a minute before responding. “I’m sorry to hear that. About your dad, not the festival.”
“I figured.” Christian chuckled, though he couldn’t keep the sadness out of it. Would talking about Dad ever not hurt? “It was a long time ago but thank you.”
“You grew up here then?”
“I’m a born and raised Buena Hillian. Not to be mistaken with a Buenahellion,although a few of my elementary school teachers would vouch for the accuracy of that description of me as a kid.”
Hallie laughed, and the happy sound lifted the melancholy stirring deep in his chest. “I can’t picture you as the wild one.”
His mouth ticked into a smile. “I’ve mellowed out a lot.”
“Apparently.”
“You know that house across from the library? The Victorian one?”
“I love that house,” she said. “Every time I drive by, I wish I could go inside. It has to be just as gorgeous as the outside.”
Christian raised his brows but kept his eyes on the road. “Meh, it looks like a regular house. Sometimes a little messy, with a lot of windows to clean…”
She turned her full body toward him, her back pressed against the door. “That was your house?”
This time, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “My mom still lives there.”
“Wow. Do people ever sit outside and stare at it? Because I do. Especially during the Christmas season with all the lights. Too bad it doesn’t snow around here. It would make the perfect Christmas card. Does she hire someone for that? She couldn’t possibly do it herself. Sorry, I don’t usually ramble this much.”
Christian glanced at her in time to catch her cheeks pink, which only contributed to her natural beauty. Nope, not going there. “If by hire you mean voluntellingme to do it for free, you’ve got it right.”
Hallie laughed again, and Christian’s heart stuttered. “Wow! I’m learning so much about you. I didn’t realize you had a talent in Christmas light design.”
Christian snorted. “More like she stands in the yard and tells me exactly where to string them, and I do all the manual labor.”
“Ah, so you’ve got brains and brawn?”
Did he detect a little flirtation in her voice? Impossible. She didn’t seem like the flirty type. And Christian couldn’t encourage it anyway. He didn’t understand how she’d broken through his walls again. That barrier was iron-clad.
“I don’t think anyone would ever describe me as brawny. But thank you for stoking my ego. I’m just trying to live up to my dad.”
“What do you mean?”
He took a minute to answer, sadness returning to his tone when he did. “He loved Christmas. The lights were his favorite part. Everyyear he did something different. He’d start designing in October and putting them up the day after Thanksgiving. And he’d never let my mom see the finished product until December first.”
“That’s really fun.”
Christian swallowed hard. “A lot of our traditions stopped when he died. Not intentionally, but my mom worked multiple jobs to support me and my sister, so there wasn’t time for them anymore.”
“How old were you when he died?”
“Twelve.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “Christmas lights were the one tradition my mom stuck to every year. She always wants them exactly the same as the last time my dad put them up.”
“Your parents must have adored each other.”
“They did.”
A lot of good that did anyone. Dad was dead. Sabrina left. Love only brought pain. And Christian was tired of hurting.
