I glanced over at the ornaments, suddenly anxious to get to work filming the tree decorating—if only it would change the tension in the room—when an idea came to me.
“In the meantime, you can help me string up these lights, generously donated by Sullivan Hardware store.” I grabbed the box and pulled out one of the light sets. “What kind of lights are these anyway?”
Maddox seemed oblivious as he automatically began explaining what was great about those particular lights. His whole demeanor changed when he talked about something he was passionate about, his hands moving animatedly, eyes bright with enthusiasm. As we moved around the tree, preparing it for light-stringing, Maddox expounded on his knowledge of the different kinds of Christmas lights and why his store only carried the ones they carried.
“They’re shatterproof, energy-efficient, and the wiring’s reinforced. I tested them before I ordered a single box,” he explained.
“Probably could have picked up cheaper ones at the dollar store,” I said offhandedly, deliberately provoking him.
He glared at me from the other side of the wide tree. “Sure, if you want your place to burn down and your family harmed. Jesus, Hayes. The cheap ones don’t just burn out. They overheat. The last thing I want is someone’s house catching fire over a strand of faulty lights.”
I spent a few moments arranging the lights in the branches before passing the rest of the string around to him. Every time our fingers brushed, I felt a spark that was hard to ignore. “What if I don’t like all these twinkling colors? The fancy trees in California designer homes all have trees with white lights.”
“Screw your fancy California trees,” he said from the far side of the tree. “People around here like color. They like twinkling. They like some life in their holiday decorations.”
After a minute, he sighed. “But if you want plain white lights, you can just change the selector here like this,” he said, showing me the little green box at the end of the strand. “Easy peasy.”
I bit my lip to hide my smile. “These are pretty cool. They have selectors for all kinds of options. What if I need more strands?”
“We have plenty at the store. You can connect them together.”
“Are they expensive?” I asked, already knowing the answer because I’d seen the display in the window.
“No. More than the dollar store, but they’re on sale right now with a buy two, get one offer. And it’s more expensive to replace dead strands every year than to buy a good quality one from the jump.”
“I’m not driving to Sullivan Hardware in this weather. Do you do online ordering or anything? Home delivery?”
He grumbled again. “I’ll bring them out to you next time I’m out this way. It’s fine.”
“Answer the question, Sullivan. Do you offer online ordering?”
“Yes, okay? Jesus. SullivanHardwareLegacy dot com. But if I see an order from you, I’m ignoring it.”
We continued working together on the lights on the tree, then moved to the decorations. Occasionally, our hands would brush, or I’d catch him watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. Throughout the entire process, we gave each other hell about our placement choices, our complete lack of good taste, and any other thing we could think of to exchange good-natured insults over.
“That ornament’s too heavy for that branch,” Maddox pointed out, reaching around me to relocate it. His chest pressed against my back for a moment, his breath warm on my neck.
“You’re just jealous because my side of the tree looks better,” I managed, trying to ignore how my skin tingled where he’d touched me.
“Your side looks like a department store display. No soul.”
“Better than your side looking like a five-year-old decorated it.”
His soft laugh rumbled through me. Our teasing gradually gave way to something more comfortable. Away from prying eyes and local gossip, Maddox seemed to relax slightly, his responses becoming less guarded, his rare smiles less grudging. “Christmas trees are supposed to look like five-year-olds decorated them.”
“Not in my family. We had professionals decorate them.”
“Oh.” Maddox turned off the camera since the tree was done. “What was it like for you, then? Holidays growing up in the Hayes household.”
The question caught me off guard.
We settled on opposite ends of the sofa, the fire crackling between us and the colorful, twinkling tree. The storm howled outside, making the cabin feel like our own private world. I’d found a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen cabinet, and we were eachnursing a small glass in between bites of cheese and crackers from a welcome pack I’d found in the fridge.
“Picture-perfect,” I replied honestly. Something about the firelight and whiskey, the intimacy of being trapped together, made my usual deflections feel hollow. “Actually, that’s a lie.”
Maddox raised an eyebrow but waited silently. His patience unnerved me more than questions would have.
“They were… curated,” I admitted. “Everything matched the color scheme my mother chose that year. Professional tree decorators and gift wrappers. Family photos in coordinating outfits, everyone smiling like we meant it. No messes. Nothing unexpected or unsanctioned.” I traced the rim of my glass. “I made a paper chain for the tree when I was seven. My mother threw it away because it didn’t match.”
