“Jesus, Natalie…” I press my forehead to hers, trying to get control of my breathing. “You can’t just say stuff like that out here when I’m still trying to take this thing slow.”
She grins, wicked and soft at the same time. “I like making things hard for you.”
“Wicked little minx.” I let out a shaky laugh and kiss her again, slower this time, savoring every sound she makes and cataloguing very slight movement against me. The snow keeps falling. The lights flicker. She’s warm in my arms, and for the first time in years I don’t feel like I’m faking who I am. I’m what I have been since day one.
Hopelessly, helplessly,hers.
“I can be a really good boy,” I murmur against her mouth, still holding her tight. “If you let me.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY
COLE
“Don’t overthink it,just feel the tree. It’ll tell you where Santa Paws is supposed to go,” Natalie whispers over my shoulder as I stand frozen with indecision. A sparkly glass-blown cat with a Santa hat is extended in my hand, waiting to be placed on the tree. But where?
There must be a particular way Mrs. D’Amore likes the tree to be decorated, and after the sugar cookie incident, I want to nail it.
“Relax. This is supposed to be fun,” Natalie says, gently placing a hand on my shoulder and guiding my arm to the tree.
“I love you, but I don’t believe anything you’re telling me right now,” I say, my brows pinched in concentration so focused on the tree I barely register that I casually dropped anI love youonly days after this woman figured out I like her. Smooth, Cole smooth.
“You mean you don’t trust me?” she asks, apparently ignoring my casual proclamation of love, so cool. “But I thought you said you loved me.” Or she’s going to throw it in my face. Also cool. Shesoundswounded and makes a show to wipe at hereyes.Soundsis the keyword here. She’s playing me. She has to be.
Each room in the D’Amore home has a theme, decorated with what seems like years of careful curation by her mother. The woman used tweezers to decorate cookies, for god’s sake. There’s no way in hell she’s just laissez-faire about this Christmas tree.
“Seriously, Cole. My mom is super chill about the tree,” Natalie shrugs, grabbing some tinsel and mindlessly tossing it on the tree. “It’s literally the one thing in the house I’ve been granted that can be just vibes. See?” She motions to the silver tinsel dangling from a branch. “Vibes. Easy. Just throw them up there.”
I narrow my eyes and study her, but she doesn’t blink or fidget like she usually does when she’s lying. If she’s conning me, she’s doing a damn good job, and I’m tired of holding this cat.
Reaching for a branch, I slide the twine over the evergreen and breathe out a sigh of relief. There. I did it. I decorated a tree.
Well, I put an ornament on a tree, and that’s more than I’ve done in years, so put a Santa hat on me and call me Kris Kringle, I guess.
Natalie smiles at me. “Do you feel accomplished?”
“Like a goddamn Hallmark movie hero,” I say. Though I doubt that in the movie the guy is panicking about whether putting the cat ornament next to a homemade macaroni ornament is the right move, or if I should have put it lower. Higher? Should it even be on this side of the tree?
Holy hell, this sucks. For the most part, letting my guard down has been freeing, but there’s also a terrifying side of it. I want Natalie and her family to like…me. Not whoever I was trying to be. I’m way too vulnerable right now, like skating out in open ice and preparing for a hit.
Natalie gives me another ornament: a chickadee holding a blueberry branch in its beak.
“I mean, the other spot was so nice, you could just put them close together,” she whispers.
I nod, feeling like an idiot as the scent of pine needles and the pressure of deciding where to put another ornament overwhelm me. So I listen and slide the chickadee a branch down from the cat.
“It’s starting to snow! What a perfect day to decorate the tree,” Mrs. D’Amore’s slippered-steps shuffle into the living room where we’re decorating the Christmas tree in front of a picture window. Big wet flakes fall softly outside. Christmas carols crackle from the record player. Cookies baking in the oven fill the house with sugar, butter, and flour. My shoulders relax while a nostalgic holiday feeling surrounds me. Could this actually be a laid-back experience, like Natalie said?
Mrs. D’Amore pauses next to me and I swear I can feel her stare before I look over my shoulder to see it.
“I’ll go see if I can find the tape measurer, Cole.” She gives my shoulder a sad, pitiful pat. “Oh, and we put the tinsel on last so we don’t crowd the ornaments with it.” She pinches at the tinsel that Natalie threw near my ornaments and plucks it off the tree, letting it fall to ground, her lips flatlining with disgust.
I sputter and choke on my spit, devolving into a coughing mess.
Around the tree, Natalie counts off branches before placing an ornament on the tree. Her mom smiles at her with pride. Natalie tries to hide her mischievous grin from me. “Do you have the ornament spacer you made for me when I was a child? That might be more helpful for him.” she says. “If it wasn’t clear with the cookies, he’s spatially challenged.” She whispers this last part like it’s a tragic flaw of mine.
“Oh, yes! I think I saw it in one of the Christmas boxes your father pulled from storage. I’ll go get it.” Mrs. D’Amore looks up at me and smiles sadly. “It’s okay, dear. You’re a spectacular hockey player.” With a sigh, she shuffles out of the door.
