I have to admit, I think of Gavin when I hear it now, not Alex or Kayla. “It’s growing on me.”
“Good. Let’s crack on.” Gavin helps me organize the boxes into themes. We put the nutcrackers and reindeer on the mantel with the stocking holders and some lit garland, hang the wreath on the door and the windows, and add garland, lights, and red tartan ribbon wherever we can. The speakers on the TV are connected to Gavin’s phone and play aChristmas playlist he found somewhere, so some of the songs are different, things I’ve never heard before. Most are classics, though.
By the time the boxes are mostly empty, the interior of the house has been transformed into Santa’s workshop. The whole place has an overwhelmingly Christmassy feeling about it that hits me in the gut, and I’m certain Luna will feel the same. She’s always cared about this sort of thing.
It’s still missing something. I scan the room, then check the boxes. Ah ha.
“Here are the stockings,” I say, pulling a red one out that has Gavin’s name embroidered in green thread. The tartan pattern is faint and faded, but it’s there.
He’s standing at the window, fixing a wreath above the center. “We can leave that in the box.”
I can’t tell if he’s joking. “Do you have other stockings somewhere?”
“No.”
“Is this a weird Scottish custom? Leave the stocking holders empty until Christmas Eve and then you hang them for Santa?”
“Scotland didn’tofficiallyhave Christmas until sixty-five years ago, if you’ll recall. It wasn’t a legal holiday here, but that’s not…no. Did you know that historically people wouldn’t decorate until Christmas Eve because they feared it brought bad luck if they put up their decorations early? Then they left everything up until Epiphany.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why does it feel like you’re trying to distract me?”
He finishes hanging the wreath, reaching high above his head, his shirt lifting as he works. Sharp attraction shoots through me, nestling low in my stomach.
When he’s done, he faces me. “I’m not.”
My mouth is dry, so I swallow. If he doesn’t want to hang the stockings, we can leave them in the box. The mantel looksempty, but it’s his house. I go to remove the heavy stocking holders and carry them back to put them away.
“Those can stay.”
“For Christmas Eve?” I pop a hand on my hip, hitting myself with a heavy stocking holder. “So youaresuperstitious?”
“No. I just…” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I have a difficult relationship with Christmas, Callie. Some things are harder than others. Those stockings in particular are not my favorite decoration.”
Now I feel awful. I place the heavy hangers back on the mantel and stand there, letting the fire warm my calves. “Don’t you secretly knit? You should make yourself some new ones.”
“I told you, the socks came from my mate.”
“Then why do you have so many of them? You’ve given me a new pair every day.”
“Because he’s made me a new pair every Christmas.” He pulls the stocking from the box and carries it to the fireplace.
“Rory?”
“No, actually. Douglas.”
A startled laugh gurgles from my chest. “Not who I expected.”
“He gives all his friends a knitted hat or socks for Christmas. I’ve been getting them for years.”
It doesn’t surprise me in the least that Gavin would be on the reciprocating end of a sweet gift from a curmudgeon. What took me aback was the time and effort Douglas is willing to put into his socks. “He must start knitting pretty early on.”
“January, I’d reckon. He has many friends.”
“I noticed that last night.”
Gavin holds the stocking with two hands and looks down at it. His thumb brushes the edge of the loop meant to hang it. “My parents are good people, but they can be forgetful.”
I sense we’re at the start of an important conversation, and my entire body grows still. Gavin is trusting me, which feels likethe moment when I started to pet his horses and hoped they wouldn’t bat me away. Maybe if I don’t move a muscle, he’ll continue.
