“Everything alright over there?” Freeing a hook from a tangled glob, she develops a thoughtful creasebetween her eyebrows. “You going dark on me, Knox?”
No, more like the Ghost of Christmas Past has gotten in my face. “I’m good. Just thinking.” I pick up an ornament, palming it.
Everly turns her back as she hooks a ball onto a bough. “About?”
The air stills. She wasn’t supposed to ask. Miss Cautiously Guarded has turned into Miss Chipper Talky-Talky.
No way am I divulging the rando notion that snagged me like a spindly branch in the forest and refuses to let go. “Last Christmas wasn’t so hot.”
Brows lifted, she pivots, positioning the ornament just so.
But I’m not bringing her with me for a swim in a pool of shark-infested memories. I locate a smile from the bleak corners of my mind. “I’ll tell you sometime—but tonight is for fun.”
Fine lines crinkle at the corners of her eyes. “Fun it is.”
We empty out the box of red balls, following with a box of silver ones. I take a seat at the nearest table, where my cocoa waits, and pat the wiped-down surface. “Pull up a chair. Your drink is going to be stone cold.”
She steps over the decorating debris and joins me. “You know, the books make it seem totally doable, drinking hot cocoa and tree decorating simultaneously.”
I grin over the rim of my mug where the mountain of whipped cream has indeed melted into an unimpressive speed bump. “Can’t believe everything you read.”
She laughs before puckering her lips for a sip. The peppermint shards float like debris littering river water after a flood.
I stare through the window at my truck in the parking lot. If my eyes linger too long on Everly’s lips, I’ll do something stupid, and I’ve already set myself up for enough trouble as it is. I am not on the hunt for a relationship, and I’m certainly not a player. I don’t mean to be a baby about things, but betrayal—and yeah, rejection—linger like foul odors that have infiltrated my senses.
Then what are you doing here, pardner?
Excellent question.
And I have an answer. At my core, I am an introvert. I can pass the time with my nose in a book or lose myself in a podcast as well as the next guy who tends toward overthinking, but solitude does eventually max me out. A month by my lonesome in Chandor has accomplished exactly that. Everly is easy to be with and nice to look at. That’s all this is and the story I’m running with for as far as it will take me.
There’s a smudge of cream on the bow of Everly’s lip that labors mightily against my intentions. Thankfully, she rips a napkin from the table dispenser and dabs it away. Whew, because my mind had already conjured a couple of different ways to take care of the problem for her.
“Is this what you do all the time? Travel for work?”
Ah, a safe topic. I run my finger along the arc of the mug’s handle. “I do, just not always this far. I’m often close enough to spend weekends at home.” I tap the handle, sighing. “I never should have gotten a dog. After this job, I think mine may petition the courts to let my parents permanently adopt him.”
A giggle conveys appreciation of my humor. “What kind of dog do you have?”
“Dozer is a French Bulldog.”
Her head tilts.
“What?”
“I’m sorry. Doesn’t fit. They say dogs match their owners.”
“What does fit?” I’m wildly curious.
“A retriever, maybe.”
“Why is that?”
“Retrievers are big. Friendly.”
And intelligent—which I notice she doesn’t mention. Is that how she sees me? A big, clumsy animal with its tongue flopping out, drooling spit on everyone in a bid for affection? Has this tree thing made me out to be desperate for attention?
You’re being an overly sensitive baby, Knox.“Hey, a Frenchie wasn’t my first pick either, but they are great dogs.”
