“Aw, she seems way too sweet for that.”
“Hate to break it to you, but any perfectionism I own comes straight from her.” Everly sends me a scolding frown.“And didn’t we already discuss her unhealthy attachment to Christmas décor?”
I grin. “Yes, but you weren’t quite this succinct.”
“My bad.” She folds her arms across her middle. Her fingers emerge from the sleeves of her sweater and curl around the cuffs. “You should probably get out while the getting’s good.”
We laugh together.
I tilt my head at the flawed tree. “It’s still kind of pretty, don’t you think? It’s unique.” With its single stratum of colored lights.
“It’s a special tree.”
I nod. “Perfected by imperfection.”
“Works for me.”
We high-five and dissolve into laughter.
Laugh-sighing, she holds her side. “Just don’t expect my mom to be as agreeable.”
Her mother picks the very second to flit around the corner. She stops on a dime, gaping at the tree. Everly shifts into explanation mode, praising my heroic efforts at an attempted fix.
Claire’s blatant dismay, valiantly quashed, makes the smile that breaks across her face and enthusiastic handclap hugely entertaining. “How lovely!”
Everly turns to me. “She’s only saying that because you’re here.”
“Yes, he is, Everly Anne, and you should make the most of it.” Claire brushes past, tweaking her on the arm. “Cookies are almost ready, and then we can start decorating.”
Everly gawks. Pink flares across her cheeks, spreading like wildfire in a drought. I thought my mom was the queen of embarrassing her offspring, but at least she backed off as I got older.
“You’re catching flies, Ev.” I tap the pad of my finger to her chin and close her mouth, which only fans the flames on her cheeks.
Beautiful.I must say my time in Chandor has evolved into a dramatically interesting interlude.
Utensils rattle, a drawer bangs, and Claire’s voice singsongs from just out of sight. “Cookies and cocoa are served. Come and get it!”
I brush my lips to Everly’s ear. “And here I was thinking the sweetness in the air was you.”
A soft gasp rings to my ears before she scampers to the kitchen. By the time I catch up, she’s loaded down with goodies and scoots a warm, red and white Santa plate across the island at me. Sugar cookies topped with chocolate kisses.
My fingers barely fit through the handle of the mug she presses at my opposite hand. A swirl of snowy white cream caps the drink, and a candy cane rests against the rim.
So much sugar. Good thing I’m not planted behind a desk all day. I’m getting old enough that maintaining my girlish figure takes work. But speaking of sugar, Everly is as sweet as the confections in my hands. She leads with attitude, but getting to know her reveals a soft, gooey inside.
We return to the living room and consume our snacks from opposite corners of the sofa. I sat first, so the chasm is her doing. Claire joins us, daintily sipping her cocoa from a wingback chair near the fireplace. She chatters away about new ornaments she purchased.
Oakley has pulled a vanishing act.Whew, because it seems I’ve failed the sister test after what appeared to be a fast start in the right direction.
Once the cookies are in our stomachs, Everly takes to her feet and stares down the naked tree. “Alrighty. Let’s get this partystarted.” She pops the candy cane from her mug and hangs it in her mouth.
The decorating goes into full, merry swing. Claire tunes the television to a channel playing a Yule log and holiday tunes.
Radio stations went twenty-four-seven on Christmas music weeks ago, restaurants and stores nearly as long. In a normal year, the repetition is making my stomach queasy by now, but today, the strains of the festive classics capture everything I long to be feeling in this season. Peace, joy, belonging.
Crazy, I know. Belonging with the people in this comfy home is a stretch at this stage of the game, but meeting Everly has me reimagining the dismal holiday season I was facing until she came along. The lady has been a gift, and I feel like I’ve only slipped my finger beneath the first piece of tape in the unwrapping process. There’s not a thing I don’t want to discover about her.
Claire’s hands fly to her cheeks. “Oh my goodness, Knox! I promised you a football game.”
