“I’ll grab my axe,” I tell her as I tuck myself back into my jeans.
“Don’t be silly. It’s too cold for that nonsense. Use the chainsaw,” she says as she snaps the dish towel at me.
We trek out into the woods an hour later. Rachel’s in more borrowed clothes. Insulated pants that are too big around her waist but cling to her thighs. She drowns in my spare coat. Three pairs of wool socks ensure the snow boots don’t slip off her feet.
“How about this one?” I ask pointing to a decently sized Douglas fir.
“Ugh,” she says.
So, that’s a no.
“Or that one,” I suggest pointing to a pine.
She stomps around me, taking point as we walk through the forest behind my cabin.
“I’ll pick the tree. Your taste is horrible.”
Thirty minutes and half a mile later she settles on a six-foot Colorado blue spruce. She cheers when it falls, all pink cheeked joy that makes me feel ten feet tall.
“Do you need my help to carry it back?” she asks. “It looks heavy.”
“I got it,” I assure her. “Just need you to be in charge of the chainsaw.”
I’m faster dragging the tree than she is with the tool, but I’m in no rush. We have all day, and if I have my way the rest of our lives.
“In front of the window,” she directs when we get back home. “I want it to be visible to everyone!”
“No one comes up here,” I tell her.
“Then it’ll be just for us, and we can appreciate it whether we’re inside or outside the cabin.”
I drag out a tote of decorations my mother forced on me years ago. Rachel’s eyes light up when she sees them.
Two hours later I’ve been fired from ornament hanging and sentenced to the couch for the duration of decorating. I only get called off the bench for projects she can’t reach.
Throughout the day she hangs decorations around the cabin like it’s going to be her masterpiece. Once she’s done, I can’t be convinced that it’s not. Rachel has turned the rustic little hunter’s cabin into something out of a hallmark movie.
Evergreen garland hangs from the mantle and underneath the windows. She’s found a couple of stockings to hang on either side of the fireplace. It’s the lights that make the room stand out. Rather than merely drape them across the tree branches she didn’t stop there. Multi-colored lights run along the edges of the ceiling and trace every doorframe and windowsill.
“Hot cocoa break?” I ask when she steps back to survey her handiwork.
She allows the indulgence.
“You did good, Rachel.”
“Couldn’t have done it without you.”
I hand her the mug of cocoa, and she curls up beside me, blanket pooled around her legs, cheeks still flushed from decorating. The tree glows in the corner, lights twinkling off the windows like tiny stars.
Rachel sighs, soft and content, and leans her head on my shoulder.
We sit there for a long while, not talking, just letting the warmth settle around us. At some point she dozes off against me, breathing slow and even, fingers curled loosely at my side like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go.
I don’t move. Not until the fire burns low and the room is nothing but shadows and colored lights.
“Come on, sweetheart,” I whisper, brushing hair from her face. “Bed.”
She stirs, blinking up at me with a sleepy smile before letting me guide her down the hallway.
