“Gotta trim the bottom to make it level,” he grunts.“Hold her steady.”
Olivia is clearly used to this because she doesn’t even blink as she watches her father mark the tree and then begin sawing.If I thought that was the end of it, the debris from the tree has to be shaken out which is a good workout, covering our jackets with sap.
Finally we maneuver the tree through the front door—Bob directing, me lifting, Olivia “supervising” which mostly means getting in the way and offering unhelpful commentary about angles.The scent of pine fills the house immediately.
Bob sets up the stand in the corner of the living room and anchors it to the trunk while I hold the tree steady.“Alright, I need to run to the hardware store for more lights,” he announces once it’s secured.“Sophie used half our stock for her bedroom.”
The moment he’s out the door, Olivia grabs my hand and tugs me toward the stairs.Her excitement is infectious, and I find myself grinning despite not knowing what’s coming.
In her room, she pulls something from behind her closet door—two bundles of knit fabric.“Ta-da!”She holds them up, and I realize they’re Christmas sweaters.Truly, horrifically ugly Christmas sweaters.
Mine is forest green with a massive reindeer head on the front, complete with an actual red pom-pom for the nose and antlers that are slightly crooked.Hers is candy-cane striped with a giant wreath embroidered across the chest, surrounded by what appears to be glittery bells that catch the light.
“Mom made these,” she says, practically glowing with pleasure.“She’s been working on yours since she found out you were coming.She’s normally a fast knitter, but she finished these on the machine to make sure they were ready in time.When I told her this morning we wanted to do the Holly and Ivy Race, she added the extra ugly bits.”She tilts her head, looking entirely too smug.“What do you think?”
I take the sweater from her, running my fingers over the stitching.It’s meticulous work, every detail carefully crafted despite the intentionally gaudy design.The pom-pom nose is hand-sewn, the antlers perfectly symmetrical even in their crookedness.Carol made this.Started making it before she even met me.Just because I was important to her daughter.
Something warm and unfamiliar lodges itself in my chest.
“Well?”Olivia’s grin widens, clearly enjoying watching me process this.“You’re awfully quiet.”
“This isn’t ugly,” I say, my voice rougher than intended.I meet her gaze, holding the sweater against my chest.“It’s wonderful.”
Satisfaction lights her eyes.“Really?”
“Your mother made this for me.”I trace the crooked antler with my thumb.“It’s perfect.”
She bounces on her toes slightly, clearly pleased with my reaction.“The race is at noon today.I signed us up this morning.”Her eyes spark with competitive fire.“We’re going to crush Chase and Amber.”
The mention of their names makes tension radiate through my jaw, but Olivia’s excitement is too infectious to let them ruin this moment.I set the sweater down carefully on her bed and draw Olivia closer.“We’re going to make them eat our dust.”
She laughs, the sound bright and unguarded, and tilts her face up to mine.“Promise?”
“Solemnly.”I brush my thumb across her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin.“They won’t know what hit them.”
Then I’m kissing her.For just a heartbeat, I feel her start to pull back—that instinct to retreat, to keep distance between us.But my arm wraps around her waist, firm and sure, and I lift her to her toes, pulling her closer.She makes a soft sound against my mouth, and then she melts.Her arms wind around my neck, and she opens to me, whatever resistance she had disappearing as she kisses me back with a hunger that matches my own.
When we finally break apart, both breathing uneven, her cheeks are flushed and her lips are swollen.“Stop doing that,” she says, but there’s no fight in her voice.Just breathlessness.
“Okay.”I don’t let go.
A hint of color touches her cheeks while she looks away, muttering, “I just came to show you the sweaters.Remind me not to be alone with you again.”
She’s moving away as she says this, but I catch her wrist and pull.She stumbles back into my chest with a soft gasp, and before she can protest, I’m kissing her again.This time it’s different—more demanding, more possessive.My hand tangles in her hair, bunching the soft strands as I angle her head exactly where I want it.My tongue slides against hers, claiming her mouth, showing her without words that she’s mine.That every time she tries to run, I’ll pull her back.
When I finally release her, she’s breathing hard, her eyes glazed and her lips parted.
I step back, letting her go completely, and head toward the door.“Noon, you said?”She just stares at me, speechless.“Better get ready, darling,” I say over my shoulder.“We have a race to win.”
* * *
The town square is packed.
I’ve been to charity galas with Manhattan’s elite, black-tie events where a single table costs six figures, but nothing compares to the cheerful insanity of the Holly and Ivy Race.Families bundled in winter coats crowd Main Street, children perched on parents’ shoulders.The smell of hot chocolate and cinnamon fills the air.Christmas music blares from speakers mounted on lampposts, and vendors are selling everything from hand warmers to commemorative ugly sweater pins.
Olivia’s practically vibrating beside me as we weave through the crowd toward the check-in table.Her candy-cane sweater catches the early afternoon light, the glittery bells reflecting in bright flashes.She looks ridiculous and beautiful and completely in her element.
“Okay, so here’s how it works,” she says, gesturing animatedly as we walk.“We tie our legs together with tinsel—left leg to right leg, so we have to move in sync.The route’s only about a mile, loops through downtown and back to the square.There are water stations and hot drink breaks every quarter mile because people get winded fast.”
