“It does not have eyeballs.”
“It does.”
He has a point. “Okay, that one’s out. How about this?”
I lift a simple metal snowflake. He gives it a long look and nods once. “That one’s fine.”
Progress.
We gather garlands, a few candles, some ribbon, and a handful of ornaments. Cyrus keeps trying to put things back. I keep putting them in the basket again. It becomes a quiet tug-of-war neither of us acknowledges.
At the register, the clerk eyes our cart. “Big decorating plans?”
“Yes,” I say.
“No,” Cyrus says at the same time.
The clerk raises an eyebrow. I push the cart closer. “He’s learning the spirit of the season.”
Cyrus mutters something suspiciously like, “Pray for me.”
Back at his cabin, Cyrus carries the bags in like he expects them to explode. He sets them on the table, then steps away with a sigh.
“Okay,” he says. “How do we do this?”
“Easy.” I pull out the first garland. “We decorate, we bake cookies for tomorrow, we prep what we can for dinner, and we don’t panic.”
“I’m not panicking.”
“You’re definitely panicking.”
He glares, but there’s no heat behind it.
I plug in the new lights, testing the strand. All warm white, all steady. “See? Already an improvement.”
He stands beside me, close enough that I feel the heat of him. I should step away. I should absolutely step away.
I don’t.
“Hand me the end,” I say. He does. Our fingers brush and pause for a beat too long.
I clear my throat and climb onto the step stool. He hovers behind me like he’s afraid gravity will suddenly quit working.
“You don’t have to spot me,” I tell him, reaching up to loop the lights across a beam.
He braces a hand on the stool anyway. “I’m not letting you crack your head open in my cabin.”
Warmth spreads across my chest. I pretend it’s just the lights.
We work in silent rhythm — he hands me a garland, I drape it; I tie bows, he hooks them into place. His movements are quiet, precise, unexpectedly gentle. Mine are quick, bright, determined.
At one point, the ribbon slips from my fingers and flutters to the floor. I bend, he bends, and we bump shoulders.
We both stop.
Straighten.
Look anywhere but at each other.
