And just like that, I follow her out into the snow.
THREE
DAHLIA
The craft store smells like cinnamon and glue.
This is fine. I can handle this. People host holidays all the time without losing their minds or falling into the arms of the man they’re trying to avoid.
I tighten my scarf and march toward the holiday aisle. Cyrus trudges behind me like he’s being led to his execution.
“Just so we’re clear,” he says, “I’m not buying anything with glitter.”
“That’s a shame,” I say, grabbing the shiniest garland in reach. “Glitter is festive.”
“Glitter is a curse.”
“Glitter is cheer.”
“Glitter is going to end up in my bed and on my dog and in my hair until Valentine’s Day.”
“You don’t have a dog.”
“I’ll still find glitter in its fur.”
I snort and keep walking. Cyrus follows, but his eyes are everywhere — the ornaments, the lights, the fake snow — like he’s trying to make sure nothing attacks him.
His discomfort should not be this adorable.
I hold up a pack of warm white lights. “Tree lights?”
He eyes them like they owe him money. “Aren’t the ones I have fine?”
“They blink like a distress signal.”
“That seems festive.”
“No.” I toss the pack into our basket. “We’re upgrading.”
I grab a spool of ribbon next, then a pair of stockings. He picks one up, turning it over. “Don’t these usually have names on them?”
“Yes. But these will do for now.”
He hesitates. “You… want to do names?”
My brain stutters. “Not for us,” I say quickly. “For your family.”
He sets the stocking down. “Right. Family.”
Something flickers in his expression — something I don’t ask about, because if I do, he might ask something back. Something about the wedding. Something about why I left before he woke up. Something about why neither of us called.
So I point at a display. “Tree topper?”
“That star is terrifying.”
“It’s cheerful.”
“It has eyeballs.”
