A burst of red, blue, green, and golden light warmed the room and changed everything.
“Here.” Chloe handed him the strand. “You do that side, I’ll do this one.”
Together they wrapped the tree in lights. Chloe softly sang “O Christmas Tree.” The short wisps of her reddish-gold hair freed from her braid bounced to the tune she sang.
Jesse peered at her through the branches, finding rest in the cushion of her voice. She was a blend of confidence and timidity, savvy and innocence, casual and classy, walking in a beauty she neither flaunted nor ignored.
And in those jeans—shew! A tad sexy.
“Tuck this last bit around the top,” she said, passing him the end of the strand, her fingers brushing his, making this moment a come-to-life Currier and Ives.
If he could click his heels and decimate his past and unlock his heart, he’d spend the rest of his life creating memories like this with Chloe Daschle.
But he didn’t have a pair of magic shoes. A way to undo what had been done. No way to justify his right to any sort of romantic happiness.
“Perfect.” Chloe admired their handiwork. Jesse stood alongside her, and heaven help him, he slipped into a moment where they were married and this was their first Christmas. The scene unfolded before him like a movie. Like a life he had yet to live. The sentiment buzzed in his chest. Sent chills down his arm.
The movie, his upcoming departure for Boston, Jeremiah’s recent news were a million years away. But as quickly as it came, it faded. He was flawed Jesse again, feet firmly planted in his rented guesthouse, unworthy of the woman next to him.
“Y-you’re a fan of Christmas?” he said, distracting his thoughts from a journey not worth traveling.
“Absolutely! Please don’t tell me you’re not. I was really starting to like you.” She retrieved a few baubles from the box. “I couldn’t find Mr. Crumbly’s ornaments. These will do until I buy more.”
“You don’t have to buy more.”
“And have you sitting over here with a naked Christmas tree? Please. I’d not wish it on my worst enemy.”
Jesse laughed. “You’re something else, Chloe Daschle.”
“Am I?”
His compliment, and her tone, crossed into an intimate zone. Her gaze lingered on him.
“I think you know you are.” He reached for one of the ornaments, setting it on a thin branch. But it was too big and the thing just sagged.
“I try to believe, but...” Chloe removed Jesse’s ornament, setting it on a lower, stronger branch, where it swung happily side to side. “Maybe I’m just a legend in my own mind. But since I got... well...” She peered up at him. “Saved. I’ve changed.”
“Yeah? Seems hard to imagine, but I guess faith helps people.” He picked another ornament and the appropriate-size branch. “So, you’re a real fan of Christmas? Of Jesus and His birthday?”
Chloe hesitated, fixing an antique-looking, gold ball on the edge of a branch. “I am.” She peered at Jesse, her eyes glossy. “He truly saved me. Quite literally.”
There was a time he’d have debated her. Just because. Even if his scientific mind understood that the universe flowed under the hand of an unseen Creator. But the tone of her voice, the emotion in her eyes, stirred him toward curiosity instead of deliberation. “You’ll have to tell me the story one day.”
“We’re building up a lot of stories to tell each other.”
When they’d arranged the six ornaments and Chloe was satisfied, she motioned toward the big house. “Mom and Dad have gone out. The lanai fireplace is glowing, the tree is lit, and Glendamade her amazing chicken and rice.” She tucked her fingers into her pockets. “If you’re not doing anything...”
“Chicken and rice? One of my favorites.”
Jesse walked with her across the lawn, through the cool breeze, toward the Daschles’ lanai, which had been turned into a Christmas fairyland. White lights wrapped the posts and ran the perimeter of the ceiling. A grand, tall Christmas tree ornamented the corner by the fireplace, the branches stuffed with glass balls and a flowing, gold ribbon.
Music dropped down from hidden speakers. “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.”
“Have you done your shopping?” Chloe said, opening the doors to the kitchen, the warmth of the house escaping.
“None.”
“Jesse Gates, you’re a Scrooge!” She took two plates from the glass cupboard.
