“Yes.” She took a small sip, testing the temperature. Warm clove and orange exploded on her tongue with the tart apple. “And that’s how I feel about fake Christmas trees.”
“Okay.” He lifted his hands and let them fall in defeat, boots scraping on the graveled pathway between the trees. “Have at it.”
She refused to be daunted by his lack of enthusiasm. Disappointed, a little sad, maybe, because she wanted to share this with him, but not daunted. She also refused to be rushed, because shopping for the perfect trees was part of the fun. She might not have what Lorraine and Barb had, a house filled withexcited small children and a husband grousing about Christmas Eve gift-wrapping, but she could decorate, damn it.
Ralph would have a stocking, too, even if Mr. Hermit Grinch wouldn’t let her decorate the cabin.
Even though she now spent half her nights there.
She leaned in to sniff a lush spray of needles, then cast a look at him over her shoulder. “We should pick a place and move in together.”
He snorted. “We should not.”
Her feelings pricked, she straightened and glared. “Why not?”
“Other than both Mona and Sue would pitch a fit?” He sipped at his cider, unperturbed by her attitude. “We’re still in the honeymoon period, flushed with all the feel-good hormones. Moving in together is not smart.”
“Honeymoon period? Hormones?” Scowling, she stared at him, lips parted. Her chest panged, like Tick hitting a discordant string on the guitar or missing a chord on the piano. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.” He spread his hands, pale blue cotton stretching across his chest. “Come on, you know it’s a thing.”
“You think what I feel for you is hormones.” Did that mean he thought whathefelt was nothing but a wash of chemicals? She tensed all over.
“I think I’m not touching that statement.” His wry voice matched the twist of his lips.
“Smart move.” Shaking her head, she huffed. She didn’t believe this.
“A smart move is not overcommitting before we’re ready. It’s basically been a month.” He circled the cup, gaze steady onher face. “Think back to you and Barlow. What was that like at a month?”
“That’s an impossible question.” Her enjoyment in the evening fizzed out in a flash like a blown twinkle light. “We weren’t ever anything, really, so there was no first month.”
“Okay, so that first month? Everything’s great, roses and hearts, and the physical stuff is great, too—”
“I really don’t want to hear about you being physical with other women.” Revulsion shivered over her. Realistically, people didn’t get to their late twenties without some sexual experience, but she hated picturing him doing what he did with her with other women. Jealous and petty of her? Absolutely, but she owned the reaction — some small, insecure part of her wanted him to belong to her alone.
“Focus on the topic.” He kept moving down the line of trees, and Holly rolled her eyes. The man was ruining her holiday buzz with reality. “It’s a couple of months before that wears off, and then I’m getting on your nerves because I don’t hang the dish towel right.”
“Like people fight about those things.” She ate the last bite of her pretzel dog and dropped the napkin in the trash receptacle at the end of the row. A pine-scented breeze played with her hair. She tried to hold on to those details, an antidote to the too-logical discussion she found herself immersed in.
“You’d be surprised.” His exhale was half-snort, half-chuckle. “D and Sue fuss about the garage door, whether to leave it open or shut. Louise and Gene have a fifty-plus-year fight going on about where he should leave his shoes.”
The glimpse into a longterm, stable marriage fascinated her. If her parents’ marriage had ever been stable, she didn’t remember. She cast a look at him from beneath her lashes. “So what did you and Tyler—”
“Nope.” He shook his head. “We’re talking about us and making wise decisions. You want to stash some clothes and toiletries at my house to make life easier when you’re over, great, but we are not ready for that next step.”
She opened her mouth to point out Tick had moved in with Caitlin in mere weeks, but sighed instead. That was different, of course, because they had Eleanor, plus Tick had spent some time sleeping in a separate room.
He paused, hip cocked while he took a sip of his cider. The string lights crisscrossing above the lot cast soft shadows by his nose and under his chin. “You want us to do it right so it lasts, don’t you?”
“You know I do.” Okay, fine, she was pouting. Whatever he believed, she did know her own feelings, and his logical reticence annoyed her to no end sometimes. Why did he think he was in charge of their timeline, anyway?
Leaning in, he kissed her, his lips moving in a quiet laugh against her mouth so she tasted spice and apple and him. “Then let us take it slow.”
Carefully cradling her cup, she pulled back enough to meet his gaze. “I want to stab you every time you say that.”
“Yeah, I know.” He brushed a thumb over her cheekbone, his eyes warm with affection. “Abandonment issues and all that. You want me locked down fast.”
Her face and neck burned. He made her sound so . . . damaged.
