“It’s actually a couple buttons,” Brett corrected.
I cut a look in his direction, and his lips folded in.
“The pulley system they insist on using to raise the mistletoe needs more than one man.” I went on. “Brett, do the lights. Toby, let’s go.”
“Are you going to be okay with him?” Brett whispered as I walked away.
“I can handle him,” Toby whispered back.
I rotated on my heel, raising an eyebrow at the pair of them. “Unless you want to be here until New Year’s, I suggest we get a move on.”
“Scrooge,” Toby called.
I tossed my near-full hot chocolate in the bin on my way to the mistletoe.
The wind shifted and the falling snow with it, blowing into the gazebo to swirl around the mistletoe rope and pulley.
Why we couldn’t just use a ladder, I would never understand. This town had a flair for the dramatic. A pulley system.*scoff*
“Grab the hook,” I instructed while opening the mesh bag with the bough of leaves and berries. For once, Toby didn’t argue and just did as I asked, grabbing the hook and bringing it over to where I waited. The rope created a divide between us, trailing across the wooden deck of the gazebo. The hook was actually a carabiner clip—you know, a heavy-duty snap hook that you could push open to slide something on it before letting it spring closed again.
And as I stood there, my patience wore nearly see-through as Toby fumbled to open the red clip with those juvenile mittens covering his paws.
On the third try, he managed to get it open, but it snapped shut, clipping the excess fabric. “Ow,” he swore beneath his breath, hand jerking back to avoid the pain. Too bad for him, the clip was already latched on, so it just went with him.
Sighing loudly, I set aside the mistletoe. “Let me see.”
“I got it,” he muttered, trying to unclip it with his free hand—which was also swimming in a mitten.
“I told you these mittens are ridiculous,” I scolded, grabbing his hand and pulling it into my middle.
“Mom made them. What was I supposed to do, tell her I couldn’t wear them?” he retorted.
I fell silent and worked the clip open, taking care not to snag the fabric. “There,” I said when he was free at last. “I’ll do the clip. You hold the mistletoe.”
“Whatever,” he said under his breath.
I eyed him. “What was that?”
“I asked how Marlowe is.”
Liar. “He’s fine.” I went along with it anyway. “I usually bring him but figured it would be too much walking around with the paw.”
“You did the right thing.”
That surprised me, and I looked up.
He half smiled. “You’re a lot of things, but you are a good dog dad.”
“Thank you,” I said, oddly touched by that observation.
Something passed between us, and I quickly looked away. “Hold that.”
Toby lifted the mistletoe but then made a noise and lowered it again. I watched him pinch the fabric at the tip of his fingers between his teeth and tug the mitten away. He repeated the same action with the other hand and then reached for the red bow. “Here,” he offered.
I clipped the carabiner on and then gave it a tug to make sure it stayed.
Cheers and applause erupted around us, and the interior of the gazebo glowed. Startled, we both looked up, seeing the tree all lit up.
