“Guess we missed the tree lighting,” Toby mused.
“Guess so,” I agreed, turning back to the pulley.
“I didn’t even notice they had started.” His voice was quiet, and it made me look up.
Our stares collided. Whatever had been there before appeared again.
“We were busy,” I said, then broke away.
“Hold this,” I said, gesturing to a length of rope. “Just pull when I signal and slowly raise the mistletoe into place,” I instructed, reaching for the bundle he still held in his arms.
Our hands brushed, and I couldn’t help but notice how cold his fingers felt compared to mine. It made me feel like an ass for making fun of his mittens when, clearly, he needed them.
Lowering the mistletoe to my side, I stood there staring.
“The mayor is going to be done talking soon,” he said.
I snorted. “That man? He has more commentary than a sports announcer.”
Toby laughed.
There went my heart again. Sweating.
“Put your mittens on.”
His brow furrowed. “What?”
“Your hands are like ice.”
“So?”
“So put them on,” I said.
“You said they were ugly.”
“They are.”
He stared.
I cleared my throat.
“You’ll get sick.”
“Careful. Sounds like you care,” he whispered.
If only he knew.
“Just put them on so we can get this over with.”
“You could just get on with it right now,” he pointed out.
I didn’t move, just stared and waited.
“You’ve always been so stubborn,” Toby said, relenting and pulling on the mittens. “Happy now?” he asked.
“Don’t screw this up,” I said. “Wait for my signal.”
I carried the bundle toward the arch where the mayor was giving his speech, making sure the length of rope was unknotted and straight as I went.
