“I got you.”
Bryce returned a few minutes later, carrying multiple boxes like they weighed no more than a guilty conscience. “I’ll be right back,” he announced, already heading for the door. “Gotta grab something out the shed.”
“Okay,” I responded, barely looking up.
As he stepped outside, I began focusing on the fireplace—my traditional anchor point for holiday décor. I strung a length of soft burlap ribbon across the mantle, delicately clipping on rustic wooden snowflakes and tiny frosted pinecones. The natural tones added a cozy touch to the cabin without competingwith Isis’s sparkle parade. Moments later, the soft harmonies of “Silent Night” byThe Temptationsfilled the air.
Pausing mid-reach with a hook, I smirked to myself. “Okay, Miss Instagram… that girl has taste after all.” Just then, Bryce strolled in again, holding something wrapped in a towel under his arm.
I raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “What’s that?”
A grin spread across his face. “A surprise! I present to you…” He unwrapped it with the flair of a magician revealing a rabbit. “Tyrone the Reindeer!”
What I saw made me blink in disbelief. It was a real, taxidermy deer head—imperfect and worn, with googly eyes crookedly glued on, like someone had succumbed to boredom during a blizzard. Its fur was faded, and a piece of pine straw clung to its left ear like a comically proud badge of honor.
I stared at him, utterly bemused. “Bryce, what in the cracked-out, limp-necked Rudolph is that?”
“Come on, Chess… put a lil’ respect on his name,” Bryce replied, sounding genuinely offended, holding the deer head up with a pride like he was presenting royalty. “I’ll have you know this nigga survived two winters in that damn shed, not one, but two intense snowstorms, and Adrian trying to use him as a coat hook.”
“You’ve had that thing for two years? Well, I guess I wouldn’t have known because in the times I have come here in the last two years, I haven’t went near that shed. But please don’t tell me that you’re planning on putting that thing up," I replied, arching an eyebrow skeptically.
“I am. But Tyrone ain’t just decoration; he’s legacy. This nigga locked eyes with me right before, like he knew his time was up…not a single flinch. He took that bullet like a G. For that, I believe he deserves a place of honor—right above the mantel, front and center.”
I shook my head slowly, arms folded, and amusement written all over my face. “Bryce… that deer got googly eyes and an overbite. Seriously, he seems like he saw a ghost and then became one. And you really sat up there and gave him a name like Tyrone. Where he from? Thesouth ridgeof the mountain?” I crossed my arms, laughing. “Lord, we got glitter snowflakes, string lights, and you bringing taxidermy energy.”
“He’s festive,” Bryce shot back, as he began the process of mounting the deer head above the fireplace.
“Festive? He looks more like he died in protest,” I retorted, leaning in closer to inspect the unfortunate creature before recoiling slightly at the distinct odor that wafted up. “And why does he smell like a mix of motor oil and corn chips?”
Bryce nodded solemnly. “That’s just the vintage smell, beautiful. You wouldn’t understand.”
Beautiful.
He said it so casually, like it wasn’t the softest gut punch I’d taken all day. I didn’t respond to it. But my heart? Yeah, it did a little happy dance in silence.
“Mm-hmm,” I replied, gawking at the so-called masterpiece. “Well, once you wrap up givingTyrone from the Ridgehis moment of glory, how about helping me hang these lights?”
“I got you,” he said—his most infamous words.
Words that somehow meantyes,no,I forgot,I’ll get to it later, andwhy are you yelling?All at once.
***
Thirty minutes later, the cabin looked like a holiday fever dream—in a good way.
The living room looked completely different. Cozy plaid pillows had replaced the usual ones, garland laced with red berries and soft gold ribbon framed the windows, and a fresh wreath with pinecones and twinkling lights hung above the fireplace. And then there was Tyrone the Reindeer, hanging perfectly above the fireplace, staring into the soul of every person who dared walk past.
“Perfection,” I breathed, proudly, hands on my hips as I admired the transformation.
Bryce cocked his head. “Tyrone looks like he’s seen things.”
“He has,” Adrian said, walking in and squinting up at the deer. “He saw Isis bedazzle a toaster.”
Isis flounced in front of us with her usual flair and placed a rhinestone-covered cookie jar on the center table like it was a crown jewel. “And it slaps! Y’all gonna be mad when Santa tries to take it back to the North Pole!”
I eyed her skeptically, already suspicious. “Let me see what y’all done did.”
With one hand on her hip, Isis spun around dramatically.
