“You have Christmas-themed problems.” Beau hands me the end of the string of lights.
“It’s called Christmas spirit, Scrooge MacButt.” I take the string and then see Beau’s niece and nephew playing with some ornaments next to me. “Am I allowed to say utt-bay around here?” I whisper out of the corner of my mouth.
“Probably not. But they hear worse when their mother gets sauced watchingReal Housewives, and when their Paw-Paw, also sauced, watches baseball.”
“As long as no one sues me for ruining impressionable minds, I’m good.” We’re still whispering, lost in our own world doing one of my favorite activities during my favorite time of year. And he’s rising fast in the ranks to be my favorite person.
The thought makes me hurry to finish the strand of lights we’re working on so I can physically step away from him. As if a little physical distance will let me enjoy spending time with him but stop me from getting too involved with the man. When I hear it in my head, it sounds...like that’s not how things work. But I can hope.
But maybe I should put another box of Christmas ornaments between us. Just in case itdoeswork like that.
The little ones don’t help me feel more comfortable, since they won’t stop looking at me. I don’t know how they knew we were talking about them, but they’re looking at me expectantly. I don’t know what to do around children, not having been around many since I was one. But I remember how much they liked it when I gave back that candy cane, so I hold out two cookies for them. They take them and mercifully stop looking at me.
I guess I should have asked if they were allowed, but it worked and no one’s yelling at me that I overstepped, so I’m going to call that a success.
“These are all the amazing ornaments the kids have made for me over the years,” Eve says as we unpack each one from the box I used to put more space between me and Beau, pausing to look at each of them lovingly, probably remembering the story that goes with them.
“Theembarrassingornaments that we’d rather not look at ever again, because we were young and shouldn’t be forever haunted by the clay-molding ability of our youth,” Annabelle says.
I laugh and bump into Beau as I move to hang another ornament. The same heat that he inspired in me in New York hasn’t lessened since we’ve moved states. I have plenty of data points by now to prove it’s not going anywhere: him brushing my back with his chest as he slides by to reach an empty spot on the tree, his hand touching my arm to stop me tripping over the coffee table as I step back to admire my work, his breath on my head as he reaches over me to hang an ornament on a branch above me.
This is the most erotic tree decorating I’ve ever been involved in, despite my efforts to stay away from him in front of his family.
“What’s this?” I clear my throat and pick up the next ornament in the box, jerking it behind me when Beau rushes to grab it from me like a football player snatching a ball from the air in the last minute of the Super Bowl.
“Is this baby Beau? He’s so cute. What is he wearing?” I bump my hip out to keep him away while I take a closer look at the picture.
A miniature boy stands in the cutest little suit, standing by a little girl in a lacy white dress and a bouquet of flowers.
“Are you at a wedding?” I look closer to see if there’s anyone else in the picture.
“Oh, he’s at a wedding all right—his own,” his sister says from the other side of the tree.
“You got child married? Where am I again?” I look around to make sure I don’t hear those banjos.
“He didnotget real married.” The other Yankee in the room rushes to reassure me. “I had just explained what marriage was and he said it sounded fun and decided he was going to marry one of the girls in the class.”
“She’s very cute.” Being jealous of a child isn’t a great look, yet here we are.
“Beau cried when Mom told him they weren’t really married, and decided he was going to get married as soon as he could, so he could build a house next to Mom and Dad and start his own family on the farm,” Annabelle happily says, probably still sour about that peppermint schnapps/Christmas tree reveal.
I look at him in fear and awkwardness and a little bit of disappointment. I don’t want to get married, and this guy has been planning his wedding and planning where to put down roots (or where to continue them, in this case) since he was a kid.
The disappointment gets stronger when I realize I shouldn’t have come here. Now I met his lovely family and they’ve probably fitted me for a wedding dress in their minds, and I’m going to disappoint them and the man who can make me come by looking at me hard.
“Look, Mom told me I would get to hang out with my best friend for the rest of my life and we would have a party with a really big cake and all the presents I wanted. I tried to marry Daniel first, but our teacher said we couldn’t,” Beau says.
“Well, that’s rude.” And bigoted.
“He was later fired for drinking on the job,” Eve whispers. It’s nice when bad things happen to bad people.
“Have you still got that wedding planning book?” I swallow the disappointment down deeper. I’m going to leave soon, so I can just schedule a time to feel all the disappointment then.
“My biggest plans were that I wanted a chocolate cake and I hoped Barney would be the entertainment.”
“Well, purple would be a sweet color scheme.” I turn to the tree so I don’t have to think about what I’m doing here with the man who wants a commitment.
But I can’t stop myself from following up, even though I do wait for everyone else to get distracted by their own tasks. “Do you still want to live here? On the farm?”
