“If you get something smaller, we’re just going to have to replace it next year.” We’d have to?
I swallowed the lump in my throat, feeling the weight of emotions tugging at my heart. Him talking as though it was a foregone conclusion we’d even be together this time next year was a combination of exhilarating and terrifying. I pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. “You really have a way of making things seem simple.”
Carson chuckled softly. “It’s a talent. Now, come on. Let’s see what we can find to go on the tree. We can’t have lights and no ornaments. Are you a tinsel or garland type of guy?”
I poked a finger against my chest. “Horribly deprived child. Remember? I can say with certainty I have never considered which I prefer.”
“And I call bullshit,” Carson scoffed. “If you pulled out your phone right now, there are probably at least a dozen pins with Christmas trees on that picture app, and I’d bet they will show you your so-called nonexistent preference.”
I pulled out my phone, determined to prove him wrong. When nothing in particular jumped out at me, I switched to my search engine and looked up images of trees with tinsel and then garland.
“Oh my gosh, people actually string loose stuff like that on their trees?” I quickly checked the area around us, certain there would be someone holding a huge bag of tinsel directly behind us. “Definitely not that.” I pointed to the hanging display next to us. “But not that either.”
I took another look at the pictures on my phone, like Carson had suggested. Now that I knew what to look for, I did see a lot of commonalities between them. “You know, none of these have either. Is it a law that I have to pick one?”
“Absolutely not,” Carson assured me. “It’s your tree and you get to pick. So, should we skip this aisle and move along?”
We spent the next hour wandering through aisles filled with twinkling lights, delicate ornaments, and other festive decorations. At one point, Carson picked up a cute little reindeer ornament and held it to my face, teasing, “Look, it’s just as cute as you!”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “Are you comparing me to a reindeer now?”
He winked. “Just the cute ones.”
By the time we checked out, our cart was brimming with decorations. Carson insisted on paying for everything despite my protests. “I’m the one who insisted on shopping. My surprise, my treat.”
All it took was him looping a hand behind my back and pulling me close, and every protest fled my brain. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his thick bear tickling my cheek. “Please, Ezra, let me do this for you?”
How could I argue when he was being so sweet? “Fine, but no more. And this counts as my Christmas present from you.”
“We’ll see.” He turned away from me as he reached for his wallet, drawing my attention to the way the denim of his jeans molded to his body.
Back at my apartment, we set to work. It was late, but neither of us cared. Carson strung lights around the windows, creating a warm, inviting glow. I worked on setting up the village on the ledge, placing each building with care. Once that work was done, we got to work on the tree. We worked well as a team, with him reading the directions and putting up the tree while I took the tags off all the ornaments. For someone who hated Christmas, he had very clear opinions on how a tree was supposed to be decorated. I couldn’t even get annoyed when he plucked off the trinkets I’d just hung, moving them to a different spot on the tree so there wasn’t a huge cluster in one area.
We were nearly done when he pulled something out of his pocket. I couldn’t help but laugh at the blown glass pickle in his hand. “What in the heck is this?”
“Have you seriously never heard of a Christmas pickle?” His mouth gaped. I wasn’t sure if he was being serious or if I was punked. I most certainly hadn’t heard of something as ridiculous as a pickle-shaped ornament.
“Is this some sort of sex joke?” My cheeks flamed hot just thinking of the innuendo. I imagined him finding a pickle-shaped ornament and giving it to me as some weird symbol of him offering me his body.
Carson doubled over, clutching his ribs. He swiped at his eyes as if what I’d said was so hilarious it made him cry. “That would be fucking epic, but no. It’s a real thing, I assure you.”
I pulled out my phone and searched for the history of the Christmas pickle. It wasn’t any less ridiculous than when he’d first mentioned it. Apparently, it was a German tradition, and whoever found the pickle got an extra present or got to open their gifts first. As I read on, it started to sound like something Americans made up, tying its history to some completely random place.
Either way, everything I read talked about it being a family tradition. I held the pickle reverently in my hands, wondering if this was something we’d be putting on our tree together decades from now. And then, I could tell everyone the story of Carson giving me his Christmas pickle.
When we finished, my apartment was transformed. It looked cozy and festive, a stark contrast to the sterile environment it had been before. We curled up on the couch, and Carson humored me by turning on a Christmas movie. It was only right, he said, since we were surrounded by the scent of warm apple cider and the soft glow from the Christmas tree lights Carson had fun playing with, changing the color scheme about every three minutes.
It was well after midnight when we woke in a heap in the corner of the sectional sofa. “I should probably head out.”
I hesitated, wondering if I should let the words slip since they were pretty much the exact opposite of what I’d asked for earlier. “You could stay.”
Carson untangled himself and stood. He pulled me off the couch and into his arms. “Sweetheart, I’d love nothing more, but I don’t think either of us is ready for that. Why don’t you give me a call tomorrow when you’re done with your family, and I’ll come over with dinner?”
“You know how to cook?” I didn’t mean to sound as shocked as I had, but I vaguely remembered Carson mentioning he lived off takeout and frozen dinners.
“It’s not the same when you’re cooking for one,” he pointed out. “I’m nowhere near as good as you, but yes, I do know how to cook.”
17
