“That was so cheesy,” I mutter.
He grins. “Yeah. I know.”
And just like that — awkward melts into easy.
He grabs tree stands.
Hoists a twelve-foot pine on his shoulder like it weighs nothing.
Helps Susan tie garland.
Untangles lights with Shani’s dad.
And everyone sees it.
The town.
The neighbors.
The tourists.
My aunt.
THE FREAKING CAROLERS.
He doesn’t care.
He doesn’t hide.
He doesn’t act embarrassed or entitled or detached.
He’s just… here.
Helping.
Laughing.
Looking at me like he’d swim through frozen ocean water to get close again.
And it hits me — he’s not doing this for clout.
He’s doing it for me.
Five hours later, Granddad’s sea-shack is no longer a shack.
It is a FULL-BLOWN:
• Hallmark movie set
• Winter carnival
• Christmas forest
• Aromatherapy pine explosion
Tristan whistles, proudly surveying our handiwork.
“This place slaps harder than a Debbie Macomber movie.”
