“She still does,” Cheyenne says softly, hanging the ornament on a prominent branch.
Something about this moment—the warm lights, the Christmas music, Cheyenne’s smile—feels ...rightin a way I wasn’t expecting. There’s just something about watching Cheyenne move around the tree, seeing her finally looking happy again.
I feel a strange sense of ... belonging.
I try to shake it off. This isn’t my scene. I’m not a settling-down kind of guy. I’m the life of the party, the player, the guy with a different date every weekend. Everyone knows that.
But as Cheyenne steps back to admire our work, her face glowing in the Christmas lights, I catch myself wondering what it might be like to be part of moments like this more often.
The thought both surprises and unsettles me.
“What do you think?” she asks, looking at me.
“Beautiful,” I say, not entirely sure if I’m talking about the tree.
Chapter Eight
Cheyenne
A few days ago, I was crying over Garrett behind an oak tree. Now, I’m standing in my living room watching an NHLer in elf tights put a star on top of my Christmas tree.
“It’s perfect,” I say, surprising myself with how much I mean it.
We all step back to take in the full effect.
The white lights twinkle through the branches, reflecting off the collection of ornaments Genna and I have accumulated over the years. Some are store-bought, others are handmade. There’s the hockey stick from Mrs. Williamston, aStar Wars-themed one I got during a White Elephant gift exchange in college (I haven’t even seenStar Wars, but I love a good Yoda quote), and the miniature lab that looks just like Jhett, who’s currentlysnoozing on his bed in the corner, exhausted from all the excitement.
Genna sighs. “It’s beautiful.”
“It really is,” I agree, feeling a lightness in my chest that’s been absent since Thanksgiving.
Maybe even before that.
“We should celebrate,” Dylan announces, with a clap. The bells on his wrists jingle with the movement. “All this hard work deserves a reward. Dinner? My treat.”
I check the time on my phone. It’s only 7:30—not too late for dinner. But before I can decide, Genna lets out a dramatic yawn.
“Oh, I think I’m gonna have to pass,” she says, stretching her arms over her head. “I’m completely exhausted. Christmas tree shopping takes a lot out of a person.”
I narrow my eyes at her. She was fine two minutes ago.
“You two should definitely go, though,” she continues, already backing toward the hallway. “Don’t let my old lady bedtime ruin your fun.”
“You’re literally four months younger than me,” I point out.
She shrugs, unfazed. “Age is just a number. My soul is ancient and requires rest.” She’s almost to her bedroom door now. “Have fun!”
And just like that, she’s gone, leaving me alone with Dylan. I hesitate, suddenly uncertain. Eating dinner with Dylan isn’t exactly new territory given how long we’ve known each other,but Genna normally joins us. And there’s just something about tonight that feels ... different. Maybe it’s the lingering vulnerability from my breakup, or the way Dylan’s been so determined to cheer me up.
“What do you say, Chey? You in?”
I could say no. I could claim exhaustion like Genna. I could stay home and scroll through social media and wonder what Garrett is up to. Or I could go have dinner with someone who spent his evening dressed as an elf just to make me smile.
“Let me change first,” I decide. “I’m covered in tree.”
His face instantly brightens. “No rush. I should probably get out of these tights anyway, so I don’t cause a scene at the restaurant.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’ve switched to jeans and a nicer sweater, though I still find pine needles in my hair as I apply a quick coat of mascara. Dylan’s changed too, back into normal clothes—jeans and a dark blue henley that makes his eyes look even more intensely green than usual.
