I crouched down, pulled open the big box that had been sitting in the storage closet since, God, I don’t even know when.
Inside was the unopened Christmas tree, still wrapped in plastic. A faint smell of dust and fake pine hit me.
I ripped the box open, grabbed the instructions, and handed them to her before pulling the tree out.
She shifted Honey to her lap and unfolded the paper, brow furrowing in concentration as she scanned the diagrams.
I couldn’t help it; I smiled, just barely, watching her tilt her head at the directions like it was some grand puzzle to solve. Honey reached for the corner of the paper, and she gentlypushed the kitten’s paw away, whispering something I couldn’t hear.
The sight, her soft focus, her quiet little movements—it made the cold apartment feel different.
Warm.
I set the tree base down on the floor and glanced up. “Alright, boss,” I muttered. “Tell me where to start.”
Aurora looked up from the instructions, eyes glinting, and mouthed, “Bottom.”
I nodded and started assembling the pieces, pretending not to notice the way she was watching me with that quiet amusement, as if for the first time, I wasn’t completely screwing things up. And Honey? She just purred from her lap, watching us as if she already knew that this was going to beourtree.
I took a step back after assembling the basics.
It looked… nice. I didn’t expect it to turn out this good.
The fake pine branches were fuller than I thought they’d be, and the colour was nice. It was a nice, deep green.
Now it’s time to make it pretty.
Aurora and I moved in a quiet rhythm, circling opposite sides of the tree. She had Honey perched on her shoulder like a tiny orange parrot, batting at every glittering bauble she dared to hang.
Every time I reached to hook another ornament, I’d catch a glimpse of her through the branches, her focused face, her hair falling forward, her lips pressed tight in concentration.
She’d look up too sometimes. Our eyes would meet between the needles and gold ribbons, and she’d quickly glance away as if she hadn’t been staring.
And yet, every few minutes, it happened again.
Both of us pretending we weren’t doing it.
Both failing miserably.
I moved the strand of lights higher, watching her from the corner of my eye as she stepped back to examine her side. She nodded once, satisfied, then turned and caught me staring outright this time.
She blinked, then looked away again before placing another ornament.
I smirked to myself. “It’s uneven,” I said quietly, just to mess with her.
Aurora looked up, suspicious. “Where?”
“Everywhere,” I teased.
She groaned—actually groaned—and walked around the tree to my side, pointing at my cluster of ornaments that were, admittedly, a little too close together.
“Okay, fine,” I muttered, reaching up to fix it. “Perfectionist.”
She smiled, soft, small, and fleeting. But it was there. And it was beautiful.
By the time we plugged the lights in and stepped back, the entire penthouse glowed with warm golden light. Honey darted in circles around the base, tail flicking in excitement.
I reached into the last box, brushing through stray tinsel until my fingers hit something hard. The gold star. Smooth, metallic, faintly reflective in the Christmas lights.
