“Show-off,” I mutter.
Charlie laughs before calling Comet over. “No one is going to look cuter than Comet.”
Charlie undoes the Velcro straps to put Comet’s sweater on over his back. He even bought a little Santa hat for him to wear.
His tongue is hanging out of his mouth as he sits in his sweater like we didn’t just put the most ridiculous thing on him.
“You’re right,” I confirm. “No one is going to look cuter than he does.”
“Which means he needs to stay at home for the party.”
“Not like you can allow dogs in the tavern anyway.” I laugh. “But we need a picture to show the guys how cute he is.”
I don’t waste another second and slide my green sweater on over my head. The minute Charlie looks at me, he bursts out laughing.
“Oh my God, Brooks. It’s even worse on you.”
“You mean it looks even better and I make Christmas sweaters sexy.”
Charlie tries not to laugh. “Whatever you say.”
Tiny, glittery puff balls in all sizes dot my sweater. Agarland rests in ropes on the front with random patches pasted all over.
Charlie takes more care in putting his on as we both squat next to Comet. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I switch to selfie mode.
“Say ‘Brooks has the best Christmas sweater ever!’”
“Brooks has the ugliest sweater ever!” Charlie claps back as Comet lets out a bark when I take the picture.
Looking at the screen, it’s the two of us in a nutshell. A smile lights up my face as Charlie is caught mid-word, with Comet’s chin taking up most of the picture.
I’ll never delete this one, but I take a second one where we’re all looking.
“Better?” I hold my phone out to Charlie.
He studies the photo, a look washing over his face that I can’t quite read. Which is weird, because I can always read him. What’s he thinking right now?
Is he happy? Sad? Over this ridiculous thing?
It’s confusing that I can’t read him right now. Made even more confusing by these feelings I’m having. It’s like one of these tiny, glittery balls has dislodged itself and planted itself in my brain, the fuzzy parts making my own head feel the same way.
Clearing his throat, he looks at me before putting some space between us. “Comet looks great.”
“He does.”
A ball drops off my sweater.
Charlie grabs it and tries to press it back on. “Well, maybe we shouldn’t have put these on immediately.”
“Lesson learned. Next time we make ugly sweaters, we let them dry.”
“We’ll still beat the guys.”
“Bring it on, Charlie. Bring it on.”
Chapter Seven
CHARLIE
