Sighing, Wilder grabs the back of Zander’s collar. “Come on, nerd. Let’s just get the tree. Think of how happy it’ll make your girl.”
That appears to disarm Zander in an instant. “Okay, fine. This has to be perfect for Rylee, and it won’t be without a tree. Though I’m not entirely opposed to Carson’s bush idea.”
“I don’t mind a good bush,” Wilder smirks.
Zander snorts. “Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me.”
They put on their boots and coats and make their way outside.
Before the door shuts behind them, Wilder turns back and points a finger at us. “You motherfuckers better cook that turkey right. I will go full Hulk on your asses if you mess it up.”
“Don’t worry,” I assure him with a smile and a wave. “It’ll be just fine!”
Wilder hesitates a moment before letting out a long breath and slipping outside and shutting the door behind him.
Jensen turns to Owen and me and declares in a confident voice, “All right, boys. Let’s get to work.”
“Yes, Captain!” we respond together, saluting him..
The three of us dig back into the decorations and try to make sense of the mess.
“Okay, so if we string this along the mantle,” I say, holding up a length of dark green garland with plastic red berries and pinecones. “We could put the fancy German Santa figurine up there too and that Rudolph snowglobe in Wilder’s box.”
“Then should we put the traditional looking wreath on the window closest to the fireplace?” Owen asks. “And then put the Hello Kitty wreath on the window on the other side of the door?”
“Oh, that’s good,” Jensen nods. “Kind of create little pockets of Christmas themes. Traditional over here, Hello Kitty over there. Purple nowhere because it’s not a Christmas color.”
“Don’t be a Scrooge,” I say. “Embrace the purple and the purple will embrace you back.”
“I have no idea what that means,” Jensen sighs.
“It means we’re using the purple.” I grin. “Or I can tell Skyler you didn’t like her decorations and wouldn’t put them up, and then the purple will be your enemy and we both know you don’t want that.”
He groans, his shoulders sinking in defeat. “All right, fine. We’ll use the purple stuff, only because I don’t want Skyler to be mad at me, because then Grace will be mad at me.”
Knowing just how scary my twin sister can be when she’s angry, I shiver. “Yeah, I’d want to avoid pissing her off too. When we were kids, if I crossed her, she’d rearrange my room so I couldn’t findanything. One time, she hid my socks in the attic and I couldn’t find them for two days.”
Jensen grins, looking almost proud, but he nods. “Yeah, I don’t need that in my life. Happy wife, happy life.”
I pat him on the back. “Wise decision, my friend.”
We set about putting our sort-of-kind-of-plan into action, putting up the garlands, wreaths, and figurines. Eventually, we find a collection of different colored string lights. Some white star-shaped ones from Stacey and Owen’s boxes, red, green, blue, and yellow ones from Grace and Jensen’s, purple onesfrom Skyler and me of course, and even some twinkly ones from Wilder’s stuff.
Of course, pretty much every string of lights, except for Grace and Jensen’s, are a tangled mess. We each take a bundle and start trying to work out the knots, though it proves a more monumental task than any of us anticipated.
“I feel like I’m trying to solve a Rubix cube on steroids,” Owen grumbles, holding a jumbled set of green lights. “What’s that legendary knot Alexander the Great cut apart? The Gordian knot? This is worse than that.”
“And we can’t just cut them apart with swords,” Jensen says through gritted teeth, his brow furrowed in concentration as he wrestles the multi-colored clusterfuck in his hands.
“Maybe we should get dinner started,” I suggest. “I need a break from all this. It’s starting to fuck with my mind. I’m pretty sure I’m going to have nightmares about string lights coming to life and chasing me, I just know it.”
“Good idea.” Owen agrees. “Getting dinner ready, I mean. Not the nightmares. Those sound horrific.”
“Sounds good to me.” Jensen sets down his lights and we move into the kitchen.
Owen opens the fridge and pulls the turkey out and sets it on the island. We stare at it for a moment and I let out a low whistle.
“That’s, uh, a pretty big bird.” I glance toward the stove, which is sizeable, but I don’t think it’s large enough. “Guys, that bird’s not gonna fit.”
