He sealed the container and stowed it in the cabinet behind a shut door before he had the chance to give in to her adorable antics once again.
Satisfied, Scout curled up on her dog bed by the radiator while Holden took a quick shower. He wasn’t even in there long enough for the water to heat up fully, so when he emerged, he tugged on the warmest sweater he owned, followed up with dark denim jeans and his argyle print wool socks. It was scarf weather up on the summit, so he looped the one his sister had crocheted him last Christmas around his neck and collected his jacket from the hall closet.
Blinking up at him, Scout cocked her head.
“I know, I know. I’m all dressed up, and you’d like to be too,” he answered the question she clearly couldn’t speak. “Come on over.”
Bounding across the room like a jackrabbit, Scout skidded to a stop right before taking Holden out at the knees. He reached into the closet and withdrew Scout’s Christmas sweater, the one detailed with alternating dog bone and candy cane shapes. If a dog could smile, Scout’s was an ear-to-ear grin.
“Gimme your paw,” he instructed. He fit the neck opening over her head and pulled one leg through. “And now the other.”
She obeyed, then sat back proudly on her haunches.
“Now we both look our holiday best.”
Following her owner out the door and into the detached garage, Scout leapt into the passenger’s side of the vehicle. Holden came around the back to load the PVC pipe measuring stick he’d constructed into the truck bed. It easily broke down into three, eight-foot sections, and he’d notched both inches and feet into the plastic tubing to make the measurement as accurate as possible.
Holden was admittedly curious about the tree. When he’d planted it as a kid, he’d had the hope it would one-day serve as the town’s prestigious Christmas tree during the annual lighting. It was an honor to have a tree selected, their small town’s version of a Rockefeller Center evergreen.
In the beginning, he did everything he could to encourage its growth. Bought special fertilizer. Constructed a tarp to keep the snow off its branches in the winter and the sun from burning its needles in the summer. But over the years, that wish and effort dwindled until the dream was entirely extinguished.
In truth, he assumed the noble fir wouldn’t get to the twenty-foot mark required for consideration. It wasn’t until this last year, when it had a surprise growth spurt, that he let his heart latch onto that last little portion of remaining hope.
But his parents were all in. Especially his dad, who stood in the driveway, ready to greet Holden the moment his truck angled onto their hillside property. It didn’t matter that it was twenty-eight degrees outside with steady flurries of snow and predictions of whiteout conditions, Zeke Hart was like an expectant child awaiting Santa Claus himself.
“Did you bring it with you?” Zeke met Holden at the truck and waited for Scout to jump down from the cab before shutting the door behind them.
“In the truck bed.” Holden didn’t want his father rushing around in these elements. With slick ice coating the ground, he risked a fall or worse. “Wait here and I’ll grab it for you.”
“I’m telling you, Hold, this is our year.”
“So you’ve said,” Holden replied. “But I’ve heard it could be the Joy’s year too.”
“Don’t you use that kind of language around here, son,” Zeke teased with a solid thwack between Holden’s shoulder blades. “Keep it up and I’ll have you heading inside to wash your mouth out with soap.”
Stepping up onto the wheel well, Holden reached over and pulled the pipes from the bed, then passed them off to his father. “And what happens if we don’t win?”
Zeke looked offended. “This win is fifteen years in the making, Hold. Our tree deserves center stage. It deserves to be ornamented with the finest decorations, strung with the most brilliant twinkling lights.”
He hadn’t seen his father like this in years. “And doesn’t the Joy’s tree deserve the same?”
“Ah, they can have it next year.” He flapped a dismissive hand and tucked the long pipes up under his arm.
Holden didn’t understand what was so special about this year in particular, but he let it rest.
“Mom’s got some mulled cider on the stove if you want a mug before we do the honors,” Zeke offered.
“That sounds great, actually,” Holden said. “Let’s go inside to grab that first.”
“You go on ahead. I’m just going to fiddle with this before we make it official.”
Holden lowered a brow. “Dad, promise me you’ll wait to take the measurements until I’m out here with you.”
“Scout’s honor.” The dog perked up at the mention of her name. “I’ll wait.”
Holden trusted his father’s words about as much as he trusted a young child left unattended with a roomful of Christmas-morning presents. But that cider called to him, and when Holden swung the entry door open and caught a whiff of the spiced scent, his watering mouth steered him straight into the kitchen. Apple cider, cloves, and nutmeg simmered over low heat on the stove, a holiday aroma that harkened to past Christmases that took place within this very home. It was strange how a smell could be its own transportation device, depositing you squarely into the middle of a memory.
The last time their family had shared a kettle of the savory drink, his sister had a little something of her own to share: the news of her pregnancy and upcoming birth of the family’s first grandchild. Or niece, in Holden’s case. He couldn’t think of a time when an announcement had filled him with such overwhelming joy. Maybe when Sarah and Darren had gotten engaged. That was a close second.
