Page 78 of The Mistletoe Mix-up

“So, not a command from you to keep Ilsa Potter away from me?”

“Who is Ilsa Potter?” Wren grumbled, knowing dang well she was the pushy brunette.

“Never mind, I must have imagined it,” he muttered. “Are you still off at six?”

“Barring an emergency, yes. Why?” she asked.

“I thought maybe we could go get some food. Listen to some music and hang out.”

“I don’t know. I’m kind of tired. Plus, I have to figure out what I’m doing with my Christmas tree.”

Sam chuckled. “You mean, the one you set up in the corner of your living room in the Home Depot bucket?”

“Yes, smart-ass,” Wren said, because Sam was the one who’d helped pick it out. “I just don’t know what to do with it. I don’t have any ornaments and don’t feel like running around town looking, even when I do have time. I could order them online, but most of them wouldn’t make it by Christmas anyway.”

“What if we made ornaments?” he asked.

“What?”

“Yeah, why not? I’ve got all kinds of stuff that we used to make ornaments for the tattoo parlor’s tree. I can pick up some food, and you can come over to my place, and we’ll make ornaments for your tree.”

“That’s sweet, but I have Duke.”

“Bring him. I’ll put a big blanket down, and he can chill while we create.”

Wren pursed her lips. “You’re serious about this?”

“Course I am. Now, what do you say? Do you wanna do some crafting with me?”

Wren forgot all about the girl hanging on him and Millie’s opinion of their arrangement, because making ornaments with Sam sounded like fun to her.

“I’m in.”

Chapter Twenty-three

What made you guys decide to make your own ornaments instead of just buying some really pretty ones that had to do with tattoos and art?”

Sam sat at the table with Wren, holding a glass ball in his hand as he swirled paint on the inside of it, coating it in white, red, green, and pink. The kitchen table was covered in black trash bags, protecting the surface from paint and glue. As promised, he’d laid a thick blanket on the floor for Duke, who was curled up on his side, snoring.

“I guess when you’re artistic,” Sam said, turning the ball in his hands until it was fully coated, “it’s hard to not want some control over how you’re viewed by the world.”

“Do you get along with the people you work with?” Wren asked, dabbing glue on a red pom-pom.

“I do, but I also have a hard time trusting people after what happened in Oregon, so we’re not close. Especially since I want to go out on my own eventually. They’re the only tattoo parlor in town, so I’ll have to look at opening in Fairfield or somewhere else. I don’t wanna burn any bridges, especially since my current boss has been good to me.”

“That makes sense. Is the owner anywhere near wanting to retire?”

“No, she’s been here for fifteen years, and she wants to stick around for probably another twenty before she calls it.”

“That sucks,” she said.

“It is what it is.” Sam sat up straighter, checking out her side of the table. “What are you making over there?”

Wren covered up her workspace, shaking her head. “This is a surprise. You don’t get to be nosy.”

Sam chuckled. “Alright, fine, I’ll just focus on my stuff.”

He poured the excess paint from inside the ornament onto a canvas and tilted it several different ways, watching the paint spread out over the surface. He set his ornament down to dry with the open end up, then he picked up a paintbrush and used it to cover the rest of the canvas.