I kiss the curve of his shoulder, then slip out of bed and change into leggings and a long sweater. “Mmm, don’t go,” he mumbles, eyes closed, broad hand patting the bed in an effort to find me.
“Tree time,” I say, gripping the ladder. “I’ll make coffee.”
Downstairs, Zelda wriggles around me and paws at my leg. After a round of ear scratches, hugs and kisses, I pour her kibble in the chipped pie plate we use as a bowl. I make coffee, thanking the electricity gods for bestowing upon me the ability to caffeinate.
The morning sun has found its way into the cabin, casting brilliant rays through the windows.
Stepping close, I inspect the tree. Inhale the scent of pine and crisp snow. Even after my whole near-death experience, it’s as pretty now as when I first saw it.
As I sip my coffee, I fluff the branches and spread them out to cover any holes. I fill the stand with water, then I drag out the box of Christmas decorations.
Even as I work, my mind’s everywhere but on decorating. I don’t know what Hank and I are doing. It feels right, but is it? I have to go back to San Francisco in three days. We’re moving sofast, and we’ve made no promises. Who’s to say this isn’t just a friends-with-Christmas-benefits kind of deal?
But how do I tell Zelda goodbye again? And Papa Blue? I didn’t expect to come back and fall in love with them all over again.
A noise behind me knocks me out of my wandering thoughts. I turn, finding Hank climbing down the ladder. He shuffles sleepily into the kitchen and pours a cup of coffee. His gray sweatpants sit low on his hips, his toned chest bare, golden skin on full display. Heat warms my ears when I note the bite mark on his neck, the happy trail that runs down his tan stomach.
Chuckling, he lifts the mug to his lips. “It’s time?”
“It’s time. Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. It has to be done today.” Typically, I decorate my tree the week after Thanksgiving. Waiting this long is a travesty.
Crouching, I crack the lid on the plastic box. When I’m met with a snarl of Christmas lights, I groan.
“I can help.” He pads toward me, but instead of moving for the box, he loops an arm around my waist and gathers me close.
“This isn’t helping,” I murmur as he sweeps his lips against mine. Once again, Hank Blue’s making me ignore all my responsibilities.
Ex-husband, dummy, my brain screams.
Let me be happy, retorts my heart.
Because with Hank, I always was.
“Looks like it’s time to break out the tinsel.” Surveying the boxes, he rubs his hands together.
I groan. “No tinsel.”
He slips a hand into my hair, distracting me.
I nearly purr at the sensation. “Don’t you need to be on the farm?”
“Nah, not today.” His lips lift, though the smile is forced.
I stare up into those bright blue eyes. “Are you sure?”
His focus drifts to the Christmas tree, and he steps away. Pain and sorrow stain his handsome face. He’s hiding something.
As he pretends to evaluate the tree, I chew on my bottom lip and replay Papa Blue’s comment from yesterday.
“Hank?” I cock my head. “What did Papa Blue mean when he said ‘One last Christmas rush’?”
He opens his mouth, snaps it closed again, like he’s looking for the words.
I stare at him, an uneasiness moving through me.
He rolls his head to the side and meets my gaze. His face looks carved as stone. “We have to sell the tree farm.”
“What?” I whisper, my throat constricting. “What are you talking about?”
