The thought is instant. Primal.
I’m a damn lucky man.
Zelda scrambles up for a pet, and Bellamy drops into a crouch, crooning sweet words and accepting sloppy kisses.
When Zelda’s satisfied, Bellamy stands. “Okay, now we really, really, really have to decorate the tree.” She slips her arms around my waist.
Setting the spatula down, I press back into her.
Her warm breath pulses against my neck. “It’s December twenty-fourth. Santa would consider it a crime. He’ll arrest me.”
“He takes you away from me, we’re gonna have words.” Twisting, I curl my body possessively around hers.
She peers up at me, eyes dark, and grips the front of my flannel. “Hank Blue, don’t you dare try to fight Santa. You’ll get coal for the rest of your life.”
“Risk I’m willin’ to take.” I grin, kiss the tip of her nose. “You want breakfast?”
“Later.” Wagging a finger, she moves for the living room. “I’m three-for-three with this tree, cowboy. No distractions.”
“I’ll help.” I remove the last pancake from the pan, turn off the stove and follow her into the living room.
She stops in front of the tree, fluffing branches and taking it in with a sniper’s gaze.
“Assume the position?” I ask with a knowing grin.
She wiggles her eyebrows. “You know it.”
I lie on the floor, half under the tree, and get a grip on the base. Slowly, I spin it around.
“There’s a hole back here,” she says when I’ve made a quarter rotation. “So…to the left—no, the right.” She paces around me, her socked feet making no noise.
Warmth grows in my chest. Bellamy’s such an artist. No constraints. This part of her has always been my favorite. Goofy and free and happy, while I keep everything steady.
I give the tree another slow spin.
“A little more…stop…right…there.” Her yelp of victory tells me I nailed it.
I pull myself up off the floor, grinning. From there, we fall into a routine so easy, it’s hard to believe we haven’t done this in three years. I dig the tree decorations out of tote bins while Bellamy, singing along to Christmas songs, decorates.
The Christmas lights go on first. She chooses white lights and, starting from the bottom, slowly winds them around the tree, working her way up.
She’s busy fighting with the end of the strand when I step beside her.
She eyes me and groans. “Tinsel?” Despite her complaint, her lips twitch. “Hank. Be serious.”
“Bluebell, it’s Christmas. Have a little fun.” I step close to the tree, tossing handfuls of tinsel over the branches.
Her squeal is ear-piercing. “Hank, no!”
I bark out a laugh. “The more undignified, the better.”
Her lips flatten as she smothers a smile. “Fine. But one strand at a time.”
Slowly, I circle the tree, covering it with tinsel until it’s a shiny silver mess.
“It looks…” Propping her hands on her hips, she evaluates the evergreen with a scrunched nose.
“Goddamn gorgeous.”
