"And probably crack. This is addictive." She takes another sip, leaving a small chocolate mustache on her upper lip.
Without thinking, I reach out, wiping it away with my thumb. The intimate gesture feels natural, automatic. Her eyes meet mine, something vulnerable flickering in their depths.
"Dario..." She starts, then stops, uncertainty shadowing her expression.
"We should get going." I step back, suddenly aware of how close we were standing. "Another storm's supposed to roll in this afternoon."
The moment breaks, but the tension lingers as we secure the tree to the truck bed and head back toward the mountain. Halfway home, snow begins to fall, fat flakes drifting across the windshield. Judith watches the white landscape with quiet wonder.
"Never gets old." She speaks softly, almost to herself. "The snow. It's so different from the city."
"Cleaner. Quieter." I navigate the increasingly slick road with practiced ease. "Nothing like mountain snow."
"I used to hate winter." She turns slightly toward me. "The cold, the inconvenience, the gray slush everywhere. But here..."
"It's different."
"Everything's different here." Her words carry weight beyond the weather.
We lapse into comfortable silence for the remainder of the drive. By the time we reach the cabin, the snow is falling steadily, transforming the landscape into a winter wonderland. I park as close to the porch as possible to minimize our time carrying the tree through the snowfall.
"Ready?" I kill the engine, turning to her.
"Ready." She pulls on gloves, determination in her expression.
Together, we manhandle the tree from the truck to the porch and through the front door. The scent of fresh pine immediately fills the cabin, mingling with the lingering aroma of coffee from breakfast. We position it in the corner of the living room by the large windows, where it can be seen from most of the main floor.
"Perfect." Judith steps back, surveying our work. "Now we just need decorations."
"In the storage room." I brush pine needles from my hands. "Want to help me bring them out?"
She follows me to the storage area, where I retrieve the carefully labeled Christmas bins. Together we carry them to the living room, setting them near the tree.
"I'll make more hot chocolate." She heads toward the kitchen. "Something tells me tree decorating with Dario requires sustenance."
I open the first bin, unpacking ornaments wrapped in tissue paper. Many are handmade, carved by my grandfather or father, passed down through generations. Others I've added over the years, each with its own significance. I'm arranging them on the coffee table when Judith returns with two steaming mugs.
"These are beautiful." She picks up a wooden bear, admiring the detailed carving. "Did you make these?"
"Some." I accept the mug she offers. "That one was my grandfather's. He taught my father, who taught me."
She handles the ornament with newfound reverence. "Family tradition."
"Three generations." I don't add that it ends with me. That there's no fourth generation to pass these skills to. The thought sits uncomfortably in my chest.
We work in companionable silence, unboxing decorations and arranging them for placement. When everything is ready, I string the lights while Judith watches, offering commentary on placement that I pretend to find annoying but secretly appreciate. Her attention to detail matches my own, another unexpected compatibility.
Once the lights are arranged to mutual satisfaction, we begin hanging ornaments. I explain the significance of each hand-carved piece like the bear my grandfather made the year my father was born; the eagle my father carved to commemorate my enlistment; the cabin I created after inheriting this property.
"What's this one?" She holds up a small wooden heart, simple but precisely crafted.
I hesitate, memories surfacing. "I made that after my first deployment. Rough time. Woodworking helped."
She studies the piece, understanding dawning in her eyes. "It's beautiful."
She hangs it near the top of the tree, handling it with care that makes my chest tighten. We continue decorating, movingaround each other with the ease of a long established couple rather than a temporary arrangement barely two weeks old.
When the final ornament is placed, I plug in the lights. The tree comes to life, multicolored bulbs illuminating the handcrafted ornaments. Against the backdrop of falling snow visible through the windows, the effect is undeniably perfect.
