Somehow, spending time with Noah feels new and exciting and utterly unexpected while also feeling warm and familiar, like I’ve known him all my life.
I have no idea how both things can be true at once, but with him, they absolutely are.
Finally, I hang the last ornament on the tree, then stand in the middle of the room, making a slow circle as I admire our work.
It’s perfect. So perfect, I have to hope the weather allows the Petersons to come.
If not, well, Noah was right. This is where I’ll be spendingmyholiday, too. It’s nice to have things looking so Christmasy.
“It looks great,” Noah says from the entry into the dining room. He disappeared into the kitchen a few minutes ago, sayingsomething about warming up the spiced cider in the fridge. “As good as it usually does.”
“Does it?” I turn to face him and find him leaning against the door jamb, arms folded loosely across his chest. He looks relaxed and happy and achingly handsome.
“If you wind up hating nursing, you might have a career in holiday decorations.”
I grin. “I’m not going to hate nursing, but it’s nice to know I have a backup.”
“Do you want some cider? It’s almost warm.”
I can already pick up the scent of cinnamon and cloves, and it’s making my mouth water.
“Yes! Definitely. But I’m going to go wrap some garland around the porch posts first.”
Noah nods. “Let me turn off the stove, then I’ll come out to help.”
I carry the box of lighted garland outside and make quick work of wrapping the railings, but there are columns on either side of the stairs and I would love to continue the garland up each one. I might have to find a ladder to do it.
Unless—
I test the sturdiness of the railing. It’s wide and flat and feels perfectly solid. Definitely sturdy enough to hold my weight. I hold the garland between my teeth and use both hands to hoist myself up.
It takes me a second to find my balance, but once I’m steady, I stand upright and carefully wrap the garland around the left porch column. There’s even a tiny hook at the top, like this has been done before and the hook is there for just this purpose. I secure the end of the garland around the column with a satisfied sigh. “Perfect,” I say.
Then my foot slips and I lose my balance, falling forward off the railing and onto the snowy front lawn with an audibleoof.
I’m not sure if it’s better or worse that I fell forward into the snow instead of backward onto the porch. The snowy ground is a couple of feet lower, but the snow at least cushioned my fall.
At least, I think it did.
I lay perfectly still, cataloging the many parts of my body that hurt. I landed on my left hand, and my palm is stinging and cold, and my hip aches, the damp snow already seeping through my pants. But maybe that’s the worst of it?
I shift and try to sit up and…oh, no. I am definitely not okay.
Sharp pain radiates up my shoulder, and a wave of nausea washes over me. I roll onto my back and close my eyes, willing myself not to throw up. This is definitely the throwing up kind of pain.
I breathe slowly, tears pricking my eyes as the shock of my fall wears off enough for me to realize how badly my shoulder hurts. Everything else pales in comparison.
Did I break it? Or break my arm, maybe?
I swear softly, then the front door clicks open.
“Megan?” Noah calls. I hear the moment he sees me, because he swears too, then he races down the steps.
In seconds, he’s crouching beside me in the snow.
“What happened? Are you hurt?”
“I fell off the railing,” I say without opening my eyes. “I was hanging the garland.”
