"I'm not inviting Fletcher."
His hand cupped the side of my neck, thumb brushing under my jaw. "Thank you."
The words were simple. I swallowed around them anyway.
I rose onto my toes and kissed him.
Zane let me start it softly. He usually did, for about three seconds, before his hand slid into my hair and his mouth took over like kissing me was another practical task that deserved full attention. The tree lights glowed against my closed eyelids. His other arm locked around my waist, pulling me against him, and I made a sound that had nothing to do with Christmas spirit and everything to do with the fact that this man could still ruin my train of thought with one hand.
The ornament box bumped my hip.
I broke the kiss with a laugh against his mouth. "The decorations are attacking."
"They're in the way."
"You're the one who wanted the tree to look right."
"I changed my mind."
"You have strong seasonal priorities."
"My priorities are fine."
His mouth moved to my jaw, then my throat, and I gripped his shoulders as heat spilled through me, low and familiar. Outside, snow kept tapping the windows. Inside, Zane's hands slid under the hem of my sweater, warm against my skin.
"Zane," I said, breathless. "If you start that now, this tree is going to look emotionally unfinished."
He lifted his head. His eyes were dark, his mouth curved, and my knees weakened.
"Emotionally unfinished," he said.
"Yes."
"Is that official decorating language?"
"It is when you live with an administrative assistant."
He kissed me once more, slower this time, then stepped back with obvious reluctance. "Then hand me the ribbon before you accuse my tree of paperwork problems."
"Your tree has already formed a committee."
"Daphne."
"I'll get the ribbon."
We finished the lights. Zane adjusted them twice after I declared them finished, which I considered personal restraint. I tied the ribbon around the wreath while he hung ornaments in places that made structural sense, and then I moved half of them because Christmas wasn't an engineering exam.
By the time the tree stood lit in the corner, the room had gone golden and soft. The snow outside had thickened, muffling the pines and turning the porch rail white. Zane clicked off the overhead light, and the glow filled the windows, the walls, the old quilt over the couch, and the mugs abandoned on the table.
He stood behind me, arms around my waist, chin near my temple.
"It looks good," I said.
"It does."
"You sound surprised."
"I'm not surprised."
