Page 17 of A Crawford Family Christmas

I shoot him a look. “I will bite you.”

He grins. “Kinky.”

“JOHNNY.”

“Sorry. Focus.” He gently lifts a section of my hair, careful as if he’s handling something precious. “Okay… you’ve got one curl wrapped around the wire here, another around the bulb… and I think this piece is just emotionally attached.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” He leans closer, breath warm against my temple. “You married me.”

“That was before you turned me into a Christmas decoration.”

He laughs softly, then stills. “You did this to yourself. But I’ve got you. Just stay still.”

Something in his voice—steady, sure—makes my shoulders relax despite myself. He works slowly, fingers warm against my neck as he unwinds the wire strand by strand.

“You know,” he says. “This makes me think of the night you let me tie you up.”

“We are not discussing that here.”

“Why not? We’re alone.”

“Your family is still here, and they’re all nosy as hell. They could be hiding in the next row of trees.”

“Doubtful,” he says.

He tugs on one strand that pulls painfully. “Ouch,” I say.

“I’m sorry, Harps. I’m trying to be gentle.”

“I know you are. I’m just cranky and ready to be at home in bed.”

“Pretend this is romantic,” he says. “We’re alone amidst twinkle light-adorned trees.”

“Yes, because nothing says ‘date night’ like emergency tree extraction.”

He laughs. “How about ‘damsel rescue?’”

“I am not a damsel.”

He smiles. “You are tonight.”

One strand slips free. Then another.

“There,” he says quietly. “Almost got you.”

I shift just slightly—and yelp when it tugs again. “Ow—sorry!”

“Hey, hey.” His hands settle on my shoulders. “Easy. That one’s stubborn.”

“Like you.”

“Rude.” He chuckles, then leans in closer, his mouth brushing my ear. “You know… if I hadn’t already married you, this would be the moment I fall in love.”

“Because I’m trapped?”

“Because you’re taking this in stride and not freaking out.”