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“Garlands. I have to hang them all over the front of the house, and then I put a whole bunch up downstairs, and I decorate them with mistletoe and Christmas ornaments and the whole shebang. It’s like a Christmas explosion. The guests eat it up.”
“Who are your guests, eighty-year-old women?”
“You might be surprised.”
Carson picked up the boxes, surprised to find that garlands weighed a ton.
“Let me get a couple of those.”
“No.”
“One.”
He let her take one off the top, and he followed her down the curved staircase to the front of the house.
“Show me where you want this outside, and I’ll hang it for you.”
“You don’t have to do that. You already did the kitchen, and—”
“It’s just something to keep me occupied. You know how I am.”
She pushed open the door onto the covered front porch, smiling even as a bitter wind picked up her hair and flung it into her eyes. “Yeah, I know. You should really get a house like this. It’d keep you busy for forty years. You wouldn’t even have to think hard about what to do. There’s always something breaking or falling down or coming apart. It’s like your perfect residence.”
Then her face fell, and she covered her eyes with her hand. “I didn’t mean that like it came out.”
“It’s okay.”
“Forget I said it, all right? I don’t want you to think I’m pining. Everyone else thinks I’m pining, but I feel like at least one person in town other than me should be aware of the actual situation.”
“Which is that you’re not pining.”
“Exactly.”
“Got it. It’s fine.”
She took her hand away and peeked at him from under her lashes. “Is it?”
Carson’s chest tightened. It wasn’t okay. It was four degrees and windy, she wasn’t wearing shoes, and he’d been living with her for two weeks. He wanted her like a heartbeat, the pulse of it low and insistent whether he was sleeping or awake. He wanted to take her, to fuck her until she couldn’t move, and he was pretty sure she wanted that, too.
And none of it troubled him as much as the fact that he also wanted to please her.
Every time he walked into town, somebody told him how much they loved Julie. She’s worked miracles over at the library. We couldn’t get by without her at the hospital gift shop. The Methodist Women’s Auxiliary wouldn’t exist anymore without Julie. You wouldn’t believe the way she’s whipped the Chamber into shape.
He didn’t know if it was supposed to mean “thank you” because he’d brought her here or if it was a warning to back off. He just knew it kept happening, and he’d stopped resenting it.
She worked miracles, and everyone loved her, and he woke up every day having burrowed a little deeper into her life.
She scared him, but he wanted her anyway.
“Tell me where to hang these, so I can go inside and get my coat on,” he said. “It’s fucking freezing out here.”
“Is that how you order around your minions?”
“More or less.”
“How many languages can you say ‘fuck’ in?”
Carson smiled. “I’d need my fingers to count, and they’re busy holding your fucking boxes.”
