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On that note, I went back into my studio to work, finally getting something done for the first time in days.
—
"What do you mean you don't have a Christmas tree?" I asked, sure I misunderstood him, like perhaps he always got a real tree each year, so he didn't have one at the moment.
"I don't have one," Fitz said, shrugging from behind his laptop screen.
"Do you get a real one each year then?" I demanded to know.
"No, I do not," Fitz said, half closing the lid of his laptop, looking over at me with drawn-together brows. "You look insulted," he said, lips twitching.
"Do you... you know... not celebrate?" I asked.
"I mean, traditionally, yes, Christmas has been something I've celebrated."
"But you don't have a tree."
"Correct."
"For how long?"
"I don't know. Probably since my father passed. That was his department."
"But with his passing, wouldn't that task fall to you? You know, so your brother and you could celebrate?"
"Honey, I don't think there is enough spiked eggnog in the world that could make us tolerate each other for a solitary holiday. It was different when we had our father as a buffer. Now, all we would do is bicker."
We were just going to pretend to ignore the fact that he called me 'honey.'
"Yeah... Christmas," I said, throwing up a hand.
"You bicker with your family at Christmas?"
"Well, I won't be this year, but I mean... yeah. There is always little sniping at each other over the meals or old and new traditions or spending too much on gifts. What do you two do for holidays then?"
"Blake throws a Christmas Eve party in the guest house, then sleeps it off most of Christmas Day."
"What about you?"
"It's just another day. I actually get a lot of work done with some overseas countries. You're looking at me like I kicked your puppy."
Okay, he wasn't wrong.
I realized my hand was even over my heart at his words.
"That's just... unacceptable," I declared. "I'm going to be all alone this Christmas, but I am putting up a tree, and baking cookies, and watching Christmas movies."
"You bake?"
"Occasionally, yeah."
"Could I add baking Christmas cookies to your job description?" he asked, looking hopeful.
"What kind of cookies?"
"Any kind of cookies," he decided.
"I can do that. In fact, I will do you one better. I am going to get you a tree too."
"You don't have to do that."
"But if I want to, would you be interested?" I asked.
"I think I might," he agreed, nodding.
"Also, I'm going to make the grounds guy put lights up outside. No one likes a dark, Scrooge house."
To that, I got a smile.
"Okay."
"Anything else I'm missing?" I asked, mostly to myself.
"Christmas music?" Fitz suggested.
"Oh, don't worry. If I am baking, there will be Christmas music blasting. You might regret mentioning it since I sing like a couple of cats engaged in a nasty turf war, but it will be happening."
There was warmth in Fitz's eyes and smile then. So warm, in fact, that it made a gooey sensation move across my chest at the sight of it.
"I'm looking forward to it," he said, and, what's more, I was pretty sure he meant it.
And that, well, it gave me free rein to do something I usually didn't get to do a lot of. Recklessly spending money on Christmas decor. I always picked up one thing here or there, but money was always tight, and I tried to focus more on getting gifts for loved ones than decorations for my house.
But when I'd asked Fitz about the budget for decorating his estate, well, he'd told me to buy whatever I wanted, that the price really didn't matter.
So, yeah, I went a little crazy.
I got a massive tree to suit his tall ceilings, tons of lights and ornaments, garland for the staircase, wreaths for the doors, throw pillows, and little bric-a-brac items to put on sideboards or console tables.
Then I'd bided my time until Fitz had an overnight trip away to get to work. It wasn't nearly as dramatic to watch your house transform into an elegant Christmas wonderland as it was to walk in to see it decked out.
I worked from morning until late at night the evening he was away crossing the Ts and dotting the Is for his big deal. Then I'd dragged myself out of bed the next morning and got right back at it.
Then, when he still wasn't home, I went ahead and got to work on the cookies with the Christmas music blasting.
It wasn't until I was doing an over-the-top rendition of All I Want For Christmas Is You when I turned to find Fitz leaning in the doorway from the garage, watching me with a sweet, bemused expression on his face.
"I, ah, I warned you I couldn't sing," I said, turning down the music. "But it's the enthusiasm that coun—" I started, getting cut off when Fitz pulled away from the doorway, stalked toward me, grabbed me, and sealed his lips to mine.
