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“Sure. What are we talking—eggnog, mulled wine, tequila?” I ask.
“We were thinking pizza and ice cream,” Willa offers.
“That works too,” I agree.
We load up on junk food and make our way to the couches for a marathon binge session ofTheGreat British Baking Show: Holidays.
Bran
Icannot believe we finished Willa’s garden project this afternoon. As we were loading up Bob’s truck to leave, the van from the lighting company was unloading their equipment to get started with their install.
The place turned out better than any of us had even imagined, and Willa started crying when Keller called her out to show her the final product.
There’s a certain measure of pride a man feels when he is able to contribute to a woman’s happy tears.
I follow Keller to his house, and the two of us draw out the plans for the train frame for the boat.
We work steadily until we see the lights from Willa’s Bronco in the drive.
Willa and Hannah exit, each carrying a brown paper bag.
Keller stops to ignite the grill, and then we relieve the girls of the bags and follow them inside the house.
They get to work on washing veggies to slice up for a salad while Keller and I grab the grilling tools and the platter of steaks that we seasoned and left to rest on the counter.
When I scoot around Hannah, she stops and laces her arms around my neck. Then, she kisses me hard and lets go.
My hands are full, so I can’t, but she reaches up, twists a berry off the mistletoe hanging between Keller’s kitchen and living room, and slips it in the front pocket of my jeans. Then, she turns and continues peeling cucumbers.
I take the tools to Keller, and then I continue transferring our design onto a sheet of plywood while he cooks.
By the time I’m prepared to begin cutting the frame, he has our food ready.
We carry the meat inside to find the two of them dancing around the kitchen, singing an off-key version of “Jingle Bell Rock” as they set out the plates and silverware.
The four of us sit at Keller’s small kitchen table and enjoy a delicious meal together. Hannah fills us in on her drama back in Vegas, and I’m secretly overjoyed that she didn’t pack up and head home today.
After we eat, the girls clean the dishes while Keller and I take a saw to the wood. Then, Willa and Hannah, armed with staple guns, help by adding the lights to one panel while we work on cutting the second one.
We finish all but a few details that Bob and Trixie plan to add before launching on Saturday, and Willa decides she is going to stay the night.
“You’re welcome to take the Bronco home if you want,” she tells Hannah, offering her the keys.
“I got her,” I interrupt before Hannah can reply.
Willa closes her hand around the pink metal carabiner holding her keys.
“Cool. Thanks, Bran,” she says.
Hannah just shakes her head and lets me lead her out to my Forester.
I don’t even pretend to be taking her home. I turn in the opposite direction of the inn and toward my place.
I park the SUV close to the steps, and as soon as Hannah exits the vehicle, I scoop her up, lift her over one shoulder, and fireman-carry her up the stairs.
She giggles as I switch my grip on her in order to fish my key from my pocket and unlock the front door.
Once inside, I toss her onto her back on the couch, quickly kick off my jeans, and climb over top of her.
