Chapter 2
TWO
I Brought Joy
Lauren
My landlord and I aren’t besties, so a phone call from him is one of two things: He’s sold the duplex to move to Mexico to run a parasailing excursion company and become one of those perpetually tan permavacationers, which would mean I’d have to move out.
Or he wants my great-grandma’s apple cobbler recipe again.
I already told him it’s a family secret, and Grandma Mildred would rise from the grave just to haunt me if I gave it away.
When she passed it down to me, she handed me the yellowing recipe card and said, “Only share this if someone from Sara Lee comes knocking. It’s negotiable if the price is right. Otherwise, you take it to the grave.”
Mike clears his throat. “The other tenant just informed me that the pipes in the house froze and burst this morning.”
Dammit. I wish it were one of the first two options, not this. “Is everything okay? Is there a lot of damage?”
“There’s some water damage, but it was caught fairly quickly. The bigger issue is you won’t have water for a while. You might want to line up somewhere else to stay.”
“Got it. I’ll be right over.” Fantastic.
Merry freaking Christmas. I hang up and shove my phone in my pocket.
My chest tightens. “Some” damage could mean a few damp towels…
or all my stuff is auditioning for Titanic: The Home Edition.
And naturally, this has to happen right before the Holly Jolly Festival.
“What’s wrong?” Eli asks.
“The pipes burst at my duplex. I have to get over there.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “We’ll take my truck. I’m closer.”
Minutes later, we’re barreling through town, the holiday decorations streak past in a blur of red and gold.
Meanwhile, my brain is spiraling into Craigslist-ad levels of panic.
Single female seeks temporary housing. Must love Christmas cookies and tolerate emotional breakdowns.
Maybe Val has a room open at the Fa La La Inn, though odds are slim.
Maybe the next town over, but the commute would be terrible.
I moved back here to avoid the long drive.
As soon as Eli parks, I fling the door open before the engine is off. A group wearing safety vests is gathered near the side of the house. Mike trudges over, hands stuffed in his coat pockets.
“Hey Lauren.” His voice is lined with guilt. “It’s worse than I thought. We’ll work on it, but with the holidays, it’ll take longer. The whole place is without water. Old houses.” He gives a helpless shrug. “I’m sorry.”
“Can I get my things?” My voice is calm, but my heart’s thumping in my chest.
“Yeah. That’s no problem. I’ll keep you updated on the progress, but feel free to reach out anytime.” He nods toward the crew and heads back across the snow.
I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Where am I going to stay?” The words come out more like a prayer than a question.
“Stay at my place,” Eli says casually.
My head jerks up. “Your place is the size of a shoebox.”
“But it’s a cozy shoebox.”
“We’d be constantly on top of each other.”
“Sure, it’s small, but I have the spare bedroom.”
“That you use for an office. You don't even have a bed in there.”
“I have a cot.”
I gape at him. “A cot? I’m not making you sleep on a glorified lawn chair.”
“It’s fine. I’ve slept on it a hundred times while camping.”
“No, I’ll take it. I don’t want to kick you out of your own bed.”
A small chuckle escapes him. “When was the last time you even saw a cot, let alone slept on one? Middle school Girl Scouts?”
My mouth opens, ready to protest, but he cuts me off.
“You’re taking the bedroom. End of discussion.”
“Are you sure?”
“You can. And you will. And if you argue again, I’ll carry you over my shoulder and dump you on the mattress myself.”
My jaw drops. “You wouldn’t.”
His slow grin says he absolutely would. And judging by the little flutter in my stomach, I might not mind.
“Thank you so much, Eli. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I throw myself against his chest. It’s not exactly the living situation of my dreams, but it’s better than spending December in my car.
His arms circle around me, solid and warm. It’s the kind of hug that’s all comfort… except for the part that makes my heart race in ways it definitely shouldn’t.
Eli pulls back too soon, and I already miss his warmth. He tugs his keys from his pocket, removes a silver one, and drops it into my palm. “Here. I’ll use the hidden spare. Help yourself to anything. Except my chocolate Snack Pack.”
I blink. “Pudding?”
“There are six in the fridge.”
“I don’t know if I should be concerned with your lifelong fascination with chocolate pudding or that you count them.”
His mouth quirks, but he only says, “I’ll see you tonight after work.”
After Eli drops me off at the festival, I fill Brie in on my situation.
She shoos me away for the day so I can move my things.
Since my new living arrangement is temporary, I pack only the essentials.
I shove the key into the lock and twist, pushing open the door to Eli’s cabin.
Staring back at me are bare wooden walls and minimal furniture.
It looks like a lumberjack’s bachelor starter pack.
“Absolutely not,” I mutter before dropping my suitcase and racing back to my duplex.
Ten minutes later, I’m shoving bins into my car like Santa on an adrenaline rush.
It’s Christmas time; I need a little holiday spirit to keep my spirits up.
Eli won’t be mad over a few lights here and some decorations there, especially since his place is severely lacking.
By the time Eli gets home, his living room is buried under plastic totes, and I’m at the stove, stirring chili.
He steps inside, snow still dusting his shoulders, and freezes. His gaze slowly tracks the avalanche of bins stacked to the ceiling. “Should I be concerned? It’s only you moving in, right? Not the entire street.”
“Hi!” I wave the spoon at him. “I brought over some decorations. This place desperately needed a vibe upgrade.”
“A vibe? You brought over a department store.”
“Wrong. I brought joy. You’re welcome. But seriously, I hope it’s okay. Being displaced at Christmas doesn’t help my holiday happiness meter, and I kind of need that for the festival.”
His mouth twitches. “While you’re here, my house is your house.”
“Thanks. And as your new temporary roommate, I made dinner. Chicken chili.”
He shrugs out of his coat, toes off his boots, and heads straight for the kitchen. His arm settles over my shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Now this I could get used to.”
I glance up at him, pretending my pulse isn’t doing cartwheels. “Hopefully, you didn’t already have dinner plans.”
“Just me and a frozen pizza. But I’m sure it’ll survive the heartbreak.” He leans against the counter, nodding toward the bins. “Alright. What’s going on in there?”
I set the lid on the pot and spin around, pointing to each color-coded bin. “The blue ones have all my blue decorations, and the red ones have all my red decorations. Gray is for the silver and gold ones, and behind those are the garland, lights, candles, and various decor.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Did you bring over your entire duplex?”
I laugh. If only he could see what’s still at my place. “Not even close. Also, do you have a Christmas tree?”
“No.”
“Are you planning on getting a Christmas tree?”
“No.”
I gasp, clutching my imaginary pearls. “So you’re going to go the full Christmas season without a tree?”
“Correct.”
“What kind of monster did I move in with? Do you hate Christmas or something?” I whisper.
“No. I just don't see the point in spending hours setting up a bunch of decorations only to take them down in thirty days. How many hours of your life do you think you waste decorating? Plus, if I had a tree, it’d probably look like the Charlie Brown tree.”
I cross my arms over my chest and mutter, “You’re bahumbugging my Christmas spirit right now.”
“That’s okay. You have enough Christmas spirit for both of us.” He nudges me with his elbow.
“You’re right about that. Which is why, yes, Eli, I will bring Christmas spirit to your very serious, very bare cabin in the woods.”
He laughs, rolling his eyes. “Fine. But I draw the line at inflatable decorations in the front yard.”
I beam. “Noted. Guess I’ll cancel the twenty-foot snowman delivery.”
His eyes narrow. “You’re joking.”
I shrug.
“You didn’t actually order a twenty-foot snowman.”
I grin. “Guess you’ll never know.”
He groans, but he’s smiling too.