Chapter 5
FIVE
Wren leaves about twenty minutes before I do, not that I was watching.
Eventually, I decide I should go try to write, so I settle my tab and say goodbye to Colt.
As I drive in the dark, I note that Wren wasn’t lying.
Every house in town is decorated, nearly every one already glowing bright.
I have to begrudgingly admit that it does look friendly, welcoming, and festive.
When I turn onto Bluebird Lane, it’s even brighter. My house looks strangely depressing as the only one not lit up.
Not that I care, of course.
As I pull into my driveway, I note that Wren is kneeling out front, wrapping a string of lights around the post of her mailbox.
She waves at me with her usual, cheery demeanor, and I give her a slight wave in return.
I might not want to take part in her chaos, but that doesn’t mean I have to be a total asshole.
That’s what I’m thinking as I step out of my car and spot something out of place on my front lawn.
A blow-mold snowman is smiling up at me. A snowman that wasn’t there when I left. A snowman I surely didn’t buy. There are also two more candy canes, making almost half of my walkway a candy cane lane, of sorts.
When I look back at her, there’s a small smirk playing on her lips that I fight not to return. She probably came back from the bar, put them up, and then decided she needed to decorate her mailbox at ten at night just to see my reaction.
You have to appreciate her tenacity, at the very least. Not many women would stare at me like that, challenging me as if I hadn’t turned them down a dozen times already. After a moment, I sigh, realizing this battle is already lost.
“This you?” I call out across the lawn.
“Just a little Christmas spirit!” she says, that smirk widening into a grin.
“Wasn’t the wreath enough?”
She shakes her head. “That one was basically charity. Don’t you want the local kids to see your house and know you’re not some grumpy old man?” I stare deadpan at her in answer, and she lets out a small, frustrated sound that shouldn’t be cute. “Your house looks haunted,” she whines.
I could argue, but I’m learning that gets me nowhere with Wren, so I sigh in defeat instead.
“If I leave them, will you leave me be?”
“I don’t know. Are you going to add lights to your house?”
I return her smile then, unable to hold back, and for some reason, I’m enjoying this back-and-forth of ours. “Probably not.”
“Then probably not.”
I let out a chuckle, then shake my head, heading up my walkway. “You’re not going to win this battle, Birdie.” I don’t know where the nickname comes from, just that she always looks like a delicate little bird. But when her face lights up at my words, I can’t find it in me to regret it.
“That’s fine. I’m happy to fight the good fight,” she says as I step into my house, shaking my head with a light chuckle.
I spend an hour at my kitchen table with a notebook, trying to get some writing in.
A dozen pages are balled up on the table, but I leave them to clean up in the morning when I decide it’s getting late and I should head to bed.
When I pass the door to my office on my way to my room, a light catches my eye, making me pause and turn toward the room.
As I enter, I notice the light in the room across from my office in Wren’s house is on once more.
Tonight, she’s working on a new project, a sewing machine in front of her as she feeds red fabric through it.
Her long hair is in a haphazard bun on the top of her head, and she’s washed her face of the makeup she was wearing at the bar, revealing the tired look of her eyes.
I sigh when I check the time, realizing it’s after midnight.
Even though I’m tired myself, I sit at my desk, intrigued to see just how late she stays up.
She continues to work as I listen to music and jot down words, trying to make something work.
My mind is so stuck on all things Christmas decorations that I find myself jotting down words, lines, and a few notes before I realize they’re all holiday themed.
I push the paper aside and am about to give in for the night when finally, she stands, turning off her light and leaving. I check the time. 1:02 a.m.
I usually go for my run at seven, no matter how late I stay up, and even though I’m usually the kind of person who doesn’t need much sleep, I can feel in my bones that I’ll be tired tomorrow.
If she’s doing this night after night and then waking up at the crack of dawn to head out for the day, I don’t know how she’s not dead on her feet every day.
Not your problem, Porter, I remind myself. She’s a nuisance. Not your problem.
The next morning, I wake to find the rest of my candy cane walkway had been completed, and can’t even muster the annoyance to be annoyed. I do look across the way to see a smiling and waving Wren, though.
“Morning, Adam.”
“No more decorations,” I say, but the sternness I’m trying to keep in my tone seems to have left the building.
“Or what?” she asks, playfulness in the words.
My breath stops in my chest at the taunt.
A million responses move through my mind, each more inappropriate than the last, and I push each one back, but one makes it through my filter. “Or else I might have to retaliate.“ The threat does the opposite of what I intended, making her face light up, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” And then she’s prancing down her driveway, her sweet skirt swaying behind her as she goes.
Let the games begin, I suppose.