Decking the Halls

Chapter 1

Edie

The Danner Family Christmas tree lot is a cacophony of children shrieking, glitter-covered pinecones, and plausible deniability, which is ridiculous considering I’m only here to grab a three-foot Charlie Brown special for my classroom.

Young kindergarten teachers don’t exactly have the budget for those majestic Doug firs lined up along the fence.

Especially with an Oregon Coast salary. Especially with a Southern Oregon Coast salary.

I reach for a modest tree when I see her.

My heart stops. Actually stops. Because leaning against a red pickup truck twenty feet away is Nick Hall—at least, that’s who I think it is.

My ex, who dumped me six months ago for being “too much.” Too loud, too fat, too emotional, too everything that didn’t photograph well for a man chasing an Oregonian Senate seat someday.

Except when “he” turns toward me, I realize it’s not Nick at all.

Where Nick is golden and polished like a Ken doll in a campaign ad, this woman is dark and…

something else. Same bone structure, same height, but everything else screams trouble.

Dark hair, shaved close on one side, the rest falling over her forehead in a careless sweep that makes my fingers itch to push it back.

Tattoos climb her forearms where Nick’s skin was country-club pristine.

A worn plaid jacket replaces his starched button-downs.

And her eyes—God, her eyes are the same ice-blue shade, but burning with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.

This has to be Wren. The twin I grew up with alongside Nick, who was the only one I stayed in contact with after the Hall kids graduated high school and went their own ways.

“My sister’s trouble personified,” he’d said on our dates with that half-smile he used for jokes that weren’t jokes.

“She rides motorcycles, dates women, and thinks rules are for other people. We don’t really talk. Different life choices.”

I should leave. Turn around, forget the tree, and get the hell out of here before she notices me. Instead, I stand frozen as those icy blue eyes lock onto mine.

Recognition flares. Her eyebrows lift slightly, and interest crosses her face. She straightens from her casual lean against the truck but doesn’t approach—just watches me with the kind of attention that makes my skin warm despite the December chill.

I turn back to the trees, pretending to examine them while hyperaware of her gaze. My hands shake as I check the price tag on a small fir.

“Not that one.”

The voice behind me is deeper than Nick’s, like vintage velvet with a hint of campfire smoke—feminine, but not soft. I turn to find her standing a respectful few feet away, hands in her jacket pockets.

“Excuse me?”

“That tree’s already dropping needles. See?” She points without stepping closer. “You want one where the needles bend, not break.”

She demonstrates on another tree nearby, her fingers deft and sure. I notice her hands—stronger than Nick’s somehow, knuckles nicked, nails short. There’s motor oil under one she couldn’t quite scrub clean.

“You know about Christmas trees?” I ask, surprised.

“I know about a lot of things that might surprise you.” She meets my eyes directly. “You’re Edie. I remember you.”

It isn’t a question, but I nod anyway. “And you’re Wren.”

“Guilty.” A ghost of a smile tugs at her mouth. “Though in this family, that’s practically a crime.”

Despite myself, I laugh. “Can’t imagine why.”

“Can’t you?” Her grin flashes, soldering my senses back into my thick head. “Nick must’ve told you all about how his delinquent sister turned out—the one who chose ‘motor oil manicures,’ as he always said, like a total ass.”

“He mentioned you once after we got together,” I admit. “Said you were trouble.”

“He’s not wrong.” She steps over to another tree, testing branches with unexpected care. “But I’m also right about Christmas trees. This one’s perfect for you.”

It’s a beautiful, healthy noble. Full, but not huge, exactly the right size for my classroom.

“How do you know what’s perfect for me?”

“Educated guess.” Wren tips her head. “You were eyeing the smaller ones, so you need manageable. But you kept glancing at the bigger ones, so you want something with presence. This one’s got both.” A pause. “Plus, you teach kindergarten at Westside Elementary. This is classroom-sized.”

I try not to gasp, but let out the most pathetic puff of air, anyway. It instantly materializes before me in an embarrassing bellow of steam. “How do you know where I teach?”

“Small town.” A shrug. “My buddy’s kid’s in your class. Lily Murray? She talks about Ms. Edie nonstop. The teacher with the funny voices.”

My heart softens. “Lily’s your friend’s daughter?”

“Yeah. Jake and I go way back. He says you got her talking again after a year of hiding behind her mom’s legs.

” The faintest tenderness passes through her eyes.

“That means something. Do you know how much Jake and his wife worried about that kid making it in this world? Especially, like, this is Coos Bay, you know? Not Portland. Kids don’t have as many opportunities to get dedicated help if they’re falling behind. ”

An awkward pause follows, filled with hints of things neither of us should say.

She’s Nick’s sister. Nick, who told me my laugh was “a bit much” in public.

Nick, who liked me best when I looked tidy and quiet beside him at fundraisers.

You know, mouth shut, girdle on, and Heaven forbid my local accent popped out.

The man had trained himself to sound “blandly PNW,” lest the denizens of the Willamette Valley discover he grew up redneck adjacent.

I should go. Instead, I say, “You’re good at this.”

“Tree-shopping?”

“Talking to people like it hasn’t been years since you last saw them.”

“Maybe I just pay attention.” She lifts the tree before I can protest. The muscles in her forearms flex, the tattoos shifting until I make out flowers, snakes, and the silhouettes of other women. “Let me help you with this. Consider it an apology for my brother being an idiot.”

“You don’t need to apologize for Nick.”

“No, but someone should. God knows he never does unless it’s to his bosses.” She carries the tree like it weighs nothing. “For what it’s worth, he was wrong.”

“About what?”

“About you being too much.”

My throat tightens. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know Lily thinks you’re a fairy godmother. I know Jake’s wife saw you volunteering at the animal shelter last weekend. I know you stop at Dutch Brothers every Friday morning for what they call coffee and whatever passes for conversation these days.”

Huh? “Have you been stalking me?”

“No. Just noticing. Big difference.” She nods toward the register. “Come on, Ms. Edie. Let me at least help you pay for this humble masterpiece.”

I follow her, not even challenging her offer, because I’m too hung up on something else. “When? When did you notice me again?”

Wren sets the tree down at the register and turns to me. “Last Christmas. Nick brought you to my mom’s dinner. You wore that gold dress and spent half the night helping Mom in the kitchen, even though he kept trying to drag you away to network with his law school buddies.”

I remember that dinner. It was the only time I met the Halls, who were essentially my babysitters growing up, since dating their only son. And Nick had been embarrassed when I chose cooking with his mother over discussing torts with his friends.

“You were there? I don’t remember seeing you.”

“I was in the garage mostly, avoiding Nick’s networking crowd.

But I saw you through the kitchen window.

You were laughing at something my mom said, washing your hands every few seconds.

I guess because they kept getting covered in flour while you made cookies.

” Her voice drops lower. “You looked happy. Real happy. Not the polite smile you wore whenever next to my brother.”

The observation is so accurate that it makes my chest tight. “Why didn’t you come inside?”

“Because you were my brother’s girlfriend. And despite what he might’ve told you about me, I do have some boundaries.”

“And now?”

“Now you’re not his girlfriend.” She pulls out her wallet to pay for the tree before I can protest. “Now you’re a beautiful woman buying a Christmas tree alone, and I’m just someone who thinks you deserve better than shopping by yourself.”

“I don’t need rescuing.”

“Didn’t say you did. Maybe I just need an excuse to keep talking to you.” She hands cash to the attendant, waving off my attempt to pay. “Consider it a kindergarten teacher discount.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It is now.” She picks up the tree again. “Where’s your car?”

I point to my small Honda, and she chuckles. “This tree is not fitting in there.”

She’s right. I hadn’t thought about transportation, too flustered by seeing Nick’s twin sister to think practically.

“I’ve got rope in my truck. We can tie it to your roof.” She sets the tree down and heads to her vehicle without waiting for a response.

I watch her walk away, admiring the confident stride, the way the damp fleece of her jacket gleams under the lot lights, the curve of her hips beneath jeans. This is dangerous. She’s dangerous. Not in a physical way, but in the way that makes me want things I shouldn’t want.

She returns with the rope and efficiently secures the tree to my car roof. When she’s done, she steps back to admire her handiwork.

“That should hold. Drive carefully, though.”

“Thank you,” I say, meaning it. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to.” She leans against my car, studying me. “Can I ask you something?”

Such a serious gravitas descending upon us makes me blush. “Depends on the question.”

“Would you have coffee with me? Not now,” she adds. “I know this is weird, running into each other. But maybe tomorrow? Mike’s Diner, ten o’clock? Just coffee, no pressure.”