Chapter 3
THREE
Festive And Accommodating
Eli
The cot creaks in protest as I sit up, and so does my spine.
I’m pretty sure my body filed an HR complaint sometime around two a.m. It’s fine.
Still, coming home last night to dinner already simmering on the stove?
Worth a temporary spinal injury. Lauren’s chicken chili was hands down the best thing I’ve eaten in four months and not just because it didn’t come from the freezer section.
It was warm and spicy and filling, but the best part…
was her as my company. The entire time we ate, we talked about her day—very domesticated, but it made my cabin less like a cave and more like a home.
Honestly, I couldn’t imagine her staying anywhere else.
Offering my place was the least I could do.
Even if my living room currently looks like Santa’s storage unit exploded.
Totes everywhere. And the peppermint candles.
Good god, the peppermint candles. My house smells like a candy cane factory on steroids.
Not my favorite scent—it kind of feels like I’m inhaling toothpaste, but she loves them.
And since she doesn’t get to decorate her own place this year, the least I can do is lend her mine.
Not like I was going to decorate anyway.
The cabin is still dark as I tiptoe into the kitchen. Her bedroom door is closed, so I assume she’s still asleep. It’s five in the morning, and no sane person is awake. Just me, my aching spine, a mug of coffee, and the sadistic cot from hell.
Before I leave, I scrawl on the whiteboard she’s taken over for “meal planning.”
Have a holly jolly day!
Look at me. Festive and accommodating.
At lunchtime, I swing by the festival grounds. Lauren’s in front of the vendor booths, cell phone pressed to her ear, looking like she’s two seconds away from strangling someone with garland.
“Yes, Mrs. Hayes, I understand, but with the new additions we had to restructure the walking paths,” she says, pacing a groove into the snow.
“No, people will still find your stockings. Yes, I promise. No, Mrs. Hayes, that’s not necessary—Mrs. Hayes?
Hello?” She pulls the phone away and stares at it. “She hung up on me. Again.”
I raise an eyebrow. “So… is now a bad time?”
Her shoulders drop. A translucent cloud billows in front of her as she huffs. “No, it’s fine. This is the third time Mrs. Hayes has called me about the booths being rearranged. Now she’s threatening to pull out of the festival.”
“Sorry, Lo. Come here.” I open my arms.
Her brows lift. “You really think a hug is going to fix this?”
“A hug from me, yes.”
She rolls her eyes but still walks into my embrace, her arms looping around my waist. I fold mine around her shoulders, settling my chin on the top of her head like it belongs there.
My hands slide up and down her back without thinking.
She smells like vanilla and fresh snow and something that makes my chest feel… too full.
“In case you missed it,” she mumbles into my shirt, “I’m not exactly having a holly jolly day.”
“You got my note?”
“I did. Very cute. Sadly, its effects wore off as soon as I got here.”
“So the hug isn’t helping?”
“Meh.”
“Dangerous answer.” I tighten my hold. “Because I’m not letting go until you admit you’re in better spirits.”
“You could be here all day.”
“Joke’s on you. I’ve got vacation days saved up.”
Her shoulders shake. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, strangely effective.”
“Fine.” She tips her head back, grinning at me. “I might be a teeny tiny bit better now.”
“Excellent. My work here is done.” She steps away, and the sudden void hits like a cold draft. “I should get back to the office. I’ll see you at home.” Shit. I called it home. Not my house. Lauren and home… the two have a nice ring together.
“Wait. What time is it?” she asks, voice tight.
“One o’clock.”
“Dammit.” She presses her palm to her forehead. “I was supposed to pick up the toy donation box from Finn at the hardware store, but I’ve been too distracted putting out the fire that is Mrs. Hayes. And now I have to meet with the parade committee.”
“I’ll get the toy bin from Finn.”
Her eyes flick to mine. “Are you sure? It’s on the opposite side of town. You’d have to backtrack.”
“No problem at all. I need to stop there anyway and pick up some light bulbs.” Mostly, I just don’t want her to worry about one more thing with that frantic edge in her eyes again. She’s been juggling so much between the festival and her duplex; this is something I can help her with.
“You can drop the toy bin off at Santa’s Workshop. Brie should be there.” She throws her arms around me. “You’re the best.”
* * *
The second I step inside my cabin, my stomach growls as the savory aroma of beef stew hits me.
And my living room? Santa clearly broke in while I was gone.
The army of plastic totes that once covered every inch of the floor: vanished.
In its place is a garland-wrapped mantle, twinkle lights zigzagging across the ceiling, and snowflake clings are plastered to every window.
“I see you’ve been busy,” I deadpan.
Lauren lifts her head, cheeks flushed. “I put away the totes, so they aren’t hogging your space. Also…” She lifts a ladle like it’s a trophy. “I made beef stew.”
My stomach applauds. “It smells amazing.”
“Thanks. Since I’m not at my house, no point letting all my groceries go bad. Your fridge is now fully stocked. Oh, and I filled in the menu board. You can go over it and see if you want to make any changes. But don’t change it too much because I already have all the ingredients.”
Menu planning. In my house. This is new but kind of… nice. I nod, then open the fridge, grab a Snack Pack, and peel back the lid.
“Hey!” she protests. “Dinner will be ready in five minutes.”
“This’ll tide me over until then.” I shovel a spoonful into my mouth like a guilty twelve-year-old.
She rolls her eyes. “Such a manchild.”
“Don’t come between a man and his pudding,” I say around another mouthful.
Her laugh slips out before she can stop it. Music to my ears. “Oh, and,” she adds, “I may have moved a few things to create better Christmas flow. Also, there’s now a tree. Surprise!”
I glance at the corner where a six-foot spruce glitters with perfectly spaced ornaments. “Looks great. Very festive.” I grin. “And now that I actually have a tree, I’ve got the perfect ornament for it.”
Her eyes narrow. “I have it decorated with symmetrical balance, but… sure. What is it?”
“Just wait.” I polish off the pudding, toss the cup, and disappear into my office. When I return, I’m holding my pride and joy. A homemade wooden moose ornament.
I hang it smack-dab in the prime spot near the top. “There.”
Lauren sidles up beside me, tilting her head. “Is that… a wooden moose?”
“Yep, whittled it myself.”
“It’s… very rustic.” She taps her chin. “I’m not sure it matches the aesthetic. But hey, you’ve always wanted a Charlie Brown tree, right?” She disappears and returns with a six-inch tabletop tree dusted in fake snow.
Ouch. “So you’re exiling my moose?”
“Not exiling—honoring.”
I sigh but hand over the ornament. She strings it on, then passes me the tree. “Look how cute it is.”
“Yeah,” I say, trying not to pout. “Cute.”
I take the mini tree back to my office, set it beside my lamp, and try to convince myself it’s only an ornament. I wasn’t going to hang it up anyway. When I return to the living room, Lauren’s at the tree again, stretching on her tippy toes to adjust ornaments at the top.
“Want help with that?” My chest brushes her back as I reach up, my hand sliding over hers.
My pulse kicks into overdrive. She glances over her shoulder, and my whole damn world tilts.
Because suddenly I’m very aware of how good she smells—like vanilla and honey.
How her hair glows in the twinkle lights.
How her laugh isn’t just noise; it’s a spark that lodges straight in my chest. For a moment, I forget to breathe.
Forget the tree. Forget the room. It’s just her. Pressed up against me.
She straightens, her cheeks pink. “Thanks.”
Before I can say anything, the timer on the stove beeps.
“Dinner’s done.” She slips out from in front of me and heads into the kitchen. She busies herself by ladling two bowls of stew before handing me one.
We settle in side by side on the couch. She tucks her legs under her, close enough that her knee brushes mine.
“So, how was your day?” she asks.
“More exciting than usual. I helped rescue a doe that fell through the ice at Winterberry Creek.”
Her hand flies to her chest. “Oh, poor thing! Was she okay?”
“Yeah. We got her out. And before she ran back into the woods, she stopped and looked at us. It felt like a… thank you.”
“That’s so sweet. Look at you, being all heroic.”
“Hardly. I just called it in. The fire department did the actual rescuing.”
“Still. You found her.” Her smile is warm, lingering in a way that makes my chest tight.
She tells me about her day and how Brad, Henry’s sheep, was roaming the festival causing chaos like it’s his middle name, but my brain’s stuck on one thought: I could get used to this.