Chapter 7 Clüsterfünke #2
“Glad to hear,” he says.
Henry races over, hands raised in disbelief. A dark gray trapper cap with light tan, wool ear flaps sits on his head. It’s kind of ridiculous but oddly fitting for Henry. It matches his black and gray flannel jacket, so he’d be stylish if he were to model for the Great Northwoods magazine.
“What the he—heck happened here?” Henry sensors himself when he spots Josie. His gaze follows the line of destruction.
“The trees wanted to play dominoes,” I say, aiming for adorable and landing somewhere near guilty golden retriever.
Logan leans down and whispers, “While you were secretly spying on me.”
I glare at him. Unfortunately, it’s true. My gaze meets Henry’s. “I’m so sorry. It was an accident. I lost my balance and took the trees and Willa with me. I’ll help you pick them up. And if there are any damaged ones, I’ll pay for them.”
After we right the fallen trees, Josie leads Logan, followed by Henry, down the pathway to show them the perfect tree she found. Logan chases after her, and Josie’s squeals of laughter fill the air. When she’s within arm’s reach, he scoops her up, a beaming smile covering his face.
Willa bumps my arm. “You’re staring.”
“No, I’m not. I’m—I’m assessing needle retention on that balsam fir to determine if it’ll last until Christmas.”
Willa mock coughs into her hand. “Liar.”
Slowly, I turn toward her and glare. All she does is smirk. “We’ll chat later.” She waves as she saunters off with Mason to pay for her tree.
I’m now the proud new owner of three additional Christmas trees.
Luckily, my SUV has plenty of roof rack storage, so transporting them wasn’t difficult.
Unloading them was a different story. If it were nighttime, I’m sure Vana, the county sheriff, would be knocking on my door, questioning me about the body bags my neighbors told her I was dragging through my front door.
While I love Christmas and I’m enthusiastic about every aspect of the holiday, I never imagined I’d be the person with four trees in their house, but there’s a first for everything.
Maybe this will be the start of a new tradition.
The silver lining: my home now smells like a high-end pine candle.
After scouring through bin after bin of all my Christmas decorations, I find two extra stands, but I’ll have to purchase a fourth one.
In the meantime, I fill a five-gallon bucket with water and prop the tree against the wall in my spare room until I can place it in its proper home.
In the kitchen, I fit the smallest tree.
Another is set up in my bedroom, and the crème de la crème of trees is front and center of the picture window in the living room for all passersby to enjoy.
Unlocking my phone, I cue up my Christmas playlist. “Last Christmas” by Wham!
floats through the air. I sashay from one side of the room to the other as I meticulously place boxes of ornaments by color on the floor.
Every year, I switch up the decorations.
I’ve done scattered, random colors everywhere, and even candy cane stripes, but this year I want to try an ombre effect.
Lifting a box of light pink ornaments off the floor, I hold them up to the tree.
As I twirl to the opposite side, I contemplate whether I want to go light to dark or dark to light.
With the box still in the air, I rest a hand on my hip.
The smooth, rich voice of Dean Martin as he croons “Silver Bells” flows through the speaker, and I become one with the tree, letting the holiday music lead my way.
As soon as he hits the chorus, I nod. “Yes. The perfect ombre effect with the dark ornaments starting at the bottom. Thanks, Dean. You always have the answer.” I set forth to make my Pinterest-worthy Christmas tree.
When I finish the bottom half of the tree, I step back and admire my handiwork.
All the pieces are falling together perfectly.
The tree anyway. Everything else in my life is a clüsterfünke.
Mariah Carey slides in with “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” and like a traitor, all my thoughts drift to Logan and seeing him today.
It’s hard to deny that single dad Logan is hot.
I pinch my eyes shut and scold myself for using “Logan” and “hot” in the same sentence, but it’s true.
Warmth skates up my spine. His daughter is adorable, though.
The way he was so gentle and patient with her shows me he’s not an asshole all the time, only to me.
Maybe Sloane and Willa were right, and I’m judging him too harshly.
Maybe deep down, buried in the bowels of his soul, he has an ounce of friendliness in him.
Or it was all for show because his daughter was there.
That seems like the most logical answer.
Either way, I need to stay focused on the Holly Jolly Festival and beating Logan’s carnival and not on how I want to see him wearing nothing but the Santa hat.