Page 18 of Decked Out with Ivy

His lips parted, and a sound stuttered from his throat. “Thank you.”

She smiled big. “Now, that tree isn’t going to cut itself down.”

He squeezed her hand. “Where’s the saw?”

She placed it behind her back, eyebrow arched. “How do I know I can trust you with it?”

“By the looks of that thing, I don’t think it could hurt me if I even tried.”

“I don’t care about you.” She winked. “I’m talking about the tree.”

“Seriously?”

“One wrong cut and you can destroy the tree, and it is theperfecttree. I don’t know if I can trust an amateur with such an important task.”

“Are you going to get on the ground in the snow and do it?” he asked.

She swished her lips back and forth. “Good point.” She thrust the saw at him. “It’s all yours. Have at it.”

With a laugh, he took the saw from her, and they made their way to the perfect Frasier fir. It was just over seven feet, full, and perfectly shaped. The scent of pine permeated the air, and she closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. “Don’t you just love that smell?”

“The smell of dirt and trees?”

“Christmas. Happiness. All rolled into one.”

“It smells like pine.”

She gasped a little dramatically, but it was so much more than pine! He jolted before cutting her a glare.

“You’re ridiculous.”

He smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Me saying it smells like pine is ridiculous? But you calling it Christmas and happiness isn’t?”

“You know, I thought we had a moment earlier, but you just can’t help yourself, can you?.”

“Guess not,” he said, unfazed.

“But seriously—don’t you ever smell something that reminds you of something else?”

He shrugged, looking unamused. “No.”

“Liar.” She poked his stomach, and he caught her hand. Her gasp lodged in her throat as she glanced up at him. His eyes bore into hers—a beautiful green full of intensity that made her mouth water. Heat radiated through her glove, seeping into her skin. She swallowed, and he slowly released his grip. Her hand fell to her side, the heat still a scorching reminder of his touch.

“Hot dogs,” he said.

His touch had rewired her brain, and she wasn’t firing on all cylinders. “Huh?”

“A smell that makes me think of something else.” He scratched the back of his head. “My father was in and out of my life. Not exactly a role model. He left me hanging more times than I can count. But on my eighth birthday, he showed up with tickets to see the Dodgers. I was so excited. He got us hot dogs.” Cody paused, his eyes distant. “He died two years later of a drug overdose.”

As he spoke, her gaze softened, and for a moment, she didn’t see the man before her. She saw the young boy he once was, standing small and fragile, the raw pain of losing a father he never really got the chance to know still echoing in his eyes. She swallowed, the heaviness of his story settling deep in her chest.. “I’m sorry.”

“I told you, he was a shit dad, but in my ten years, that was the one day he got right. So yeah. Hot dogs.”

Warm appreciation filled her, spreading through her as she understood his vulnerability. The weight that one moment in time carried. She took his hand, squeezing it gently, wanting him to feel the gratitude she felt in his honesty, the comfort he clung to in that memory. “Thanks for sharing that with me. It means a lot.”

“I’ve told you more in a twenty-minute span than I have told most people who have known me for years.”

“Why do you think that is?” she asked.

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