Page 46 of A Christmas For Holly

“Like an alphabet puzzle,” Holly said, his fingers brushing mine as he passed me another branch. The touch was brief, but it sent a little spark through me, and I glanced up to find him smiling, the quiet, unguarded kind of smile that still felt rare.

“Except this puzzle doesn’t come with a picture on the box,” I teased, holding the tree steady as Holly fit another branch into place. “You think we’ll get all these in the right order?”

“I’m a trained hockey player, Lucas, not a professional fake tree-maker,” he said with mock seriousness. “But I think we’ve got this.”

Working alongside him like this was easy. There were incidental touches—hands bumping as we adjusted branches, shoulders brushing when we leaned in to examine the structure—and more than a few shared smiles. By the time we had the tree standing, its branches fluffed out as much as they could be, the little metal and plastic contraption had potential.

Almost as if it belonged here.

We moved on to the decorations, rummaging through the pile of bargain baubles and strands of tinsel I’d grabbed from the store. Holly held up a chipped ornament, turning it over in his hands. “Poor little thing.”

“I know. Bailey would be appalled if he saw we were trying to sell this in our store.” I took it from him, turned it so the crack wasn’t visible and then placed it, so it looked perfect. “Even cracked ornaments get the job done.”

He stared at me, and I stared at him, and he was the first to snort a laugh. “Were you dispensing life advice there?”

I buffed my nails. “Psychology 101.”

We worked a little longer, and Holly didn’t even mind that I hummed Mariah Carey.

On repeat.

“Speaking of Bailey’s stuff,” Holly said, his tone softer now, “I’ve got loads of his crystal creations in storage back in Albany. You know, for when I finally figure out where I want to live.”

“You do?” I asked, glancing over at him.

“Yeah.” He nodded, his fingers trailing over the edge of the bauble. “I sold pretty much everything else when I sold thehouse—paintings, clothes, you name it—but the ornaments, the crystals… Those went in the pile of things too special to part with. They remind me of your family, I guess.”

“That’s… really nice,” I said quietly, letting the thought linger as we hung a string of tinsel around the tree.

By the time we finished, the little tree glimmered with mismatched baubles and shimmering tinsel, looking far more festive than it had any right to. I wrapped a spare strand of tinsel around my neck like a scarf, striking my best runway pose.

“What do you think?” I asked, strutting across the tiny space. “High fashion?”

Holly laughed, leaning back against the arm of the couch. “Definitely something. But I think the stairs could use some of that bling instead of you.”

“Fine,” I said, pretending to be offended as I pulled the tinsel from my neck and wrapped it around one banister. “But for the record, this tinsel loved me.”

“Sure, it did,” Holly snorted.

The cabin felt brighter now, cheerier, and Holly noticed too, his gaze lingering on the tree.

Something about the little tree, the glow of the lights, and our easy laughter made the cabin feel a little more like home.

“Five out of five, would recommend,” I summarized.

“Six out of five, actually,” Holly added.

We played some games in the afternoon. I stole a kiss in the kitchen when we cleared up after dinner, but it stayed chaste, perfect. Holly didn’t last long after dinner, dozing on the sofa, and I encouraged him to bed with a goodnight kiss, only he didn’t climb the steps to his bed. Instead, he stopped, his hand pressed to his chest like he was fighting to breathe. Was that panic? Did he need his meds? I swallowed, my throat dry. He was waiting, and the air between us felt thick, charged with something I’d never experienced before.

“We could share the bed,” he said.

“I’m okay down here.”

“It’s a big bed.”

“I know.”

“We could build a line of pillows down the middle if you think we should. Or we could cuddle for warmth.”

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