Page 29 of Faking All the Way
“I’m sorry. That must have been hard.”
“It was what it was.” He shrugs, but I can tell he doesn’t want to talk about it, so I change the subject.
“Well, time for the fun part,” I say, opening the first box of ornaments with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Fair warning, I have very specific ideas about how this should go.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
I start with the lights, methodically working my way around the tree to make sure they’re evenly distributed. Asher helps me keep the cord from getting too tangled, occasionally offering commentary or asking questions about my process.
“Is there a system to this?” he asks as I untangle a particularly stubborn knot in the light string.
“Lights first, always. Then garland if you’re using it, then ornaments from largest to smallest, working from the inside of the branches outward.” I finally free the lights and start testing them. Half are dead, of course. “My grandmother taught me that. She says rushing the process ruins the whole thing.”
“Sounds like she knows what she’s talking about.”
“Yeah. She’s the kind of person who makes Christmas feel magical just by caring about all the little details.”
After I get the lights working and distributed to my satisfaction, we move on to the ornaments. Sam’s collection is eclectic, a mix of handmade pieces from her childhood and quirky finds she’s picked up in her travels. I take my time with each one, finding the perfect spot to showcase it.
“You’re very methodical about this,” Asher observes, watching me adjust and readjust an ornament until it’s positioned exactly right.
“I know.” I scrunch up my nose. “I can’t help it! My sister just throws everything on randomly and calls it done. It drives me crazy.”
“Well, your artistic eye is paying off. It looks great.”
I flush. “Thanks.”
We work our way through the remaining ornaments, hanging delicate glass baubles and wooden figures, making sure each one has enough space to catch the light properly. When the last ornament is in place, I step back to admire our handiwork.
“Okay, time for the star,” I announce, pulling out the tree topper from the bottom of the ornament box. “The grand finale.”
I grab the stepladder from the closet and position it next to the tree. The star is one of those classic five-pointed ones with gold edges that catch the light. I climb up and stretch toward the top of the tree, trying to get the star positioned just right on the highest branch, but the ladder shifts under me as I reach too far.
My stomach drops as I feel myself losing balance, tilting backward with nothing to grab onto. The ground rushes up toward me, and all I can think is that I’m about to crash into Asher and probably take us both down.
Instead, strong arms wrap around me, catching me mid-fall and pulling me against a solid chest that smells smoky and woodsy, with hints of something spicy that makes my head spin.
“I’ve got you,” he says, his voice rough and close to my ear.
I’m mortified, my face burning with embarrassment. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to almost crush you. I’m too heavy for you to just catch like that?—”
“You’re not,” he says firmly, setting me down and turning me around, but keeping his hands on my waist to make sure I’m steady. “Not even close.”
We’re face to face, our chests almost brushing, standing closer than we’ve been since that moment under the mistletoe at my parents’ house. I’m intensely aware of the heat of his muscled body and the way his fingers flex a little against my waist.
“You’ve got tinsel in your hair,” he says, gently tugging a piece of silver strand free.
I laugh, but the sound comes out breathless. “Hazard of tree decorating, I guess.”
His hand lingers in my hair for a moment longer than necessary, and neither of us steps away. The air between us feels charged, electric in a way that makes my pulse race. His fingers trail along my jaw lightly, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
His gaze drops to my lips, then back to my eyes, and I can see something shift in his expression. His fingers move under my chin, tilting my face up slightly, and I find myself leaning into the touch without conscious thought.
My phone pings loudly, the sound it makes to signal an incoming text.
The sound cuts through whatever was building between us, and we spring apart like we’ve been shocked. I fumble for my phone with hands that are definitely shaking, my heart hammering against my ribs.
SAMANTHA: Holy shit, Kat! That’s not a man, that’s a literal god. And he’s staying in the guest house? And people think you’re dating??? I need the COMPLETE story. Everything. Call me as soon as you can!!
