Page 29 of The Bright Side of Christmas
His smile goes lazy in a sexy way I’ve never seen before, and suddenly, I understand what they mean in books when they say apanty-dropping smile.
“Oh, you and me kissing is a foregone conclusion, sweetness. Just say the word.”
My breath hitches, and I open my mouth to respond, though I don’t know what I’m going to say. Turns out, I don’t have to think of an answer because my phone alarm goes off.
“That’s my alarm. I have to go.”
Disappointment flashes over his face, and I wonder if he can see the same reflected on mine. In a heartbeat, his is chased away by determination and a confident smirk, and he steps away.
Without even looking back at him, I stomp toward my car, grateful I threw everything in there already before heading to hang the lights, and I drive off.
I definitely don’t think about what would have happened if I had told him to kiss me.
When I finally pull onto Bluebird Lane long after nine p.m., I’m stunned to see the lights on the Campbells’ house are already shining bright. I park my car and stand in my driveway, taking it in. Not only is the side I started done, but the entire house has strands of cheery lights. It’s done well, too, perfectly straight with the lights hooked into the gutters every three bulbs, exactly the way I would have done it. It even goes up onto the roof, following the lines perfectly.
Jed Campbell definitely did not do that.
I’m still staring, admiringsomeone’swork, when a familiar voice calls out.
“No more ladders, Wren.”
I snap my head toward the source of the voice and see Adam standing on his front porch, arms crossed over his chest, jaw firm, staring at me intensely. My mind races, trying to put the pieces together before I respond.
“Did you…” My words trail off because they make no sense. Adam couldn’t have hung them because he hates everything Christmas. He hates decorations, and he hates lights, and he hates… well, I thought he might hate me, just a little, until recently.
“I hung them up,” he answers for me.
“Why?” I ask, taking a few steps toward him.
“It was purely selfish.” It seems to be a familiar refrain from him, but I’m distracted from that when he continues. “I don’tneed the sight of your broken body burned in my mind for the rest of my life if and when you inevitably fall off that thing.”
I stare at him, trying to read past the thick wall he has up all the time, but it’s like a fortress, unscalable. Still, his actions speak for themselves.
“You’re such a liar,” I say with a small smile. “I think you did it because you care about me.”
“Well, someone has to. You sure aren’t going to,” he says. The words stick around me, swirling around me like happy, floating snowflakes.
“I’ve been going to bed by midnight, you know,” I say. I don’t know why I say it, but I do anyway.
He looks over my shoulder. “I’ve noticed. Far stretch from reasonable, but it’s an improvement.”
We both stand there, staring at each other, neither of us speaking out loud about what that really means.
“Good night, Wren.” And then he turns and walks back into his house, leaving me baffled.
I almost went to bed early that night, climbing into bed by ten thirty despite having a pile of other things to do. Adam’s words ofsomeone has toare still swirling around me, and when I wake to see the nutcracker on my front step, I can’t seem to decide if it makes me happy or not.
TWELVE
“Go home, I’ve got this covered,” I say. Carrie, who is manning the raffle table alongside me, turns to me, exhaustion clear on her face. She’s getting over the cold that’s been going through town, and two days ago, she was fully down for the count. Tonight she’s at our friend Nat’s fundraiser at The Mill.
“No, no, I promised I’d help! I’m fine.”
I give her the same look my mom used to give me when I told bold-faced lies.
“Carrie. Go. I’ve got it, seriously.” She bites her lip, and I realize she’s about to cave, so I keep going. “You want to make sure you’re all good for Gracie’s first Christmas, don’t you?” I helped my mom coordinate the community meal train after Carrie and Joe welcomed their baby girl into the world last spring, and I know she’s so excited for their first holiday season as a family. Her hesitation is clear, and I jump on it. “Go, sleep.”
Relief washes over her face, and she nods. “You’re an angel, Wren.”
