Page 8 of The Bright Side of Christmas
Wren.
Wren, who wears the little bows, left me muffins on my front step, even though I was home and just didn’t want to engage with a stranger when I first moved in. Wren, who seems determined to spread cheer everywhere she goes. Wren, who looked like I shot down all of her dreams when I told her I wouldn’t be decorating for the holidays, and who has taken it upon herself toforceme to decorate.
Wren, whose ass I couldn’t stop staring at when she walked off.
Wren, whose ass I can’t stop staring atnow.
“You got something going with little Wren King?” Colt asks, jolting me out of my daze, and I realize then I must have been staring. Embarrassment burns over my face, but I pretend it’s anything but.
“Who?” I ask far too quickly to be smooth.
“The girl whose ass your eyes are glued to.”
“My eyes are not glued to anyone’s ass,” I lie with a stiff shake of my head.
“Sure they aren’t, my dude.”
Silence fills the space, and I realize he isn’t going to fill it until I respond. Usually, I’m fine with that. Typically, I strive for silence.
But here, where everyone is close and chatting, and I’m the loser sitting at a bar alone, I don’t like it.
So I explain.
“She’s my neighbor.”
“Oh, fuck, I forgot the Demauro house was up for sale. You bought it?”
“Seems like it.”
“How are you settling in? I’m sure Wren has gone full-blown welcoming committee.”
For some reason I can’t quite explain, I decide to expand. “We’re in a war right now.”
“A war?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow at me, intrigued.
“She wants me to decorate my house, but I don’t like Christmas.”
There’s a beat before he lets out a deep belly laugh, head tipping back. “You sure picked the wrong place, then, my man,” he says when his humor dies down.
“Yeah, I’m learning that.” Once more, silence hangs uncomfortably between us, and even though I’m usually at ease with quiet, I feel the need to fill it. “She keeps bringing decorations to my place. Used industrial tape to hang a wreath on my door after I kept taking it down, and I think she may have quick-cemented candy canes along my pathway. This morning, there were a couple of lollipops in my yard.” Those were not nailed into the ground, so they slid out easily and found their way onto her front step.
He nods stoically, as if he doesn’t find this behavior alarming or surprising. “Wren is a lot of things, but one of them is a King. I grew up with her brothers and did some work for her dad whenI was a kid. They’re some of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met.”
“So it’s a family trait.” I shake my head and let out a little sigh of knowing defeat. “Got any tips for me?”
“Give in now,” he says. “No one is more determined to spread cheer than Wren King. She’s the head of the decorating committee, just like her grandmother before her. Her parents own a Christmas tree farm, and she volunteered to run the Christmas Festival this year even though she’s got her hands full with her job. Still, she pitches in if anyone needs absolutely anything around town, so she does a little bit of everything around her, paid or not. Making things, house-sitting, volunteer work—you name it, she does it.”
It reminds me of her office light, how she’s up late, always seeming to be doing something different late into the night. I thought it might have been some kind of side hustle, but volunteering to help other people does seem more on brand somehow, even though I barely know her. Before I can ask any of my dozen other questions, though, a familiar scent of cherries and vanilla trails over to me, and a small brunette slides into the stool beside me, sliding an empty pitcher across the bartop.
“Heya, Colton, Adam,” Wren says, tipping her head toward the bartender. I fight every instinct to turn toward her, instead keeping my head straight. Maybe that should be my new tactic: perhaps if I just ignore the woman, she’ll give up and leave me alone.
Even though I don’t know her all that well, I somehow already know that is absolutely not the case.
“Hey, Wren, table needs a refill?”
She nods, and even though her gaze burns on my profile, I don’t turn to look at her. She lets out a little laugh, entertained by my ignoring her, before turning back to Colt. “Yeah. Beer this time, if you don’t mind.”
Colt tips his head the slightest bit, and I take note.
