Page 41 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
“Dangerous is my middle name, my lovely.” I don’t usually haul out the Cornish lilt—it feels like a throwback to a kid I’ve mostly outgrown. But she’s gone broad Scots, so I give mine a little flex. The way her eyes flare—maybe I should do it more often.
She’s enjoying this as much as I am, and Christ, when’s the last time I’ve had this much fun just talking to a woman? Most would have either thrown something at me by now or ignored it while batting their eyelashes, still trying to get into my bed. Rachel’s doingneither. She’s giving as good as she gets, and it’s bloody intoxicating. “And yours is Trouble.”
“You better believe it, buddy,” she says. I take that as final permission to use the name I’ve already placed on my phone. I don’t get the chance to whip it out and watch her reaction seeing it next to her number, because at that moment, Loreena stands at the head of the table, banging a juice glass with a spoon.
“Ballroom, please, people. We start in ten minutes.”
“Told ya.” Rachel fixes Sam with a triumphant smile. God, this woman loves being right. As we head for the ballroom, I tuck that away for future reference.
Chapter 13
PreparationsforSaturday’sweddingare well underway in the ballroom. Rows of chairs flank a red carpet, each end seat marked with a wreath and a wide satin bow. Low pots of poinsettias—red and white, bold against velvet green leaves—trace a ribbon of colour down the centre. At the front, an arch is already laden with heavy floral garlands and satin draping. Four conifers, two on each side, angle away from the archway; such perfectly symmetrical specimens they hardly seem real. The air holds a fresh tang of sap and needles. In front of each tree sits one of the huge, mysterious boxes I glimpsed this morning.
“Yes, my lovelies,” Loreena beams from the small stage at the front of the ballroom. “It’s tree decorating time.”
Damn it. Haley is pretty much guaranteed to take another win. Her house is overrun with Christmas trees each year, all decked out like something you’d see in Harrods or Liberty. We are fucked before we start.
“In the bottom of each box is one set of lights—I know you can manage those—all identical, and on top a randomly selected set of decorations. You have until one o’clock. Then, while you have lunch, a dear friend of mine is coming to help us do the judging.”
Haley, the smug cow, is grinning from ear to ear, confidence oozing from her at Loreena’s announcement. She pounces on their box, flips the lid, and her gleeful smile turns to horror. With a strangled squeal, she slams the flaps shut, palms plastered over the cardboard like she’s holding in a biohazard. “Holy shit,” she says, voice tight.
Maybe there’s a giant cockroach lurking in the box, or a mouse—although she’s more likely to pick up one of those and put it in her pocket. Christian pulls her back, stepping in front of her protectively. He edges the box open again and peers inside.
“What’s happened to them?” Haley steps over to open Ollie and Sam’s box. A puzzled expression spreads across her face. “Someone’s mixed up all the decorations.”
“And that someone is me,” Loreena admits, with a delighted smile. “It wouldn’t have been fair to give you a nice neat set of decorations and you simply arrange them on the tree. Where’s the fun in that? This way, you have to really show your flair. Now that’s what I call a proper challenge.”
I tug open the lid of our box and, while it doesn’t make me scream, the sight is rather hideous. Inside is a jumble of decorations, dozens of them in every shape, size, and style imaginable—like a chaotic department-store clearance bin.
A stern wooden nutcracker squares off against a plush velvet fawn. A delicate lace snowflake tangles with a chunky felt pom-pom garland. A crystal icicle nudges a rough-hewn hessian star. Individually they’re beautiful; together they’re a disaster.
This isn’t just about beating the others anymore. If we can’t pull something decent together, Haley’s perfect wedding backdrop will look like Santa threw up his dinner.
“And just to make it interesting, and because this is all about a wedding, I’ve got one extra task you must accomplish. Without it, your tree won’t be judged.”
“A bit harsh,” Garrett says.
“Don’t worry.” Loreena’s smile is smug. “With a little imagination, and of course, teamwork, you’ll all be fine.”
She holds up four cards in her hand like a fan and beckons us forward.
“You must feature something on your tree that matches your card.” She dishes them out one at a time with a theatrical flourish.
“Something old.” That’s Liv and Garrett. Something new goes to Sam and Ollie. “Something borrowed.” She hands the card to Haley and Christian. Which makes something blue our problem. One glance at the box tells me there isn’t a speck of it. While the decorations are varied, they’re all in traditional Christmas colours: red and green, white and gold, and a flash of silver too. Loreena’s compromise so the wedding venue doesn’t look a total mess; no riot of colours spoiling the service. So blue is conspicuously absent and we are royally fucked.
But I’m no quitter, and if there’s a speck of blue buried somewhere in here, I intend to find it. I up-end the haphazard contents of the box onto the floor and start sorting. Maybe bring a little order to the chaos and we’ll have a chance.
Teddy sits on the floor in front of our tree, legs crossed like some auburn-haired forest sprite who’s wandered into the wrong folktale. His long fingers move through the tangled nest of Christmasdecorations in his lap with surprising deftness, and I find myself watching the way his brow furrows in concentration; how his hair falls forward as he leans over his work; the way he catches his tongue between his teeth. When he glances up and finds me staring, heat rushes to my cheeks.
“Hey Trouble, any luck in finding that elusive blue?” His voice has that teasing edge, and the way his freckles dance as his eyes crinkle makes my stomach lurch.
“Not yet,” I manage, forcing myself to look away before I do something stupid like reach out and brush that wayward curl back from his forehead.
Next to us, Haley, the queen of Christmas, is struggling.
Tears glisten in her eyes, and I doubt it’s just the decorations getting to her. This is her wedding, and right now, it looks like the four ugliest Christmas trees ever are going to be front and centre, a blot on the perfect Christmas-themed wedding she’s pictured. How could Loreena do this to her?
“You can’t have vintage pieces scattered amongst all this modern stuff,” Haley wails, plucking out a cartoon mouse in a Santa suit and placing it to one side like she’ll catch something off of it. Seeing it perched there on top of the card that reads ‘Something Borrowed’ in giant sloping handwriting triggers an idea. What if weallborrowed from each other? Give one, get one, until we each have a set of ornaments that look good together? It could work.
