Page 15 of Mountain Man in my Stockings
"It's leaning!"
"Your definition of straight needs work."
He emerged from under the branches, pine needles stuck in his hair, looking delightfully rumpled. "Are you questioning my spatial awareness?"
"I'm questioning whether this tree is worth the effort." But I was laughing, and so was he, our voices mingling in the cozy cabin space.
Once secured, the tree stood proudly in the corner by the window—just the right size for the cabin, its fresh pine scent mixing with woodsmoke from the fireplace. Deacon strung the lights while I unpacked the few items we'd picked up at the market—a hand-carved wooden snowflake, a glass pinecone that caught the light, a small silver star for the top.
"Still missing the homemade touch," Deacon declared, surveying our work.
"I'm not exactly crafty."
"Lucky for you, I come prepared." He disappeared to his truck, returning with a package of popcorn and thread. "Classic popcorn garland. No respectable tree is complete without it."
We sat on the couch, the fireplace crackling beside us, stringing popcorn. At least, that was the plan. In reality, more popcorn ended up in our mouths than on the string.
"You're eating the supplies," I accused, watching him pop another kernel between his lips.
"Quality control." He winked. "Vital to the process."
"Is that what you call it?" I tossed a piece at him, which he caught in his mouth with surprising accuracy.
"Ten points!" he announced, raising his arms in victory.
"Show-off." I tried the same move and missed completely, the popcorn bouncing off my nose.
"You've clearly never played competitive popcorn basketball." He demonstrated proper tossing technique. "It's all in the wrist."
"Is that an actual sport in your bar?"
"Only after midnight." His eyes lit with amusement. "You'd be surprised what becomes a sport when the Stocking Pull dares get creative."
We managed to complete about two feet of garland between snacking and laughing, enough to drape across one section of the tree.
"Not bad for amateurs," he said, stepping back to admire our work.
"Only took us three times longer than it should have."
"Time well spent."
The afternoon had somehow melted into early evening. Outside, snow continued falling, blanketing the world in pristine white. Inside, the fire's warm glow mixed with the twinkling tree lights, creating a bubble that felt removed from reality.
Deacon's phone chimed, breaking the spell. He checked it and sighed. "I need to head back. Closing shift tonight."
Disappointment settled in my chest. "Your employees covered for you today?"
"Yeah, but Sam's kid is sick, so I'm filling in." He stood, stretching, and I found my eyes drawn to the sliver of skin that showed when his shirt rode up. "You should get some rest tonight. But come by tomorrow—we've got more stockings with your name on them."
"Is that so?" I gathered the remaining popcorn, trying not to sound too eager.
"Absolutely." He moved to the door, shrugging into his coat. "Plus we should start planning the social media strategy for the Christmas Eve bash."
"Tomorrow, then."
At the door, he paused, looking back at the tree. "Not bad for a couple of amateurs."
"It's just right," I said softly.
