Page 1 of Decking the Halls
Chapter 1
Edie
The Danner Family Christmas tree lot is a cacophony of children shrieking, glitter-covered pinecones, and plausible deniability, which is ridiculous considering I’m only here to grab a three-foot Charlie Brown special for my classroom. Young kindergarten teachers don’t exactly have the budget for those majestic Doug firs lined up along the fence. Especially with an Oregon Coast salary. Especially with aSouthernOregon Coast salary.
I reach for a modest tree when I seeher.
My heart stops. Actually stops. Because leaning against a red pickup truck twenty feet away is Nick Hall—at least, that’s who I think it is. My ex, who dumped me six months ago for being “too much.” Too loud, too fat, too emotional, too everything that didn’t photograph well for a man chasing an Oregonian Senate seat someday.
Except when “he” turns toward me, I realize it’s not Nick at all.
Where Nick is golden and polished like a Ken doll in a campaign ad, this woman is dark and… something else. Same bone structure, same height, but everything else screams trouble. Dark hair, shaved close on one side, the rest falling over her forehead in a careless sweep that makes my fingers itch to push it back. Tattoos climb her forearms where Nick’s skin was country-club pristine. A worn plaid jacket replaces his starched button-downs. And her eyes—God, her eyes are the same ice-blue shade, but burning with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.
This has to be Wren. The twin I grew up with alongside Nick, who was the only one I stayed in contact with after the Hall kids graduated high school and went their own ways.“My sister’s trouble personified,”he’d said on our dates with that half-smile he used for jokes that weren’t jokes.“She rides motorcycles, dates women, and thinks rules are for other people. We don’t really talk. Different life choices.”
I should leave. Turn around, forget the tree, and get the hell out of here before she notices me. Instead, I stand frozen as those icy blue eyes lock onto mine.
Recognition flares. Her eyebrows lift slightly, and interest crosses her face. She straightens from her casual lean against the truck but doesn’t approach—just watches me with the kind of attention that makes my skin warm despite the December chill.
I turn back to the trees, pretending to examine them while hyperaware of her gaze. My hands shake as I check the price tag on a small fir.
“Not that one.”
The voice behind me is deeper than Nick’s, like vintage velvet with a hint of campfire smoke—feminine, but not soft. I turn to find her standing a respectful few feet away, hands in her jacket pockets.
“Excuse me?”
“That tree’s already dropping needles. See?” She points without stepping closer. “You want one where the needles bend, not break.”
She demonstrates on another tree nearby, her fingers deft and sure. I notice her hands—stronger than Nick’s somehow, knuckles nicked, nails short. There’s motor oil under one she couldn’t quite scrub clean.
“You know about Christmas trees?” I ask, surprised.
“I know about a lot of things that might surprise you.” She meets my eyes directly. “You’re Edie. I remember you.”
It isn’t a question, but I nod anyway. “And you’re Wren.”
“Guilty.” A ghost of a smile tugs at her mouth. “Though in this family, that’s practically a crime.”
Despite myself, I laugh. “Can’t imagine why.”
“Can’t you?” Her grin flashes, soldering my senses back into my thick head. “Nick must’ve told you all about how his delinquent sister turned out—the one who chose ‘motor oil manicures,’ as he always said, like a totalass.”
“He mentioned you once after we got together,” I admit. “Said you were trouble.”
“He’s not wrong.” She steps over to another tree, testing branches with unexpected care. “But I’m also right about Christmas trees. This one’s perfect for you.”
It’s a beautiful, healthy noble. Full, but not huge, exactly the right size for my classroom.
“How do you know what’s perfect for me?”
“Educated guess.” Wren tips her head. “You were eyeing the smaller ones, so you need manageable. But you kept glancing at the bigger ones, so you want something with presence. This one’s got both.” A pause. “Plus, you teach kindergarten at Westside Elementary. This is classroom-sized.”
I try not to gasp, but let out the most pathetic puff of air, anyway. It instantly materializes before me in an embarrassing bellow of steam. “How do you know where I teach?”
“Small town.” A shrug. “My buddy’s kid’s in your class. Lily Murray? She talks aboutMs. Edienonstop. The teacher with the funny voices.”
My heart softens. “Lily’s your friend’s daughter?”
