Page 19 of Mistletoed with the Mountain Man
"That's Sadie. Everything in her life has a good story behind it." I pause, remembering. "I know she wants this year to be special.” I look around the loft, at the half-decorated tree, the carefully chosen ornaments. “So why not help make sure it is, in every way I can.”
Nia's quiet for a moment. "You're a really good brother, Kade."
"I try to be."
"No, I mean it." She sets down the ornament she's holding, turning to face me fully. "The way you talk about your family, how much you care about making this memorable for them—it's really touching."
There's something in her voice that makes my heart swell.
Her eyes well up. "Damn it. I wasn't going to cry today."
"Hey." I'm pulling her against my chest, before I can think better of it. "It's okay."
She buries her face in my shirt, and I feel the hot dampness of tears. My arms hold her automatically, one hand stroking her hair.
"All of this just reminds me so much of my dad," she says, voice muffled. "We'd spend weeks decorating. He'd put on Bing Crosby and dance me around the living room. I was twelve andthought it was so embarrassing, but now I'd give anything to dance with him one more time."
"I'm sorry." The words feel inadequate. "I'm so sorry you lost him."
"The worst part is that the world just...keeps going. Like it doesn't matter that he's gone. But it matters to me. It matters so much."
I hold her tighter. ”Of course it matters.”
We stay like that, her crying quietly while I try to offer whatever comfort I can. It's intimate in such a special way…that she trusts me with her grief.
When she finally pulls back, her eyes are red. "Sorry. I'm a mess."
"You're a really cute mess." I wipe a stray tear from her cheek with my thumb. "And you're human. You're allowed to miss him."
She gives me a watery smile. "Having you here helps though. Talking about him. Doing what I love to make him proud."
The way she's looking at me makes me want things I shouldn't want. A future beyond this week. Mornings waking up next to her. Years of Christmases together.
I step back before I can do something stupid. "Let’s finish this tree."
"Yes, let’s." But she's still watching me with those expressive eyes.
After that, the earlier tension is replaced by something deeper. Something more hazardous.
At one point, I happen to glance up…and see them.
Sprigs of mistletoe.
Everywhere.
It’s hanging from the loft railing. Tucked into the doorframe. A third is suspended from the exposed beam near the reading nook.
"Nia."
"Hmm?" She's the picture of innocence, adjusting an ornament.
"When did you hang all this mistletoe?"
"Oh, you know. Earlier. While you were moving boxes…or taking your allotted bathroom breaks.” She glances at me. "Why? Problem?"
"Nope," I say dryly.
"Can't have Christmas decorations without mistletoe." She grins. "It's tradition."
