Page 49 of Tinsel & Tools
He narrowed his eyes playfully. “You make it sound simple.”
“It is simple.” I stepped closer, lowering my voice and grabbing his hand. “You’ll get your writing done, I’ll get this place sorted, and at night we’ll both end up in the same bed.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to?—”
“I’m sure. I don’t want you to leave.”
“You make it hard to argue when you say it like that.”
“That’s the idea.” I squeezed his hand a little tighter in mine. “So are you staying?”
“Yeah,” he breathed. “I’m staying.”
“Good.” I sealed my lips against his and then, while he packed, I got back to work.
On Saturday, Gavin and I were stretched out on my couch; he had his laptop open, and I was watching hockey on the TV. He typed a few words, groaned, then shut the thing with a sigh.
“Are you getting a Christmas tree?” he asked.
I looked over at him. “Hadn’t planned on it.”
“But it’s Christmas. You need a tree.”
“I went last year without one. It’s fine.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t.” His voice dipped lower. “It’s my first Christmas without my parents, and since I’m here, I’d really like to have one.”
I stared at him, unable to say no because of the pain in his eyes.
He pressed on. “So, if you’re willing, let’s go get one. Doesn’t have to be anything fancy. Just a tree.”
“All right, we’ll get a tree.”
An hour later, we were in the next town, filling a cart with strings of lights, a few boxes of colorful ornaments, hooks, and a bag of silver tinsel Gavin swore was essential. By the time we left, the back seat of my truck was piled high with bags.
“Now,” Gavin said as he buckled in, “we get the tree.”
Snow was falling by the time we pulled into Evergreen Tree Farm. Kids were running between the rows while their parents debated about whether they needed six feet or seven. Couples carried saws, and teenagers trailed behind them with cups of hot cider. I grabbed a saw while Gavin wandered ahead of me, scanning the trees with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He stopped every so often, tugged at a branch, then moved on.
“Afternoon, Cole.” Mrs. Perkins came toward us with a steaming cup in one hand and her scarf wrapped twice around her neck. Her eyes slid to Gavin. “And you’ve brought company.”
“Yeah,” I answered. “Gavin’s the new owner of Cedar Falls Inn and he’s staying at my place while Dale repipes it.”
Her smile widened. “That’s nice of you to offer your spare room, but you know, Paige is coming back tomorrow. You two should catch up, maybe get coffee again.”
“I’m buried at the inn,” I told her, trying to put a stop to the conversation.
She waved it off. “Coffee doesn’t take time. And the diner’s open late. You could even take her to dinner this time.”
“The inn’s keeping me busy enough. I won’t have time for dinner.”
Mrs. Perkins clicked her tongue. “Always working.” She turned her attention to Gavin. “What about you, dear? Surely you’re not busy since Cole’s doing all the work at the inn?”
“I … ah,” he stammered. “I’m on a deadline too.”
“Oh?”
“I’m an author.”
