Page 30 of Bad Boy Bachelor Christmas
It meant a lot to me that he’d been willing to sacrifice me for the day and trust me to help his friend. After all, doing business with friends was tricky. Things could get messy quickly. I was not going to let that happen. This was a chance for me to prove myself outside the scope of Christmas trees.
And so help me, I was going to prove myself ten times over.
Once I was happy with how the porch looked, I hurried inside out of the chilly afternoon weather and ducked into the living room, where a handful of people were working on laying out a giant red silk carpet trimmed in gold thread. It looked luxurious amongst all the cherry oak wood and brought in a fresh pop of color—a playful dare to be bold and get away with it. Justin hadn’t been too sure about this idea. He’d gone back and forth with me a bit about how he usually liked to stage houses, and I could tell he still wasn’t happy that he’d folded his hand so easily as he stood in the hallway of the butler’s pantry, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest.
I sauntered over to him. “Have faith. Once all the furniture is in and the Christmas tree is up, it will all come together. I promise.”
“It’s the same color as my grandmother’s bath towels.”
“Then your grandmother has excellent taste.”
He snorted. “She has doilies all over the place and floral wallpaper trim. Her taste is questionable at best.”
“As long as she doesn’t have plates with flowers or kittens on them hanging on the walls, she gets my stamp of approval.”
He gave me a sideways look.
I laughed. “Oh no.”
His attention shifted back to the workers as they began dragging the furniture in from the delivery van outside. I stepped in to direct and threw my back into some physical work, helping maneuver heavy, somewhat awkwardly large armchairs toward the fire, angling them toward the mantel for a cozy reading nook. We’d filled the built-ins with all kinds of books, and I took one out to place it on the seat of the chair along with a chunky knitted blanket over the arm.
“What if my potential buyers don’t like reading?” Justin asked, his tone teasing.
“Then they will most likely pretend that they do,” I said. “If you’re buying a house like this, you’re content with giving the impression that you read at the very least. And hey, it’s one of the classics.” I held up the hardcover of Moby Dick. “A talking point, if you will.”
He clicked his tongue. “If you say so.”
More furniture came in—a sofa, coffee table, side tables, and a large antique chest. I directed everything into place, and finally,finally,the Christmas tree from North’s farm arrived.
Since this house already had so much character, I’d decided to go simple and elegant with the tree. I asked North to pick one and trusted he’d go for one with full branches, a straight trunk, and even coloring throughout. I’d been right. The twelve-foot tree was stunning.
I had it placed dead center in front of the bay window, and as soon as we had it in a tree stand and positioned properly, I informed some of the workers how I wanted it decorated. Warm white lights. No garland, only silver and gold ribbon curled and poking out. Ornaments in gold, copper, champagne, and silver. Clean. Tidy. Festive but not distracting. That was the goal.
I brought the festive theme to other parts of the house, like bringing in fresh boughs to the fireplace mantel and adding a few ornaments there as well. We put lights here and there, garland up the spiraled staircase railing, and a second smaller tree in the dining room. While we worked, a lighting company arrived and began stringing up lights outside.
Justin was, if anything, overwhelmed.
But he seemed to grow more pleased with the work with every passing hour. Things were coming together quickly—which was what happened when you had twenty-five people working on a house—and we were losing daylight by the time the workers outside finished with the lights. Slowly but surely, the laborers began to leave as finishing touches went onto things.
Justin found me in the kitchen staging the island after everyone else had gone home.
“You outdid yourself, kid,” he said.
I smiled as I placed a Christmas arrangement of flowers near a cinnamon-scented candle that could be lit for walkthroughs. “Thank you for the opportunity. I had a lot of fun. If you don’t mind, I’d like to come back when the lighting is better and take some pictures for my portfolio.”
“Knock yourself out.”
I’d already snapped some in the waning evening light for a romantic feeling, but I wanted to come back when the sun was streaming through the windows so I could show off the colors and textures I’d paired more clearly.
“Grab your coat,” Justin said twenty minutes later after we’d done a final walkthrough and confirmed that he only had a few loose ends to tie tomorrow. “I’ll drive you back to the farm.”
North wasn’t home when Justin dropped me off. He offered to wait with me, but I said I’d be fine to go in on my own. The front door was unlocked, and the chef, Maurice, was singing a French ballad at the top of his lungs in the kitchen. I was pretty sure it was a Christmas tune. It had familiar beats, but I couldn’t quite place it. I snuck past and made my way out the back as twilight fell and threatened to become full night soon.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and called my parents on the walk to my little cabin. I gushed about my day, giving them all the dirty details about the staging and how so many people had come together at North’s request to help Justin. Dad said that was what small towns were best known for. Mom demanded I send pictures as soon as I was able.
They shared about their day and how they’d gone to the Christmas market in the town square to pick up baked goods to put out at their hosting events for the month. I wished I was going to be there to enjoy the lemon cranberry bars, shortbread cookies, and snowball pastries. My mouth watered just at the thought.
“How are you going to spend the rest of your evening?” Dad asked.
