Page 103 of When in December

Aaron.

With the extra hours, I packed myself a weekend bag and ended up staying for most of the week until I had to leave again for more clothes, practically living in Aaron’s oversize gray essentials most of the time anyway.

We’d go to sleep late after he pried me away from whatever section of the house I was working on, finalizing until I couldn’t find any more holiday details to adjust or furniture to move. One room at a time, everything suddenly started to come alive.

Sometimes, Aaron would lead me to bed and tuck me in. He’d kiss me until I was drunk with his touch, and my eyes would flutter closed, even with the lamp on so that he could read another chapter of a well-worn book off the shelf before drifting off himself. The dark circles under his eyes started to disappear.

We’d wake up in bed to a dark morning from the way the trees cut us off from the rest of the world. We’d have a slow breakfast of coffee or tea—whatever I had left in the cabinet from the past few weeks. Sometimes, he’d make eggs. He was pretty good at scrambling. They were never too dry or runny. At one point, Aaron even surprised me before I got back to work one day, picking up fresh produce from the grocery store after I mentioned wanting to make a simmer pot of cinnamon and cranberries. He arrived with some of the best oranges I’d ever had, so ripe that the fresh juice dripped over my fingertips, which he licked clean.

I started to decorate the house for the holiday. Here, there was going to be no minimalism. Only maximalism, until the place was warm, cozy, and full. I could smell the citrus the whole day as I worked.

Often after getting lost in the process, I’d peek over my shoulder and find Aaron looking at me, checking in between his walks with Ozzy or making his way through his small library. He’d run his hands around my waist as I made him dance in the living room to the holiday music he hated but knew I loved, even when it was clear he had two left feet. The dog would try to join us, and I’d laugh so loud that we couldn’t hear the music anymore.

It was just us as I put the final touches on the garland. I fluffed the pillows on the couch, teaching him how to do the perfect center chop to make them look cozier and less showroom. I set the dinner table with white and green candles of different heights and a plaid table runner, which Aaron admitted didn’t look as bad as he’d thought plaid could.

It was all coming together. The perfect holiday was in sight.

It was hard for me to believe. More than that, I had a feeling that I shouldn’t. If I did feel that feeling after all, the one that meant being comfortable and happy, I’d let myself fall too far into all over again and…

I wasn’t a naive girl anymore.

But the week was ending, and I was starting to worry?—

It was too late.

“Are you worrying that pretty little head of yours again?” Aaron leaned over my shoulder to get a better look at me. His fingertips ran a featherlight trail over my cheek.

I sat at the bottom of the tree, making sure that the popcorn garland was the right blend of traditional and vintage. Though the kids had done a good job, I needed more than that for whenthe photographers got here tomorrow. A few more layers would do the trick.

I tilted my head up to look into Aaron’s eyes, half hooded and at ease. He held me right there, cupping my chin in his hand. Everything was perfect once more.

“Your oven beeped a minute ago.”

“Oh!” I was startled out of his touch as I stood up and made my way into the kitchen.

When I opened the oven door, for once, the cookies weren’t completely burned. A little extra golden around the edges, but they would do.

Hastily, I slid my hands into oven mitts and pulled out the tray.

“Who are you making them for?” Aaron asked. “The photographers?”

That wasn’t a terrible idea, but I’d rather pick up a few than make them. Though the photographers weren’t going to make the promotion decision, it could never hurt to schmooze them with baked goods.

“They’re for Hannah.”

“Doesn’t your friend know you can’t bake?” He cocked his head, staring at the cookies as I pushed the oven door closed and set the tray on top.

They weren’tthatbad.

“It was a bet,” I explained, slipping my oven mitts off to give the cookies another look. I placed my hands on my hips, feeling Aaron step closer behind me.

“A bet?”

“I bet her …”

Aaron’s mouth trailed up the side of my neck.

“I bet her …”

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