Page 71 of When in December

“I see,” she said.

I didn’t think she did.

“They’re going to mess things up,” I told her.

She cocked her head as her brow creased.

“Houses are meant to be a little messed up,” Poppy said, patting me on the shoulder as she pushed past me into the living room. “That’s how you know they’re working.”

fifteen

. . .

Poppy

A mischievous grinspread over Gavin’s face. Aaron’s nephew had been smiling the entire time since I’d arrived.

He introduced himself with vigor. “My name is Gavin. I’m six and three-quarters years old. I’m in first grade right now, and I’ve never been to this house before, but my mom says that we’re going to have Christmas here!” he rambled loudly, as if he wasn’t sure if I would be able to hear him.

Even Oz, who had been wandering the perimeter of the room, glanced over at him, wondering if something was amiss. His one good ear was keenly perked up.

I pressed my lips together to hold back my laugh at his excitement.

It was a sight with Gavin’s messy hair flopping over his ears. He looked a bit like his uncle. Though I wasn’t completely positive. His entire face was warm and welcoming, even with the cool eyes that must’ve been a family trait. However, they were bright, filled with a never-ending beam of a grin.

I was positive Aaron’s face would crack if he tried to genuinely smile.

When he had called me before, telling me not to come over, I’d figured that it was just another loss of a day. Sure, I knew that the furniture people wouldn’t be there today, and there was only so much I could do, but I was already ready for the day. I was dressed and prepared to go back and work, and … I wanted to go back to the cabin.

Plus, even over the phone, when he mentioned that the kids were there, I wasn’t quite sure he’d sounded as sure of himself as he tried to insist that he was.

It was no problem anyway. So, the kids were here a few weeks early. They’d see the cabin in its final form then. For now, that didn’t mean the whole experience couldn’t start.

In fact, it needed to.

“What happened to your hand?” Gavin pointed.

I glanced down at the smaller bandage that was still on it. With a bit of rest and Aaron making sure that I changed the bandage whenever it got dirty when we were working, the wound was completely sealed, though it still needed to heal a bit more.

“Ah,” I said. “I cut myself, making the bookshelves. That’s why you have to be very careful when you’re working with sharp things.”

Gavin turned toward the shelves in question. His light-gray eyes were wide. “You built those?”

“Yep.”

“Whoa,” he said, aghast. Or at least as aghast as a six-year-old could be. “But you’re a girl.”

“I am.”

“Whoa,” he repeated.

It was pretty whoa.

“I have another activity that you can build for the house too. I think we need a little more Christmas spirit here, don’t you?”

Slowly, I managed to pry Liana off the couch and away from her tablet, where it’d looked like she was working her waythrough a game. I pulled out one item at a time from the bags I’d brought, and both kids started to ooh and aah as I pressed the premade dough from the bakery near my house into the molds.

I slid the tray in the oven, and they were set to cook for fifteen minutes.

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