Page 78 of When in December

“Yeah, I worry about the dog being alone with them, but …”

“You don’t think Oz would do anything, do you?” Poppy asked.

“No, but he’s still a dog. He’s an animal.”

“But he loves those kids.”

“Still doesn’t mean he wouldn’t accidentally do something to the people he loves and who take care of him,” I said. She parted her lips, but I cleared my throat before she could speak up, jutting my chin toward the tree positioned in the corner by the fireplace. “You’re not going to leave the tree like that, are you?”

The tree was decorated as one would expect a tree decorated by overexcited kids would be. Ornaments were clumped in certain sections. Tinsel was thrown here, there, and everywhere.

She bit her lip. “Don’t tell them.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Say the elves redecorated or something,” she said. “I figure, if they want to, they can redo it when they arrive again next week for Christmas.”

I snorted a laugh.

Her eyes snapped open wide. “Wow.”

I hit the one lamp, leaving on the light in the kitchen, and I waved for her to climb into bed. With me. We slid between the sheets as if it were the most natural thing to do between us.

Just last week, we’d barely been speaking.

Now, I goaded her with a shake of my head, knowing exactly what she was referring to ever since she first seemed so astounded when I actually let myself relax enough to laugh.

“Another laugh. I’m just shocked.” She met my challenge. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“This how you win men over? You insult them?”

“More like teasing. And especially if they deserve it,” she said before she blinked a few times, her eyes drifting away from mine as she realized that we were both getting comfortable, lying next to each other with one pillow separating the space between us.

“Your Mr. Right must be something.”

“If you think I have a Mr. Right and I’m lying with you on the couch right now on a weekend and after I spent most of the week here, you are crazy.”

There were the insults again. Theteasing, I mean.

“There is no Mr. Right. There is no mister … no anyone, for your information. But now, you’re breaching the code,” she whispered.

“The code?”

“The professionalism code.”

Poppy shifted under the blanket as if struggling to get comfortable. I pushed a little extra toward her to wrap around her shoulder.

“Oh, well, I didn’t realize there was an entire code now, Snow Angel.”

Poppy inhaled at the new nickname I’d given her. “There is,” she insisted.

“I find it hard to believe that you don’t have some sap running after you, taking you to some kind of Christmas concert or something,” I said.

“You think I live in some cheesy holiday movie, don’t you?” she said. “No. I’m all alone.”

“Tragic.”

“Truly.”

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