Page 86 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

KELSEY, 25, in a demure pale-green dress with white accessories, walks down a curved staircase.

Below, RANDY, 28, and his brother, JACK, 30, stand on either side of a fireplace, the metal wood stand filled with freshly cut logs. They have a bin of holiday decorations at their feet, an artificial garland sticking out over the edge.

It’s happening. It’s happening!

Randy’s eyes take me in. I think he might remark upon my change in appearance, but he simply grins.

“We should ask a woman’s opinion,” he says, lifting the end of a fake garland. “We don’t know what we’re doing.”

“I’m happy to help,” I say.

Randy tugs on the greenery, which drops dozens of plastic bits as it unfurls. “I say the fake stuff is garbage, and we should cut a fresh pine bough.”

I turn to Jack. “What’s the downside?”

“It’s summer. A real pine bough will wilt into a sad, brown pile of needles in this heat. In winter, they last a couple of weeks.”

“I see.” I pick up the other end of the garland. “You don’t use fake ones?”

“Not since I can remember,” Randy says.

“We can cover it in balls and ribbon and nobody will notice,” Jack says. “We have too much to do to cut boughs that might look bad by the time the week is over.”

“We don’t have fresh pine where I come from,” I tell the men. “Fake garland is the only kind I know. We can make this work.” I realize I’ve taken the wrong side when Randy frowns. I quickly add, “And if it fails, then we cut boughs closer to the day.”

“All right,” Randy says. “But it won’t be half as nice.”

Now it’s on the line. “I can make it nice.”

“Give her a chance,” Jack says.

I can practically see the script writer congratulating herself on the double meaning of the line.Yes, Randy, give the girl a chance.Well played, madam.

I take the garland and tug at the individual wires that hold the molting branches together. “These have to be fluffed or they look terrible.” I twist the wiring, and a shower of plastic needles falls to the floor.

“This does not look promising,” Randy says.

“Maybe it’s like Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree,” Jack says.

I’m determined to make this work. “It’ll be all right. These were good-quality garlands. They just need some love.”

“See,” Jack says. “All you need is love.”

The script writer for this scene is onfire.

Randy socks his brother’s shoulder. “Fine. We should find the ribbon and balls.”

I almost make a joke about balls, but think better of it. It doesn’t match my wholesome look. I’ll tell it to Zachery later. He’ll find it hilarious, even if it is out of context by then.

The garland starts to take shape as I work on the wires holding the plastic branches. Jack takes off for another part of the house, leaving me with Randy.

“That is looking better,” he says. “It’s nice of you to help. You’re a guest.”

“I like decorating for the holidays.” I come to the halfway point, my fingers already sore from the rough wire. It’s a small price to pay. “Does your family go all out?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” he says, searching through the box. “Between this old homestead that we rent out, our parents’ house, Jack and Mindy’s place, and Grandmama’s cottage, it’s a lot of lighting, trees, and pine boughs.”

“Plus the tree farm. I guess it’s busy at Christmas?”

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