Page 30 of Deck the Fire Halls

In my old life, I’d be home by maybe midnight if I was lucky, eat something out of a can or a frozen dinner, and collapse into bed.

Now I had my feet up on the coffee table, glass of wine in my hand, laughing at a TV comedy show that everyone’d raved about a decade ago that I was only now getting to watch.

And, and this was the crazy part, I had tomorrow off work.

In fact, I had the next four days off work.

I still couldn’t get my head around it.

I had plans. Well, plans that consisted of a trip to Home Mart for groceries and Christmas decorations. I could even go for a drive through the surrounding towns, see some sights, and get my bearings.

Four whole days. And not just once, but every week.

I was just about giddy with the realization.

It wasn’t until I was in bed that it occurred to me that I hadn’t heard Soren’s bike. Surely I’d have heard him... Was his bike parked at his house when I’d come home? I couldn’t remember seeing it. Was he out somewhere? Was he out fighting a fire? Was he okay?

That was a stupid line of thought, because why wouldn’t he be okay? Why was I concerned about his safety?

He could be out on a date for all I knew...

On a date . . .

With someone else. Someone who was not me. Washe... was he smiling at them the way he smiled at me? Looking at them with those intense eyes?

Was he . . . ?

Why was I thinking about that?

Soren was free to do whatever he wanted, free to see whomever he wanted. He was free to look at anyone the way he looked at me. Hell, maybe he was...

Maybe I was overreacting.

There’s no maybe about it, Robinson. You are overreacting. You’re thinking about him in ways you’re not entitled to be?—

“Oh, shut up,” I said out loud. “You were on my side last night.”

The voice in my head shut up, as asked. And I made the mental note to maybe tell Doctor Humphries that my late-night conversations with my subconscious had taken a snarky turn.

The problemwith being efficient and an over achiever, and used to having zero time to spare and running on fumes, meant that I’d had breakfast and been to the Home Mart and was home again all before 8:00 a.m.

I put my few groceries away, made myself another coffee, and stared at the few boxes of new Christmas decorations, which sat on the dining table.

I could begin putting up lights out front but then I’d have everything on my to-do list done by midday, andthen what would I do with the other three and a half days off?

Plus, I reasoned, maybe I could ask my neighbor for some help. A certain neighbor who was handy with ladders and whatnot. Like a firefighter, perhaps.

Oh, and I’d need a Christmas tree.

I figured I could stop by Gunter’s center to see it in action, and asking about finding a tree would be a good ice breaker. His boyfriend Clay was the one to ask, apparently, but Gunter would be a good place to start.

The center was just off Main Street. Unsurprisingly, most things in Hartbridge were. But this was a short-paved alley on the river side that could be a short mall if it tried harder. It was past the menswear store and the hairdresser, at the end of the dead end. The store directly next to it was empty, same as the one across from it. It was a quiet, tucked-away spot, and the trees and river on the other side made for privacy and it was perfect for a youth center.

The store front was glass, and maybe it had once been an office at some point. I opened the door and stuck my head in. Gunter was sliding a box onto one of the tables and he grinned when he saw me.

“Hey,” he said.

“You open?” I asked. It was only nine o’clock in the morning after all.

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