Page 34 of A Tinsel Tale

She looks up at me in surprise. “You do?”

“Sure. Every year when we’d decorate, you’d say the same thing.”

She laughs. “Did not.”

“I swear,” I say as I hook it onto a top branch. She hands me another. “I remember this one, too,” I say. “We bought it our first Christmas together, freshman year.”

“I can’t believe you remember that.”

Gwen chimes in, “This guy here is a true romantic. I wish he’d spend a little time with my sons. He could teach them a thing or two.”

“Don’t give him a bigger head than he already has,” Evie grumbles.

“By the way, Coach, did you figure out how the front gate got damaged?”

“Car went off the road. Skid marks and tire tracks in the ditch right up to the bent gate. Pretty clear.”

“Mystery solved. Need me to put a new gate up for ya?”

“Danny already saw to it. Thanks.”

We have kind of a train situation going on here. Coach rifles through the tub and pulls out ornaments, Gwen adds hooks if needed and passes them on to Evie who hands them to me. The cat’s tail twitches, his golden eyes still watching the tree-trimming with a little bit too much curiosity. The mutts are stretched out—all except Hux of course, who takes his job more seriously. Michael Bublé is singing “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” in his uber crooner’s voice.

My chest tightens. Man, is this really happening right now? I never thought in a million years I’d ever get the chance to spend another holiday with Evie Parker. I feel like I won the lottery. The only girl I could ever imagine spending my life with smiles up at me and I’m a goner. Her olive-green wool pullover makes the green of her eyes that much more striking. Her hair is tumbling down around her shoulders and back in thick, soft curls. What I wouldn’t give right now to lace my fingers through it and kiss her senseless.

She’s wearing a pair of scrunchy Christmas socks with candy canes and reindeer that overlap her gray leggings. This is the Evie I remember. Geeky, fun, sassy, and bright. I hardly recognize her as the same exhausted, stiff person who arrived here two weeks ago. She’s slowly letting me back in and I’m down for it. Not just down for it. It’s making me want the things I lost a long time ago and that scares the shit out of me.

“What about this one,” she says, holding up a moose ornament.

I roll my eyes. “I remember. My ninth-grade competition bought that for you. Maybe I should drop it.”

“You better not. Besides, Eric wasn’t competition, he was just a friend.”

“You girls can be so obtuse sometimes. He had a massive crush on you. He was just too shy to do anything about it.”

“He did not!” she shrieks.

“What do you think, Coach?” I ask.

“Well, sorry, honey, but I have to agree with Jamie on this one.”

“Why am I not surprised,” she says sourly. “Gwen, what are we going to do with these two? One says jump and the other says how high.”

“Not sure but… ah, I love this one!” she exclaims holding up a weathered glass Santa and obvious antique. It was Ginny Parker’s favorite, if memory serves me, partly because she’d had it when she was a little girl. I see Evie and Coach exchange a look and I know I’m right.

“That was Mom’s favorite,” Evie confirms. “It was the only ornament that she had from when she was little.”

Gwen studies it, handling it like the treasure it is. “Here Evie. I think it should be front and center.” Evie secures it to the tree and the colorful tree lights reflect off the silver and red painted St. Nick.

“Ladies and gent, do you think we have enough decorations on the upper part?” Since I’m six-foot-three, I always get the jobs that, for most folks, would require a ladder. We continue covering the tree until the Parkers are satisfied.

“It’s tinsel time,” Evie says gleefully.

I look at Gwen sternly. “Now, Gwen, if you are going to partake in the tinsel topping you must follow the Parker rules. Putting on more than one strand at a time is a punishable crime in this household. Do you agree to those terms?” I ask.

Evie snickers and Coach guffaws before saying, “Busted. He’s not wrong.”

Gwen crosses her heart playing along. “One strand at a time, I promise.”

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