Page 12 of It's the Worst Time of the Year

“Maybe,” I replied, holding her gaze a moment longer than necessary.

Moments later, the house flickered to life. Strings of twinkling Christmas lights illuminated the main floor, casting the dusty furniture in a warm, festive glow. Edna’s preparations included setting up decorations—of course.

Edna clasped her hands together, her face alight with delight. “Oh, it’s beautiful!”

Theodore looked around, his expression caught somewhere between annoyance and reluctant appreciation. “This is...excessive,” he grumbled.

“It’s festive,” Edna corrected, giving him a pointed look. “Try to muster a bit of holiday spirit, Theodore. It won’t kill you. I remember a time when you actually loved Christmas.”

We began transporting the supplies upstairs, turning the grand living area into a makeshift base of operations. To keep everyone occupied, and to diffuse the lingering tension, Bailey suggested we continue decorating.

Edna was in her element, directing the placement of every tchotchke with the precision of a military general. Theodore unpacked boxes and waited dutifully for Edna’s guidance, and it was nice to see them finally figuring out a way to work together.

Bailey and I worked on hanging garlands, draping them along the banisters and framing the large windows that overlooked the snow-covered grounds. Our movements synchronized without effort, and it was both exhilarating and unsettling—like walking a tightrope between the past and present.

“Remember the year we decorated my family’s tree together?” Bailey asked softly, stepping back to assess our handiwork.

I smiled at the memory. “You mean the year you insisted on putting the star on top, even though you were too short to reach?”

She nudged me with her elbow. “That’s what you were for…a convenient ladder.”

“I seem to recall you almost toppled us both over.”

“Details,” she said with a dismissive wave. “We got the star up, didn’t we?”

“After nearly taking out half the tree, yes.”

She laughed, her hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. “I miss those days.”

“Me too,” I admitted, the confession slipping out before I could stop it.

She looked at me then, really looked, and for a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just the two of us.

Before I could say something, Edna called out.

“Bailey, dear, could you help me with these stockings? They’re not going to hang themselves!”

Bailey blinked, the moment broken. She offered me a small smile. “Duty calls.”

“Of course,” I said, stepping back as she moved to assist Edna.

I busied myself with looking for firewood, which I found stacked on the back porch. After hauling in several armfuls, I arranged them in the hearth along with some loose tinder and was pleased when the flame from Theodore’s lighter quickly lit a fire. After I’d stoked it a few times with the poker I’d found nearby, the flames were crackling merrily, casting dancing shadows across the room.

The scent of hot cocoa wafted through the air as Edna produced a kettle and began preparing drinks using the supplies from her stash.

“Gather round, everyone!” she called cheerfully. “Nothing warms the soul like cocoa and good company.”

Theodore and I dragged several armchairs closer to the fire and Bailey handed out mugs while we all settled in again.

We sipped in companionable silence for a while, the warmth seeping through the ceramic and into our chilled fingers.

Edna, never one for quiet, began regaling us with the tale of her first rescue cat, Jingle.

“He appeared on my porch one snowy Christmas Eve when I was alone and feeling rather sorry for myself,” she said, her eyes misty with fondness. “A scraggly little thing with the biggest green eyes you ever did see. I took him in, and he became my constant companion.”

“That’s a lovely story,” Bailey said, her gaze soft.

Theodore huffed but surprised us all by sharing his own memory. “When I was a boy, my grandmother had an advent calendar she cherished. Handcrafted, with little wooden doors and tiny treats inside. Every year, I’d sneak extra chocolates when she wasn’t looking.”

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