“Am I particular about my axes?” I ask, raising my brows as I study the tree.
“Are you particular about who touches your things?” she asks, lifting her eyebrows in return. “Because you seem resistant to letting me touch your tree.”
I laugh, but my mind mentally substitutes another word for tree. The thought of Kennedy touching me, running those smallsmooth hands over me, sends blood pumping down south, but I think of a dozen different shitty things to get myself back under control. Spiders pouring out of animatronic Santas’ mouths. My grandmother stalking around the set ofMatchmaking the Richas if she might magically become rich too if she’s enough of an asshole. Jonah Fucking Highbury kissing Kennedy.
Clenching my teeth together, I heft up the tree.
“You’re really going to carry it by yourself?” Kennedy says, seeming kind of annoyed.
“It’s easier,” I insist.
She doesn’t look convinced…or like she’s not in any mood to touch my tree anymore.
“Can you get the other things?” I ask, standing there with the tree in my arms, like I’m giving it a hug.
“Fine,” she says with a sigh, collecting them. It makes me laugh a little more when she picks up the ax so tentatively, like it’s a dead animal she’s lifting by the tail.
“It won’t hurt you,” I say.
“I’m not stupid,” she snaps, throwing my phrase from earlier back at me. “I might not have much experience with axes, but I know which is the sharp end.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I mean it. Ralph really does care about his axes. And I wouldn’t want to litter out here.”
She gives me a nod of acknowledgement, but I can tell she’s still feeling salty about me not letting her help.
“You can help me get it into the bed of the truck,” I offer before I can catch myself. “And get it strapped in.”
“Really?” she asks, sounding much more excited than the task warrants.
It shouldn’t be charming, but it’s goddamn adorable.
“Really.” I’m sick of standing still with my arms around the tree like it’s my long-lost relative, so I start moving back towardthe cabin. I swing around it, while Kennedy ducks in to return the ax.
It takes her awhile to come out. Is she talking to Ethel? The thought makes me smile—strumpet—but it’s not hard to imagine. Kennedy’s the kind of person who could probably draw anyone into conversation just by being herself.
I’ve already got the tree into the bed by the time she comes out with a little shopping bag.
“You already got it in,” she says with disappointment.
“You’re going to help me get it strapped in,” I tell her. Because I did wait for her to come back for this step. “What’d you get?”
She lifts a long-sleeve T-shirt out of the bag. The slogan saysWe Put the Christmas in Tree, which frankly makes zero sense. I’m guessing Ralph came up with it after drinking too much of his special sauce.It’s enormous—large enough to fit two of her at least.
“You like sleeping in big shirts or something?” I ask. I don’t hate the thought. My mind supplies an image of Kennedy wearing the huge shirt, her hair down, and nothing else.
She tosses it to me. “This one’s for you. I got one in my size too.”
I catch it, surprised to feel a knot forming in my throat. “You thought I’d want to remember this?”
A dick question, but she immediately says, “I knew you would.”
“Thank you,” I say, folding the shirt. I open the driver’s door and stick it inside the truck, feeling a little off kilter, like I’m no longer sure what to say or do with her.
When I shut the door, she’s waiting for me. “Let’s do this,” she says.
I show her where to anchor the bungee cords, and there’s a strange energy humming between us the whole time—a promise.We’ve just finished the task when Oliver and Harry emerge, both of them seeming pleased as they heft Oliver’s tree over to his blue Subaru Outback. Harry is red enough to match Ralph’s old Santa coat when I glance at him.
So that’s going well, at least.