Page 10 of Lighting Up Christmas

“Why?”

“Too much choice clouds the mind.”

Again, her mouth hung open for two embarrassing seconds that seemed way too long before she clicked her teeth together. “Variety is the spice of life,” she said lightly. “I’ll bring them in.”

Of course he followed her to her truck. Riley tried to ignore his imposing presence. And the delicious scent wafting around him. It was a combination of cedar or pine and sandalwood and waffles. She eased open her truck’s tailgate and began to unwrap the tissue and Bubble Wrap around the first light.

“How many did you bring?” he demanded, looking at the boxes.

“Let it never be said that I am unambitious.”

“Are you the artist?” he asked rather grudgingly after another silence.

Riley felt her very fair complexion prickle with heat, which was dumb. But words likeartiststill made her feel like lightning would cook her for her pretention.

She was an electrician.

But she was more than her profession, and she needed to get over her budding imposter complex, especially when she eventually won the city contract to create the Christmas Garden of Lights. It was only a matter of time. If not this year, then next.

Without saying anything, he turned around and stalked off.

He was so physical and abrupt, like he was constantly late for something. Who knew, maybe he was.

“Bring them over here,” Zhang said. He held a chain in his hand that had heavy duty clasps on each end. He hooked it around on the runner for the sliding barn door and then spread the chain across the door’s opening and hooked it on the other side.

Riley brought the first twisted old vine. This one was wrapped with twinkle lights that had grape-style silk leaves twisted around each light and three long, pendant, old-fashioned filament bulbs hanging down at various lengths. She thought he would jump in and help her. But no. Arms crossed, Zhang stood back and watched each light emerge as she added it to the chain.

His face could have been stone, his expression hidden by the way-too-cool reflective aviators. And his lips that could have been sensuously full were firmed like granite.

Ignore him.

Riley climbed up the step ladder, hooked on the light fixture, and returned to unpack another light. His silence was its own language. Riley remembered advice her friend Hannah had given her in a public speaking and debate class: imagine everyone naked when you’re nervous. That would be disastrous here. She’d probably trip and break the light. Or drown in her own drool.

Zhang Shi definitely needed to dial down the hot factor. Only she totally suspected he wasn’t even trying, which made the tension so much more embarrassing. She moved the step stool and hung the next light, holding her breath and waiting for a reaction.

Riley was accustomed to shock and awe when her vine lights were displayed. Accolades over her cleverness and vision. How did she look at a broken tree branch or half rusted milk bucket from the forties and think of creating a light fixture? Sophia had been encouraging her to sell them at craft fairs or in a shop for a couple of years now.

She wasn’t used to silence. Or no expression and crossed arms.

She released the breath she’d unconsciously been holding. She hadn’t plugged them in yet. Riley swallowed her dismay and on her third trip back to her truck, she put a little swoosh in her step, dredging up a bit of cocky that had helped her many times over in her life. Between being tall with bright red hair that had thankfully grown more auburn, and doused with more freckles than any foundation could cover should she choose to try, Riley had faced more than her share of unflattering comments growing up. Add in the fact that she excelled in what was still in rural Oregon considered a man’s field and Riley had developed a thick skin and perky attitude to deflect potentially hurtful comments. Zhang Shi couldn’t not pierce her armor.

And she was not leaving without selling one…no, make that two of these lights.

She kicked her tailgate up and closed after her last trip and then hung the last light on the chain. She connected them to the extension cord she’d brought and then the power cord.

“Wait for it.” She drumrolled on her thigh and then flipped the red switch.

“Voila.” She waved her hand toward each one of her creations and did a little bow. “These are the lights I have remaining in my vine series. I have made…created other styles of hanging lights using reclaimed materials, but these are the vineyard designs using materials found on a local vineyard property.”

He walked closer to the first light. “Whose?” he asked, not turning to look at her.

“Ummmm.” Why was she so unsure of herself? She was a businesswoman. A teacher. A volunteer in the community. A…a…a lighting designer. And an…an…artist.

See, Sophia. I can toot my own horn.

Silently.

“From yours, actually,” she admitted.

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