Page 66 of Lighting Up Christmas

“Sorry.” He slowed down, feeling a little sheepish.

“I know we need to get back to your tasting bar.” She touched his hand with one finger. “People will be arriving pretty soon.” The shuttles started from the downtown parking lot at five. Jackson had been shocked speechless when he’d told him what he was up to this weekend. It had been the first time ever that Jackson didn’t have a snappy comeback tripping off his tongue.

“I really just want to see your tree,” he admitted.

“What happened to my uber-serious ‘I don’t celebrate Christmas. I don’t want anyone on my mountain,’ Zhang?” she demanded.

“Was I that bad? I was. I’m hyper-focused.”

“No.” Riley stepped into him and laid her mittened finger over his lips. “No. Not bad. Intriguing and,” she smiled, “a challenge. I like challenges. Challenges are my thrive zone.”

“Me too,” he said. “Although not usually with people. Jackson says I’m barely recognizable. Sounded like that that’s a good thing.”

“I thought he was the communicator of the group. He needs to work on his skills.”

Zhang laughed. “I’ll be sure to tell him you said so. Let’s go see our trees.”

This time he managed to slow his walk to a stroll down Christmas Tree Lane. The number of entries surprised him. Bear Creek was a small town that seemed determined to keep its identity separate from the much bigger Medford. He and Riley bumped a few times as they walked. He wasn’t normally so clumsy and neither was she, and then she slipped her hand into his, and even though she was wearing mittens, he could feel her touch to his bones.

It was strange. He normally wasn’t a hand holder. It made him feel constrained. Trapped. When he’d been little, his mother had held his hand so tightly, not letting him loose to explore or to move. Even though he’d lived with his grandfather from his young years, he still remembered her small but tight grip crushing his, and her glare of disapproval if his fingers wiggled.

But this was…okay. Comfortable. Jackson would laugh at his description.

“These are so clever,” he marveled at one tree for a plumbing company that had red, green, and silver PVC piping throughout the tree, which created a marble run.

“I love walking through here. It really inspires me and reminds me how many businesses and people are willing to help out and how creative people are,” Riley said, stopping to admire one tree that had homemade ornaments from kids at a preschool and another from a chocolate company that had candy made from colorful soft-sculpt clay tucked inside individual candy boxes that hung by ribbons off the tree branches.

“Good thing those are fake—they wouldn’t last the first hour with all the kids running around here.”

“Christmas Tree Lane always puts me in the spirit,” Riley said softly, the wonder reflected on her face in the golden glow of so many lit-up trees. “And helps me up my game for the next year.”

“I can see you’re competitive.”

“Very. You do realize Christmas Tree Lane ends up with Santa, right?” She laughed. “Have you been naughty or nice?”

Santa? He’d gone his entire life without a Santa encounter. It was absurd to start at thirty-three. What was he supposed to do?

“We can take a selfie.” Riley tugged on his hand to get him walking again. “You can tell him what you want for Christmas.”

“I don’t celebrate it,” he reminded, hoping the panic edging his voice didn’t show.

“Pretty sure you are celebrating, Zhang,” she said softly and lightly squeezed his hand. “There’s not just one way, and you can take pieces of the holiday that make it special.” She paused and seemed unaccountably nervous, which made him take notice. “Do you celebrate the Lunar New Year? That’s in January, isn’t it?”

“It depends. It’s based on the lunar cycle, so it moves around a little—January or February.” He got quiet. He didn’t celebrate any cultural touchstone events. Not really anymore. He had with his grandfather. And he and his mom had participated in official functions, but once he’d left for college, he’d left his past self, his culture and his family behind.

They rounded a corner and there was his tree—the lit-up bottles and the cork star on top. Beautiful red wineglasses angled toward each other.

Like me and Riley.

He shook his head at the errant thought and instead focused on the tree. The design pleased him—elegant and understated.

“It’s beautiful. I love it,” she said.

“You created it,” he said. Riley would say she loved his tree no matter what he’d done.

“I did not. I just made some suggestions and sat back and watched you slay it.”

Each tree had a bidding sheet. His already had several bids.

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