Page 40 of The One I Want
Today was Christmas tree decorating at the Taylor house. And despite my best attempts to leave and tell them that it was a family thing, they insisted I stay to help.
One of these days I’m going to figure out how to tell those kids no.
“Speaking of Christmas, have you started shopping yet?”
He lets out a groan, followed by a big pull of his beer. “I haven’t. Honestly, the only reason I knew it was December first is because Emerson reminded me this morning. I hate thinking about getting old, but I feel better knowing she’s going to be the one to decide what nursing home I go into.”
“She really is something. But why did she need to remind you about December first?”
He sighs as he sets down his beer bottle on the end table. “December first is when the tree goes up and the decorations come out. Every year since they were kids, December first has been tree day. Even if it fell on a Sunday and I had a game, that’s when it happened.”
“That’s sweet,” I say. “Kind of like the kickoff to Christmas.”
“Exactly.” He lays his head back against the sofa and stares at the ceiling. “I think they look forward to this more than Christmas. And I almost forgot it.”
“But you didn’t. Well, Emerson didn’t,” I say. “Don’t beat yourself up. It’s done. The tree is up and decorated. The holiday décor is displayed. Christmas kickoff went off without a hitch.”
I take a second and look at the multicolored lights slowly flashing on the tree. There is something really comforting about the ambiance.
“You know, I never got to have a fun tree like this,” I say.
“A fun tree?”
“Yeah,” I say, looking at the Rapunzel ornament that Magnolia wanted to make sure had a prime spot in the front of the tree. “My parents are old Southern money. Which means ‘proper’ Christmas trees with white lights and the same red bulbs all around. When I was in first grade, I made ornaments in art class and other kids were talking about how their parents hung them on their trees. I remember running home and showing my mom, asking if she could hang this one I made out of Popsicle sticks.”
“Do I even want to know what she said?”
I shake my head. “Let’s just say it was made very clear that my work was not good enough for the family tree. I remember crying for hours that night.”
I haven’t thought about this in forever. I can still remember the excitement I had coming home from school. I also distinctly remember the look on her face when she told me no. Now that I think about it, I believe this was the first time I knew I had disappointed my mother.
“Cara wanted fancy trees too,” Wes says. I don’t dare say a word. It isn’t often he brings her up, and I’m not about to be the one who interrupts whatever he’s choosing now to get off his chest.
“I didn’t buy the house we moved from until Hank was born. By then, I had a sizeable contract that could allow us to have a bigger home. Anyway, I remember that first Christmas, right on December first, I was getting out the ornaments. They were a hodgepodge of ornaments that we had before we were married, ones we got for the kids, and other random ones we acquired along the way. I remember she looked at them like they had mold on them. She said that now that we were in a better house, we needed a better tree. She showed me one, I swear to God it was twelve feet tall, and she wanted it decorated in red and gold ribbon with soft white lights. I said that was fine, but that we were still having a tree with these on them. She agreed, but it had to go upstairs in the kid’s playroom. I didn’t think anything of it, really. Then over the years it slowly became the tree for me and the kids. I bought them a new ornament every year for us to put on it. They’d make me ornaments at school, probably the same one you made, and we’d hang it up. It was our tree. I’m just glad we can have this one now. I think it meant a lot to them to have this down here. To have our tree.”
“Your fun tree.”
He smiles at me. “Our fun tree.”
I wipe away a tear that sprang loose. I’ve thought this many times since I met Wes, but how do you walk away from a man like him? He’s clearly an amazing father. He’s sweet and kind. He listens when you talk and always seems to know what you need at that moment. And then there’s the whole handsome as hell thing. I have to smack myself sometimes because I catch myself staring. I can’t help myself.
Like now. I take the chance to look at him as he stares into the lights of the tree. His brown hair is a little wild from the day. His jawline is covered in that perfect length of beard. And yes, I will admit I have thought about that beard a few times and wondered what it would feel like against my cheek. Or my thighs.
I’m a woman who is in a bit of a dry spell. Sue me.
Plainly said, the man is beautiful, inside and out. When the day comes that he’s ready to date again, that woman is going to be the luckiest one on the planet. Because once you get a Wes Taylor in your life, you don’t let him go.
“Well, I think your tree is beautiful,” I say. “It’s the perfect tree.”
“Just wait until you see it on Christmas morning.”
Now this gets me excited. “Please tell me you go completely overboard at Christmas and buy them a ton of stuff and it looks like presents are exploding from the bottom.”
“Of course,” he says. “Though I don’t know what the actual presents will look like. I can buy a present like no other. I’m the king of gift giving. Gift wrapping, though? Not a strength of mine.”
“Well then, you’re in luck,” I say. “Give me the paper and some scissors. I got you.”
“Weren’t you the woman who couldn’t tie balloons to an arch?”
