Page 9 of Christmas Agreement
“I love it,” I assured him. “It’s gorgeous. It’s just a lot.”
“Well, so am I.” He beamed at me. “Come on. Let’s go get supplies.”
“I thought we were doing this on Monday?” I ventured as I slid on my coat and grabbed my purse.
“I couldn’t wait,” he insisted. “I wanted to see you tonight. We’ll still do pizza on Monday, though. And we can even watch one of those Hallmark movies you were talking about. All in the glow of your big ass Christmas tree.”
It was kind of hard to argue with a plan as solid as that. So even though I was confused as to why he was suddenly so eager to spend time with me, I wasn’t about to turn down the opportunity.
When we got toKnack’s Hardware, the best place in Majestic Falls to get decorations, Rugar went into full-on kid in a candy store mode. If it twinkled, shimmered or made noise, it went into the cart.
I couldn’t hold back my grin at how much fun he was having, and I was thrilled to get to experience it with him.
“Is Christmas this big of a deal for your family?” I asked him as he rifled through racks of novelty ornaments. Though he’d been a fixture at our house for years, he was my brother’s friend so I’d never been to the James’ house during the holidays.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “My mom is nuts for it. She always does theme rooms and a vintage train that belonged to my great-great-grandfather runs around the base of one of the trees. My sister and I kind of caught her enthusiasm for it.”
“Well, I appreciate you sharing with me this year,” I said. “Aren’t you going home for the holiday—I mean, to where they live now?”
He shook his head. “No. They went on a holiday cruise with my aunts and uncles. They won’t be back until after my classes start again. So I’m Christmasing alone this year.”
“Or with my family. It sounds like my mom and dad won’t let you be alone.”
“Since your mom is friends with mine, I wouldn’t be surprised if she knows the situation.”
I had zero doubt. Our mothers, Monica James and Kendra Johnson, were always up to something. Before Monica moved,they’d been book club and girl’s night out buddies. Plus they’d been partners on all the athletic boosters.
“Well, I hope you won’t be disappointed by a Johnson Christmas,” I said with a grimace. “At our house, though, we usually just roll out of bed around ten, open gifts, have our traditional breakfast, then go our separate ways. We have a tree but nothing super special…and certainly not themes.”
“Sounds like the perfect time to start our own traditions then,” he said. “What do you think for the tree? Classy or funny?” He held up a beautiful red and silver striped bulb in one hand, and what appeared to be a plate with a full steak dinner on it in the other.
“Definitely classy,” I said, reaching out for the bulb and placing it gently into the basket.
He nodded and went back to browsing, while I tried not to hyperventilate in the busy Christmas section ofKnack’s Hardware. Our own traditions? Like…for me and him?
I knew I needed to pluck up the courage to ask him what was going on. But part of me was afraid that nothing was going on and I was imagining things. If he wasn’t interested, I’d scare him away if I hinted at wanting more than friendship with him. Or worse, that he’d laugh in my face for thinking he liked me the way I liked him.
“Ugh,” I huffed.
“What’s up?” he asked, turning to look at me with his brow furrowed. “You okay?”
Oops. I hadn’t meant to make that noise out loud. I sank my teeth into my lower lip and tried desperately to think of something to be indignant about.
“Mistletoe,” I spat, shaking my head and gesturing disgustedly at the small display of the greenery beside to me—literally the first thing I saw. “I don’t think it’s fair to trap unsuspecting people, you know?”
“Sure.” For a moment, he looked at me as if I were crazy, then he shrugged and picked up a sprig, turning it in his hand. “Disgusting. You’re right.” He held it over my head, then over his. “And the shit doesn’t even work.”
He hung it back up and continued down the aisle as if thatdisappointmentmade complete sense.
Okay, seriously, what the hell was going through his head? Because mine was in a daze. Was I supposed to have kissed him just then?
I opened my mouth to just ask him what we were doing here, but he turned the corner then exclaimed so loudly I rushed find out what had happened.
“You need an inflatable snowman!” he insisted, gawking at the row of blowup lawn decorations. He located the box and snatched it up.
“I don’t have a yard,” I reminded him, taking it from him to put it back on the shelf.
“It can go in your bedroom,” he insisted, retrieving it again and trying to put it in the cart. “You can put it on a timer and tell Alexa to turn it on to wake you up in the morning.”
