Page 25 of Cross Check Christmas
Daisy's laugh crackles through the speaker. "Don't count your victory cookies before they're baked, honey."
"Oh please, where's he going to stay? The man's too proud to crash on someone's couch. Sometimes the stars align and?—"
The words die in my throat as I turn onto Peppertree Lane. My modest craftsman home looks like Santa's workshop exploded all over it. Garland drapes every conceivable surface. Twinkling lights outline each window, the porch, and…good lord. Is that an inflatable snow globe on my lawn?
A familiar figure descends my ladder, toolbelt slung low on his hips. Hendrix Ellis, wearing a Santa hat and hanging what appears to be a life-sized mechanical reindeer.
"Oh. My. Gawd." I kill the engine.
"What? What's happening?"
"I'll call you back," I choke out, scrambling from my car and slamming the door.
Hendrix turns at the sound, and his signature troublemaker grin spreads across his face.
"Welcome home, Professor!" He gestures proudly at my house. "Like what I've done with the place?"
"What. Are. You. Doing?" Each word comes out as its own sentence.
"Spreading Christmas cheer. Grannie mentioned you needed help with decorations this year."
"I absolutely did not—" I stop, noticing the mistletoe. It's everywhere. Hanging from my porch, my doorway, even from the branches of my maple tree. "Are you trying to turn my house into some kind of kissing booth?"
He winks. "Just keeping with tradition. Though if you're offering..."
"Get off my lawn."
"Can't. Grannie's orders. And you know how she gets about her Christmas decorations competition. Which do you prefer—musical lights that play 'Jingle Bells' or the ones that flash in sequence?"
"Neither!
"Don't worry, I'll make sure your house wins the decoration contest this year. Gotta keep up with the Joneses. Though technically, I think you're trying to keep up with the Patels. Have you seen their light display? It's visible from space."
I stomp up my walkway, ducking under a string of twinkling icicle lights, trying not to stare at the way his thermal shirt clings to his shoulders. "Take it down. All of it. Now."
"Come on, Prof. Your house was the only dark spot on the street. Like… a missing tooth in Santa's smile."
"My house was tastefully minimalistic.”
"Your house was giving Scrooge vibes." He adjusts a wreath that's bigger than my front door. "Besides, look how the whitelights bring out the trim work. And that vintage sleigh? Perfect for your porch."
I hate that he's right. The lights cascade in perfect symmetry, each ornament positioned with surprising attention to detail. The garland frames my windows in elegant swoops, and—no, I will not admit how gorgeous it looks. I'd rather eat coal.
"The mechanical reindeer has to go." I point at Rudolf, whose nose blinks with metronomic precision. "And the mistletoe."
“The mistletoe is the best part." He steps closer, eyes twinkling, and it’s not lost on me that we’re standing directly under a particularly large sprig. "I heard it’s a great way to improve your chances of getting kissed."
"Ugh! Why are you so insufferable?"
"Why are you still single?"
I back away as he advances, but my heel hits the bottom step of my porch and I feel myself going down.
I flail my arms like that will help at all, but gravity has other plans. My feet slip on the icy step, and my heart leaps into my throat?—
Strong arms wrap around my waist, and I find myself pressed against a chest that smells like pine trees and winter air.
My hands grip his biceps—purely for stability purposes, of course. Not because they feel like steel cables under my fingers.
