Page 25 of Just My Puck
“A few basics, but most of these bags are filled with Christmas cheer.”
I frown in confusion, and she fights back a laugh.
“I thought this place could use some Christmas ambiance,” she says, pulling a wreath from one of the bags.
“Ohh, I see.” I cross my arms with a smirk. “You’re redecorating already.”
She laughs, her cheeks tinged pink. “I just thought it’d be nice. I figured, since you didn’t have time to decorate, I could do it for you.”
Her offer stirs something in my chest. “I was just kidding, and thank you. That’s incredibly thoughtful. Christmas is my favorite holiday, actually. But decorating when I’m alone and only here half the time never felt worth the hassle.”
“I think I like Christmas too,” she muses, her single eye lighting up. “Every time I look at garlands or lights, I get this warm, fuzzy feeling. It was probably a time of joy for me as well.”
“That’s great. Show me what else you got.”
She unpacks the rest of the decorations, and I genuinely love everything she picked. None of the items are over the top or too big, and they’ll bring a festive touch to this home.
“Oh, careful,” I say as she clumsily yanks a box out of a bag. “Don’t poke the other eye, now.”
“Thank ye, matey,” she says with a mischievous grin, slipping into her pirate voice before bursting into giggles.
“Anytime, ye scallywag,” I say with a wink, triggering even more laughter.
“Good one.” Gesturing to the piles of holiday decor, she continues, “I’ll put all of this away and work on decorating tomorrow after my therapist appointment.”
“Why don’t we do it together right now?” I offer, dusting glitter off my sweatshirt. “We have some down time before dinner.”
Her eye sparkles brighter than ever. “I’d love that.”
After a few finishing touches, the place looks a lot better—cozy, inviting, with just the right sprinkling of holiday cheer. The mantel now sports an evergreen garland, there’s a large wreath on one wall, lights wrap around the stair railing, and there’s even a cute snowman centerpiece on the living room table. The soft glow of Christmas lights makes everything feel warmer, more homey. And for the first time since I moved in, the house doesn’t feel so empty.
“We did a great job,” Aria declares while admiring the space, a hand on her hip. “It looks like Christmas now. Even with no tree.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Do you want to get a tree?”
“Nah.” She scratches her small nose. “I don’t think anything is missing. It’s perfect like this.”
“Agreed.” I stretch my arms over my head. “I’m going to order some pizza. What do you want?”
“Um. I don’t know,” she mumbles, looking away. I know her mind is back on her memory loss, and I’m the genius who brought it up.
“Tell you what. I’ll ask for a sampling of flavors. I like to have options too,” I lie. I always order the exact same pizza, every time. But it’s good to try new things.
With a nod of agreement, Aria goes upstairs to put her things away while I make a few phone calls.
Before long, the doorbell rings with our pizza delivery. The guy peeks at us from behind a mountain of pizza boxes, looking surprised to see such a quiet house. I guess ten pizzas was a little overboard, but . . .options.
“Whoa,” Aria says when I return to the kitchen, balancing the boxes. “I had a feeling hockey players were big on food, but that’s a lot of pizza.”
I chuckle. “This way you can try them all and decide which one you like. Plus, this is good stuff. Real Italian pizza. My friend Elio validated it when he was visiting.”
“Is he a hockey player too?” she asks, grabbing a stack of napkins before sitting across from me.
“Actually, he’s a Formula 1 driver. I don’t see him often, though. He lives in Italy.”
“Really? Have you ever been there?”
As we dig into the pizza, we chat about Italy and the other places I’ve visited, and the melancholy in her eye returns, but only for a second. Thankfully, the delicious pizza takes over, and it’s all so good, she has a hard time choosing her favorite toppings.
