Page 5 of The Bright Side of Christmas
Maybe tomorrow, inspiration will hit.
THREE
The next morning, I open my front door to head out for my run, and Wren is standing on my front porch, hand raised as if to knock, her face a mask of shock. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, uh, hi! I was just about to knock,” she says with a friendly but nervous giggle. She’s in a jacket this morning, the bottom of a burgundy dress poking out beneath the hem of it, with thick dark tights covering her legs and a pair of low-heeled shoes on her feet. With the flouncy bow she always seems to wear in her hair, she looks sweet and innocent.
“What are you doing?” I ask. That’s when my eyes drift to what’s in her hand: a green wreath with a cheery, bright red bow that matches the one in her hair.
“Oh, I was going to bring this to you! It’s from my parents’ place—they own Three Kings Christmas Tree Farm.”
I stare at her and don’t say anything. She bites her lip, the white of her teeth denting her pretty pink lips. My mind trails off, thinking of reaching up to pull that bottom lip free with my thumb before I knock myself back into reality. A reality where I don’t note how plush and pink my neighbor’s lips look.
“Why?”
She blinks at me. “I’m sorry?”
“Why are you bringing that to me?” There’s another moment of hesitation before she tips her head to the side.
“Well…you don’t have any decorations. I thought I’d make it easier and bring you one.” She tips her chin to my door like I’m an idiot. “You already have a nail in the door, so I just gotta…” She reaches to hang it up, and I step in front of where she’s looking. Her jaw goes tight, the sweetness leaving her face.
Unfortunately for me, the cutedoesn’tleave her face. In fact, the pout actually makes the cute more prominent.
“I’m not hanging that up,” I insist. She puts one hand on her hip and glares up at me. Up because she’s a short thing, I’m six-two, and she can't be taller than five-two.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to. I don’t want any decorations.”
She rolls her eyes and sighs as if I’m being dramatic.
“It’s just a wreath, Adam.” I like the way my name sounds on her lips, but I ignore that, too.
“I told you—I don’t like Christmas. I don’t like decorations.”
“And that’s why I’m here. I’ll do it for you. We can’t have you being the only house on the street with no lights. It’s tradition. This street has been fully lit every year for sixty years.” With the way she’s speaking, I have to wonder if she’s ever been told no, if anyone can ever ignore her cuteness and turn her down. I suppose I’ll be the first.
If she were asking me about anything else, I might fall for it. But unfortunately for her, my undying hatred for Christmas and the feeling of failure it brings is stronger than her sweetness.
“I’m not decorating, Wren. Might as well get used to that now.”
Her jaw goes tight, and she assesses me before she surprises me by smiling wide as she takes a step back. “Oh, you’ll be decorating. You can mark my word.”
I choke back a laugh at her determination. “Good luck with that.”
She shakes her head, eyes sparkling. “I don’t need luck. Not when I have Christmas spirit.” She can’t be real. It’s like she’s the star of some shitty made-for-TV Christmas movie with all that outlandish sass and cheer. I lost the battle to my laugh and let out a scoff, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. Instead, she just shrugs. “You’ll see.”
Then she turns on her heel and makes her way down my front walkway, turning right down the sidewalk, then back up hers. Once she’s inside, I close the door to my own home, groaning as I rub a hand over my face despite the fact that I was about to go on a run.
I am so fucked.
Not because she’s clearly determined to be a pain in my ass, and I came here to find peace and quiet. No. No, I am completely fucked because I can’t deny that when she walked away with a bit of extra sway to her steps, I watched her ass move with each and every swish of her hips.
The following morning, I open my door to take my morning run. While I don’t see Wren on my front step, a knocking sound has my steps faltering. I turn in confusion, trying to find the source, but I don’t have to look far. It’s a wreath on my door, hanging from a nail that I should have removed but didn’t. With dark green pine branches and a giant red bow, it isn’t anything extravagant, but it’s still a Christmas decoration.
It confuses me.
Mostly because I did not put it there.
