Page 16 of Tinsel & Timber
“This,” Juni continues, flipping the binder open with enthusiasm, “is our how-to guide for new participants! Safety tips, traffic flow suggestions, candle alternatives, recommended cleaning products?—”
“Absolutely not,” Graham tries again.
“—and,” she continues, completely ignoring him, “a section about ‘How to Prepare for Tours When Your House Is Still Under Construction!’”
“I’m sorry,” I say gently. “It’s too much too fast. I’m still figuring out where the light switches are.”
“You’ll be perfect,” Juni says, and the certainty in her voice is so strong it might actually rearrange molecular structure. “The town will help. Volunteers. Decorations. Warm cider on the porch. A gentle rope barrier so people don’t wander into any of the unfinished rooms.”
“Juni,” Graham says through clenched teeth, “for once in your life, take no for an answer.”
She pats his arm. “Oh, sweetheart. She didn’t say no. She said ‘I’m new and overwhelmed and please convince me.’”
“That is absolutely not what I said,” I argue.
But God help me, the tiniest part of meistempted.
Juni turns to me with big hopeful eyes. “Will you at least think about it? Sleep on it? Maybe ask a certain historian for help prepping? He’s very good at candlelight setups.”
Graham shuts his eyes like he’s making a wish to be spirited away.
I sigh. “I’ll… think about it.”
Juni squeals like I just accepted a marriage proposal. “Wonderful! I’ll be back tomorrow with sample décor!”
Then she spins, waves, and practically skips down the walk.
The second she vanishes from view, I turn to Graham.
“Does she always come on that strong?”
“Yes,” he says grimly. “And that was her subtle version.”
I snort a laugh. “Well… at least she’s enthusiastic.”
“She’s a menace.”
“A festive menace.”
He rubs his forehead. “Please don’t do the tour. Not this year. Not when the floorboards in the back hall are one splinter away from sending someone to the ER.”
“I said I’d think about it,” I remind him.
He gives me a look that is pure tortured historian.
And maybe something else.
Concern.
Protectiveness.
Affection he refuses to name.
I grin up at him. “Besides, if I do agree, you’ll help me, won’t you?”
His breath hitches almost imperceptibly. “Mara…”
I step closer.
