Page 28 of Never Kiss a Krampus
He wasn’t wrong. The tree had been beautiful once. When Gran ran the shop, it was always the first thing you saw when you walked in. Covered in lights and ornaments and tinsel, topped with a beautiful vintage star. People would come just to see it, to take pictures with their kids. Now it looked like Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree on a bad day.
“Fine,” I said. “What do you suggest?”
He tilted his head, considering. “You have more ornaments in storage?”
“Some. In the stockroom. But they’re for sale, not for display.”
“Irrelevant. If the shop fails, they will not be sold anyway.” He moved towards the stockroom before I could argue. “Show me what you have.”
“Bossy,” I muttered under my breath as I followed him, but he had a point. What was the use of keeping ornaments pristine and boxed if nobody ever saw them?
Most of the ornaments in the stockroom were older stock, things that hadn’t sold in previous seasons. He sorted through the haphazard collection and began opening boxes, carefully examining the contents.
“These are adequate.” He pulled out a box of glass ornaments in deep reds and golds. “These as well.” Another box, this one filled with delicate snowflakes. “And these.” Tiny silver bells.
“That’s a lot of ornaments.”
“The tree is large. It requires proper adornment.”
He continued sorting, creating a pile of approved decorations and a pile of rejected ones. I watched, fascinated by his intensity.
“You’re very invested in this,” I said.
“The season should be honored properly.”
“Even by humans?”
He paused, a silver bell in one clawed hand. “Especially by humans. You are the ones who need the reminder of light in darkness. Of celebration in the cold. Of joy when everything seems bleak.” He gently set the bell aside. “Your tree should reflect that.”
Something in my chest went warm and soft.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s make the tree beautiful.”
His mouth curved, just slightly. “An acceptable plan.”
We hauled the approved boxes out to the main floor. He had selected enough ornaments to decorate three trees, but I didn’t argue. If we were doing this, we might as well do it right. I plugged in the lights first, checking each strand. Most worked. The ones that didn’t, I replaced with new ones from stock. He watched me work, his tail flicking with what I was sure was impatience.
“You are doing it wrong,” he said.
“I haven’t even started decorating yet!”
“The lights are uneven. The distribution is inefficient.”
I stepped back, looking at the tree. “They look fine to me.”
“They are clustered too heavily on the left side. The right needs three more strands to achieve proper balance.”
Oh my God.“Are you seriously critiquing my light placement?”
“I am offering constructive guidance.”
“You’re being a perfectionist.”
“There is a difference between perfectionism and basic competence.”
I grabbed a strand of lights and threw it at him. He caught it without looking, one eyebrow raised.
“If you’re so concerned about proper balance,” I said, “then you do it.”
