Page 16 of Christmas in Vines

“Whiskey?” I accused her. “Naughty girl.”

She blushed, and her words were breathless. “It’s a cold night. I wanted something to warm me up.”

“Give me a chance, and I’ll warm you up even better than whiskey.” I teased her.

“You’re confident in that?” she replied.

“Get me in bed, and we’ll find out,” I gave her a grin.

Eyeing her while I drove out, I tried to let the air between us simmer instead of smolder. “I saw your uncle and McDouche’s dad today in the warehouse. Are those two friends?”

“Oh, yeah,” she shrugged. “That was my fault. When we met, I mentioned my dad’s business. Max invited his dad to one of our Thanksgiving dinners, and my uncle Herman took a shine to him. They’ve got a few business dealings going on between them.”

Well, that cleared up that silly suspicion.

I felt foolish thinking the two were conspiring to undermine Willow. I asked her about her family’s cider, and she told me about their flavors. “But we do limited flavors for the seasons, Christmas, Summer and Fall. You can probably guess we go pumpkin for fall, traditional Christmas spices, and fruity for summer.”

That was how Ethan and the Vega Meadery did for the seasons, too. It was a simple, all-around, general idea that most breweries followed.

We got to the town green and saw the long ladders being set up and the many, many boxes of ornaments scattered on the ground. I turned to her, “Are you going to help me with the ornaments?”

“Sure,” she replied.

I eyed the scene again. “Into the Valley of Death rode the six hundred.”

Willow slapped my arm. “Stop it. You’ll be fine.”

Thirty-five minutes later, while I was precariously perched on the ladder, tangled with fairy lights like a trussed up chicken, on the brink of losing my footing, tumbling over and breaking such neck we’d talked about earlier—I realized I was nowherecloseto fine.

“Mayday!” I shouted down to Willow. “Mayday! If I die—”

She held the ladder. “Calm down, take some breaths and slowly untie that length from your hand, slip it under the knot around your neck and undo the twist on your waist. Don’t panic.”

Easy for her to say; she wasn’t ten feet off the ground and had her life flash across her eyes.

“Do it,” she encouraged me. “You have a lot more of Christmas to experience, remember.”

“Bribery?” I glared down. “That’s your solution to my impending death?”

Willow rolled her eyes. “Just do it.”

I summoned the will—somehow—and managed to get the fairy light off me and unto the tree before I climbed down on numb feet. “I am not doing that again.”

She turned to me and reached up. I hoped to pull my head down for a kiss but then she plucked tinsel from my hair. “Silver might be your color.”

“From bribery to flattery,” I mock-scowled. “What’s next?”

She smiled innocently. “Hot chocolate and s’mores?”

* * *

There was a bonfire at the far end of the green, and while I sipped hot chocolate, Willow was toasting marshmallows in the fire. I kept an eye on the rest of the guys decorating the tree before turning to Willow. The firelight cast a golden glow across her face, and I took a mental snapshot of the moment.

“…You’re staring again,” she murmured while inspecting the marshmallow.

“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?” I asked rhetorically. “How do you take your marshmallows?”

“Goopy,” she replied, twisting the stick. “A blob of thick, white sweetness.”

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