Page 39 of My Not-So-Secret Santa

I have my arm propped on the top of the ladder and my chin resting on my hand, but I’m not looking at the lions.I’m looking at her.Her intelligence and passion and beauty.Sometimes time stops when I watch her, wishing she’d look at me with the same intensity.The way she looked at fuckingLuke.Who, again, is me.I cannot emphasize enough how fucked-up this whole situation is.

Santa must’ve heard my wish because when she turns around, her eyes catch mine, and we both freeze.Her liquid brown eyes devour my face, and I’m pinned in place on the ladder, wishing I could kiss her.Touch her.Knowing that I can’t do any of that until I tell her the truth about my alter ego, and that when I do, it’s going to shatter what we have now.

“Liv.”My whole body tenses with what I need to say, but she’s already turning away with a little laugh, breaking the moment and giving me a reprieve.

“Phew.Anyway.”She walks back to the ladder and scoops the next ornament off the ground.“Whatever you take from a piece of art is the correct interpretation.It's different for everyone.”

Because I’m a coward, I push my confession aside for now.“Could you do better?”

It’s not a challenge.It’s a genuine question, and she considers it before answering.

“Yes and no,” she says.We’ve moved on to the last of the ornaments now, and our curving path has expanded to cover as much of the dining area as we can cover with the ornaments.“I could do it properly, but I don’t know if I could capture the same emotion.”She glances at those lions again.“Are they fighting or fucking?Or both?I love that you can’t quite tell.But it would be fun to try.”

“You should,” I say.

She laughs.“I’m rusty.That ice cream ad was a one-off.Not a lot of calls for original art like that in the ad campaigns I design.I’m mostly there to curate the tone of the set decorations and wardrobe.”

“Sounds interesting,” I say as I climb down to reposition the ladder.Thank god I have thighs of steel or I’d be feeling all the up and down tomorrow.

“Eh,” she says.“Someday I’ll be the boss, and all my ads’ll have original art.”

I grab the last ornament’s ribbon between my teeth as I figure out the best spot on the metal frame to hang it.“'Zat the kinda thing you could do in a town this size?”

“Depends,” she says.“You can do a lot of planning remotely, but I’d have to travel if I wanted to be there for actual shoots.Why?You know a kick-ass Beaucoeur marketing firm that’s hiring?”

“Yeah, I’ve got all kinds of connections to the corporate world around here.”With that, I place the final ornament and hop off the ladder.“What do you think?”

She comes to stand next to me.“We need one more string of lights on the garland over the waiting area.”

She’s right.“I think there’s another in one of those boxes.Hang on.”I amble over to paw through the unused supplies, and when I turn around, my heart stutters to a halt.

Liv’s on the ladder, stretching up to fix an ornament that’s gotten tangled around its ribbon.I race over to her, and she gives an undignified squawk when I wrap my arms around her waist and swing her to the ground.

“What do you think you’re doing?”I snap.

“Fixing the orna?—”

“If anybody’s breaking their neck falling off a ladder, it’s the server, not the art genius.”She doesn’t say anything as I adjust the problematic ornament and clamber back down.I try to slide past her, but she grabs my hand.

“Why do you do that?”she asks quietly.

“Do what?”My voice is flat, and I avoid her eyes.

“Put yourself down.I hate it.”

I pull my hand out of hers and mutter, “I didn’t say anything that isn’t true.”

“You need a new mirror,” she says.“You’re clearly not seeing what I’m seeing.”

“I know how I look.”

I also know she didn’t mean my pretty face, but I can’t let myself think too hard about her high opinion of me.It makes me want things I shouldn’t want and believe things I know aren’t true.

I grab the ladder and stalk off to hang the final string of lights.She watches me in silence for a bit, then starts to box up the decorations that we ended up not using.I collect them from her and carry them back down to the basement.

When I come back to the dining room carrying our coats, I find that she’s flipped off the overhead lights.The sun set while we were working, and the only illumination is the lights we just hung.They gleam softly off the ornament path we built on the ceiling.

“It’s gorgeous.”Her voice is barely above a whisper, and I walk over to her.

---