Page 13 of A Love Like Christmas Time
Despite my initial aversion, it was a nice evening. Kieran played with his new dog, while throwing the wildest names for him out there. For example, Droolius Caesar or Barktacus. Then he thought about adding another actor name.
“If he’s Jared Padalecki, it’s the perfect duo,” he’d said. “Then again, Jim Beaver also has a nice ring to it.”
His ideas got wilder and weirder. Admittedly, I’m curious what name he’ll end up with for the poor creature.
Henry and Nic were joking along with him, but Lauren… she got quiet. Appeared lost in her thoughts as she let the two kittens climb all over her, gently running her fingers over their fur.
“Really?” Lauren’s face lights up the tiniest bit. “Oh my God, thank you. I had no idea how I was going to carry all of this.” She points into a corner, and my eyes widen slightly. “Nic lets me borrow some essentials for the kitties until I can order my own stuff. I was going to ask Kieran, but I didn’t think he and Henry would leave earlier. I mean, it’s nice of Henry to offer him a spare dog bed and food to tide him over until after the weekend. There’s no way I can carry all this alone in one trip, though.”
It's a whole mountain of items, from small cans of cat food to toys and a cat bed, blankets, and toys. Then of course the cardboard box as a makeshift pet carrier. She puts on her jacket and scarf, then lets Nic hand her the box, while I reach for the bags containing everything else.
Nic and Lauren say their goodbyes, while I opt to wait outside. The cold air is nice, refreshing, and I take a deep breath, sucking it into my lungs greedily. Fuck, I’m full. And exhausted.
Luckily, Lauren’s house isn’t too far from Nic’s. I remember the way from when I steered her home after our post-autumn fair campfire. Though back then we walked along the lake shore instead of this creepy little path through the forest patches separating their properties.
It sure was a challenge to keep her from running off, while having Kieran flung over my shoulder, praying he wouldn’t throw up. Lauren is much more sober today than she was that evening.
“What the…?” I stammer as her house comes into sight between two particularly weather-beaten trees. “Are you trying to announce the new Messiah? Because at this rate you’ll have three wise men showing up at your house.”
It’s lit up so brightly in the night that I think she’s trying to be seen from space. She has fairy lights strung along her rainwater pipe, hanging down from her roof like icicles. Above that is a thick, cluttered fairy light string. All the trees surrounding her home have fairy lights going up their trunks. I’m ninety percent sure that the only reason that there are no lights in the branches is a lack of a proper ladder, not ambition.
Every window has thick, cluttered lights around its frame, with more icicle fairy lights dangling on the inside.
The only thing that’s missing is a ten - foot snowman in her yard, but knowing her, that’s still in the works.
“Shush,” she says and giggles. It’s good to see her in a more cheerful mood again. “It’s only Christmas decorations.”
I lift an eyebrow at her. “Before Thanksgiving?”
“OnThanksgiving,” she corrects me with a grin. “I put the lights up this morning.”
“You did all of that…” I nod toward it, not sure whether to be in awe or confused, “this morning? And you can’t put bookshelves together?”
“Those are wildly different logistics,” she points out with an eye roll. “One is simple: take a hammer, put some nails in there, hang up the lights, then plug it in. Boom. Finished. The other is more complicated than a ten-thousand pieces puzzle.” She lets out a deep sigh that turns into a white cloud in front of her face. “But I’ll get there. And I’m far from finished with the Christmas decorations.”
The closer we get to her home, the more decorations come into sight. Wreaths on several windows, of course also with lights. Fake candles in her windows. Her entire porch is wrapped in fairy lights and pine garlands.
“What more decorations are you trying to put up?” She opens her mouth to answer, but I shake my head before she can. “You know what? I don’t think I want to know.”
It’s probably a ten-foot snowman.
“You’re not a fan of Christmas, are you?” She studies me with wide eyes, and I shake my head.
“Can’t say I am.” A sharp pain shoots through my ribcage as memories flood my mind.
Breathe, Caleb. I clear my throat and swallow my emotions down.
“Well, you know what?” When I glance at her, there’s a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Maybe I can convert you.”
“I doubt it,” I say gruffly. The time leading up to Christmas holds nothing but bad memories for me. I usually try to ignore it’s happening and pretend Christmas doesn’t exist. Yet my answer only seems to spur her on.
“Never say never.” Her grin widens. “Stranger things have happened than converting a Grinch to a Christmas fan.”
Silence stretches as we reach her porch, and I’m trying to contemplate whether that was a promise or a threat.
“Thank you for helping me.” She walks up the three steps to her porch and sets down the box containing the two cats while she unlocks the door.
“Of course,” I carry the bags into her hallway and set them down where they won’t be in the way.
