you can decide after I turn them on."
"Actually," she said, putting up a hand as he reached for the switch. "We can't turn on the lights until we decorate the tree."
"Is that a rule?"
"Yes."
"Okay, you're in charge. What's next?"
"Brett can start putting ornaments on the tree. We might need you for the upper part of the tree. Unless you'd like to be done?"
"No, I want to see this thing through to the end."
He stepped to the side as Brett started putting up decorations. "Those are very cool ornaments. Your dad made most of them, didn't he?"
"Yes. He loved his woodshop. He was extremely talented." She took a carved train out of a box. "This one was for me. I loved trains when I was little. When I was nine, my dad took me on a train trip from Colorado to Pennsylvania to visit my grandparents. I was in heaven. We even got to sleep on the train. I thought it was the most exciting trip I'd ever taken. The next Christmas, he made me this ornament."
She ran her fingers around the edge and then she looked up at him. "He's been gone forever," she continued. "But there are days when I still miss him so much. It feels like it was yesterday that he was here, that he was decorating the tree with us. My mom never did it. She was always baking something while we were decorating. When it was done, we'd turn on the lights and eat whatever delicious cookies she'd made." Her voice trailed away as she let out a breath. "I wasn't really expecting to take this trip down memory lane tonight."
"Why didn't your siblings go with you to Pennsylvania?" he asked, wanting to distract her from the sad part of her memories.
"Tyler was only four. He wouldn't have been able to sit still that long. Kelly was fourteen and into her teenage years. She didn't want to leave her friends to visit the old people, as she used to call my grandparents. But I wanted to go, so my dad took me while my mom stayed home with Kelly and Tyler. It was a great trip."
"It sounds like it. I wish I'd gotten to know your dad better."
"He was a wonderful man and a fantastic father. He always made sure to spend time with each of us. With me, it was ice-skating. He was the one who first taught me how to skate and then drove me to practices and competitions. With Kelly, it was all about horseback riding. That was their thing to do together, and with Tyler it was baseball." She smiled. "Sometimes, I wonder how he had time to work."
"He made time for his family," he said shortly, wishing his father had been half the man Hannah's father had been.
"He did," Hannah agreed. "And he'd always tell me that as the middle child, I was the most special, which was a complete lie, but I appreciated the effort. It wasn't always easy to stand out in a line-up of three kids. Kelly had a big personality and Tyler was the cute baby."
He sat down on the couch, propping his legs up on the coffee table. "I think you always stood out, Hannah."
"Probably not in a good way," she said with a self-deprecating smile.
"Well, that's what made you interesting. You were never entirely predictable. And you always had a lot of ideas, especially when it came to revenge."
She grimaced. "I don't think I want to be reminded."
"Remember your old neighbor, Mr. Fordham? You got mad at him because your ball went over the fence, and he wouldn't give it back. He said he'd told you a dozen times not to kick your ball into his yard."
"He was a grumpy, old man, and I think you were the one to kick the ball over the fence," she retorted.
"I was responsible for the ball, but you were the one who painted happy faces all over his stone patio."
"It washed right off, and I thought he should think about smiling more." she said defensively. "But I got grounded for a week."
"Because you didn't realize he had a security camera in his backyard."
"That was a mistake," she conceded. "However, I'm fairly sure I told you my idea beforehand and you loved it."
"I loved you," he said, the words spilling out of his mouth before he could stop them.
She jerked, surprise and wariness filling her pretty brown gaze. "Don't—don't say things like that."
"It's the truth. I didn't actually