Tic-Tac-Mistletoe - N.R. Walker Page 0,28

snakes and spiders to be tinsel and ornaments . . .”

“God no. I see your point.” I shuddered at the thought. “So, is it true that all the animals there want to kill you?”

“They probably want to, but some can’t. Like their teeth aren’t big enough. But can we just talk about how you guys have bears? Because we don’t have them in Australia, and bears terrify me.”

I burst out laughing. “Well, you’re lucky they’re all asleep right now.”

He looked around at the trees and toward the garage. “Do you have them around here? When they’re not sleeping?”

“I’ve seen a bear like five times in my whole life,” I admitted. “They don’t bother humans too much. They just go about their business.”

He made a face and shook his head. “Not a fan.”

I don’t know why he made me laugh and smile so much, but now he’d mentioned putting up a tree, I wanted to do it more than anything. “Come on, let’s go pick a tree.”

I trudged through the snow toward the far side of the house where the trees were closer. Hamish, of course, took five steps and almost fell twice, so I held out my hand. I had meant for him to pass me his coffee mug, but he slipped his hand into mine like it was the most natural thing in the world. It made my heart thump against my ribs and I almost didn’t have the heart to tell him . . . but he was going to fall. “Oh, I meant for you to give me your cup.”

“Oh!” He barked out a laugh, his blush matching the pink of his hat and coat. But he passed me his now-empty coffee mug, and I set both our cups on the edge of the porch.

But then, because I didn’t want him to be embarrassed, I held out my now-empty hand. Okay, who was I kidding? I reached out for him because now I actually wanted to hold his hand, because it felt really fucking good. He smiled, shy this time, and gave me his hand. For real this time. And together, we trudged toward the trees.

There were quite a few different types of trees on my property; some weren’t Christmas tree-worthy at all. But there were some balsam firs, which were perfect. “Do you want big or small?” he asked. “I mean, we all know the truth about that universal question, but if we’re talking about trees . . . And where do you want to put it?”

I laughed again, scaring some poor bird in a nearby tree. “In the corner away from the fire,” I said. “I’ll move the sofa over a bit.” Then something occurred to me. “It’s not like I have any presents to go underneath it. I gave Mrs Barton her Christmas gift during the week. And don’t tell Chutney, but I got her a big fresh bone as her gift. But it’s in the fridge. I’m not putting that under the tree. I mean, it’s not like she knows it’s actually Christmas.”

“You didn’t buy yourself anything?” he asked.

“No, why would I do that?”

“I dunno. So you have something to unwrap.”

“But I’d know what it is.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he replied simply.

“Did you buy yourself something?”

“Yep. A plane ticket to a new life in America.” He grinned. “Okay, so I didn’t get myself anything this year because I was travelling and everything. But for the last few years, sure I did. When Liv was gone and it was just me. And the best part is that I know exactly what I need and really wanted. Like my Gucci boots. Best gift I ever got.”

I laughed again and squeezed his hand. “Well, next year I’ll have to get myself something.”

“If that market place is still open when we go back for my car, I’m totally buying you something.”

“From the Home Market?” I asked, trying not to laugh. “About all you’re gonna get from there the day before Christmas Eve is a can of beans. If you want to wrap up a can of beans for me, you can just take one from my cupboard. Save you the trip.”

He grinned. “Economical and practical. I like it. But are we talking green beans or legume-type beans, like cannellini or a black bean? Because I think you’re worth more than a can of those.”

I barked out a laugh. “I’m glad to hear that. Pray tell, what kind of bean am I?”

“Oh, you’re the good stuff. Like edamame.”

“Like what?”

“Edamame.