Page 83 of Stuck with the Hero Next Door

“It’s fine,” Levi called from somewhere behind my couch, where he was attempting to untangle what appeared to be seventeen different extension cords. “It’s...architecturally interesting.”

“That’s what people say when something’s crooked.”

“That’s what people say when something has character.”

I paused in my light-hanging efforts to look down at him, taking in the sight of Montana’s most patient man surrounded by a nest of electrical cords and wearing an expression as if he were trying to solve advanced calculus.

“Are you calling my Christmas decorating skills ‘character’?”

He grinned up at me, that smile that had become as essential to my daily routine as coffee or chocolate. “I’m calling your Christmas decorating skills enthusiastic.”

“Enthusiastic,” I repeated, testing the word. “I can live with enthusiastic.”

The truth was, I’d gone a little overboard with the Christmas decorations this year. My guest house, which usually tended toward understated coziness, had been transformed into something that would make Santa’s workshop look minimalist by comparison. Garland draped every available surface, lights twinkled from every corner, and I’d somehow accumulated enough donated holiday decorations to stock a small Christmas store.

But this was my first Christmas in Everwood and my first Christmas with Levi. This was our first Christmas together, and I wanted it to be perfect. Or at least memorably over-the-top.

“Hand me that other string of lights?” I asked, pointing toward the box that had somehow multiplied its contents since we started this project two hours ago.

Levi emerged from his cord-wrestling with what appeared to be victory, considering all the lamps in my living room just turned on simultaneously. He passed me the lights, laughing at my logic of holiday decorating.

“These are the ones that blink, right?”

“Everything blinks. That’s the point of Christmas lights.”

“All of them? At the same time?”

I paused to consider this, realizing I may have overlooked the visual impact of seventeen different strands of blinking lights all operating on their own schedules.

“It’ll be festive,” I decided.

“It’ll be a disco ball.”

“Even better.”

He laughed, shaking his head in the fond way that suggested he’d learned to embrace my particular brand of holiday enthusiasm. “Whatever makes you happy.”

The words were casual. Whatever makes you happy. Such a simple concept, but what made me happy was this: decorating my apartment with someone who thought my slightly excessive approach to holiday cheer was charming rather than ridiculous. What made me happy was having a place that was truly mine to fill with light and warmth and joyful chaos.

What made me happy was the man standing in my living room, holding Christmas lights and looking at me as though I’d invented something wonderful instead of just tangled myself in tinsel.

“Careful up there,” he said as I stretched to reach the far corner of the window frame. “The stepladder’s built for reaching things, though probably reaching things more carefully.”

“I’m being careful,” I protested, though I was definitely leaning farther than the ladder manufacturer probably intended.

Before I could argue further, there was a knock at my door. The, we’re-coming-in-whether-you’re-ready-or-not knock that usually meant Janet had arrived with reinforcements.

“Come in!” I called, keeping my balance on the ladder.

The door opened to reveal Janet, but also what appeared to be a small parade of Everwood’s most notorious holiday enthusiasts. Janet led the procession, carrying a casserole dish and an expression that suggested successful scheming. Behind her came Kathy with an armload of wrapped packages, followed by Dot from the bakery with a tray of something that smelled of cinnamon and butter and Christmas morning.

“Oh, good,” Janet said, surveying the controlled chaos of my living room. “You’ve started without us.”

“Started what?” I asked, though I was beginning to suspect I knew the answer.

“The Christmas decorating party,” Kathy said, setting her packages on my kitchen table as though she was claiming territory. “You didn’t think we were going to let you do this all by yourself, did you?”

“I had help,” I protested, gesturing toward Levi.