Page 16 of A Newport Christmess

“Slightly less demanding?” I shut the door. “And here I thought we decided to be nice to each other.”

“We decided to thwart Nikki’s match-making. I’m pretty sure being nice to each other is counterproductive to achieving that goal.”

I followed him with careful steps to prevent the fallen pine needles from sticking to my socks. “Well, that’s a huge relief. After our last chat, I was wondering how I’d cope with being deprived of your churlish behavior toward me. It seems I worried in vain.”

He settled the tree at the end of the sectional, keeping his attention from drifting to me. “It seems so, but I admire your antiquated word choice.”

A witty, Jane-Austen-worthy reply would have been perfect, but I had nothing. Instead, I pointed at the trunk. “It needs a stand if you intend for it to stay up.”

He drew in a slow breath, his chest broadening with the intake of air. “I’m well aware. Thank you.”

“Well then, I’ll let you get back to it.”

He finally locked eyes with me. “I left the stand in my truck.”

“Oh. That’s unfortunate.” I took a step backward, entirely ready for him to beg. “Too bad we aren’t being nice to each other, or I’d offer to hold the tree while you get it.”

His brows went up, and his gaze trailed down my body—not in a way that made me blush, but in a way that made me stretch my neck a little taller. I knew exactly what he was thinking.

“I’m stronger than I look.”

His slight smirk was full of condescension. “I’ll just lay the tree on the floor.”

I stepped forward again, chin lifted. “I can hold it.” Before he could refuse my offer, I pressed myself into the branches and reached my arms into the thick boughs to find the trunk. With how the pine needles pricked at my bare skin, it was a good thing that my sleeves were mostly impenetrable and that I had safely secured my mass of curls in a messy bun. After one more hearty thrust into the unyielding limbs, I gripped the trunk with both hands. Widening my stance, I anchored through my legs. “Got it. You can let go.”

“Are you sure?”

Two-thirds of the tree was situated above my hands, but the excessive doubt in Landon’s tone ignited my determination. “Absolutely.”

He removed one hand, surveying my hold. “Because I’d meant for you to grab the stand, not hold the tree.”

Darn. That would have been an easier solution, but now I had a point to prove. “I’ve got it. Go.”

Slowly, he released his other hand, though he didn’t lower either of them. Instead, he kept them outstretched with his fingers splayed, like he expected the tree to come crashing down without his support.

When it didn’t, I shot him a self-satisfied smile, though the strange angle I held my head at to avoid getting a mouthful of pine needles probably canceled out the effectiveness. “Small but mighty.”

He assessed the tree again, then finally lowered his arms. “I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t hurry on my account,” I called to the sound of his retreating footsteps. Yet, despite my assurances, stabilizing the tree was more difficult for me than I’d admit. I was growing all too aware that the slightest movement could off-center the weight, and once that happened, there was no possible way I’d be able to keep it upright. So I just couldn’t let that happen. I was a statue—an unmoving, arm-aching, determined statue. I refused to lose face in front of a man who thought me incapable—at least this particular man.

If only the spot on my cheek where the pine needles pressed didn’t itch so terribly. Carefully, I lifted my chin and turned my head farther away from the assaulting branch. It slipped to my neck, which gave temporary relief, but after a minute, the itch started there and then intensified. My ears became unnervingly tuned to the void of sound in the stairwell. What was taking Landon so long?

The unbearable sensation was now radiating from my neck, back into my cheek, and down my arms into my hands. A moan escaped me, and I felt an irrational desire to let the tree fall and satiate the itch or scratch my skin off in the attempt. But I wouldn’t do it. I could wait a few more minutes.

When footsteps finally sounded on the stairs, my breath came a little easier.

“You still good?” Landon asked from behind.

Besides how my skin screamed at me and how I was one slight movement away from the tree toppling? “Oh, yeah. Great, even.”

“That was convincing.” He kneeled down and placed the stand on the floor. “If I lift the tree, do you think you can help guide the trunk into place? Or have I maxed out your charity for today?” He stood and took hold of the tree with one hand, much higher than I held it, but his muscular arm was regrettably at eye-level. He flexed when the weight of the tree shifted to him, and it took me a huge heap of self-control to look away from the defined triceps peeking out of the bottom of his snugly fit sleeve.

I relinquished my hold and squatted down, rubbing my neck and cheek inconspicuously. Sweet relief. “Considering our current understanding to not be nice to each other, and the fact that you brought a tree when I told you not to, I feel it’s important to say I’m only helping because I’m indebted to you for letting me stay here.” It wasn’t exactly true, but there was no reason for him to think otherwise. Besides, with my itch intensifying again, I wasn’t feeling very generous.

“Fair enough.”

I wiggled beneath the branches, doing my best to keep my messy bun from getting stuck. “Okay,” I called. “I’m ready.” The tree lifted, and I took hold of the trunk, easing it toward the middle of the stand. “It’s centered. Lower it.”