Page 29 of Never Kiss a Krampus

“Very well.”

He approached the tree, and suddenly I was watching a Krampus arrange Christmas lights with the focus and intensity of a master craftsman. He wove the strands through the branches with surprising delicacy, his clawed fingers gentle. Within minutes, the tree glowed with perfectly distributed light.

Damn it.“Okay, fine. It looks better your way.”

“I am aware.”

“You don’t need to be so smug about it.”

“I’m merely stating the truth.”

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed an ornament—a red glass ball with golden filigree—and held it up. “Where does this one go?”

He studied the tree, then pointed to a branch on the left side. “There. Third tier, between the lights. It will catch the glow and reflect it outward.”

I hung it where he indicated.

“No. Two inches to the right.”

I adjusted.

“More.”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“Do you want it to look correct or not?”

I moved the ornament two more inches to the right.

“Acceptable.”

We fell into a rhythm after that. I’d select an ornament, he’d tell me where to place it, and I’d either comply or argue about his obsessive attention to detail. Mostly I argued.

“It doesn’t matter if the red ones are evenly distributed!”

“It absolutely matters. Symmetry creates visual harmony.”

“Nobody’s going to notice if this snowflake is half an inch higher.”

“I will notice.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I am correct.”

But despite the bickering—or maybe because of it—I was enjoying myself. There was something comfortable about it, something easy. Like we’d been doing this for years instead ofdays. I reached for the next ornament, a delicate silver star, and realized the best spot for it was near the top of the tree. Too high for me to reach from the ground.

I dragged over the stepladder, an ancient wooden thing that wobbled even on a good day.

“That ladder is a safety hazard,” he observed.

“It’s all I’ve got.”

“I could simply place the ornaments on the higher branches.”

“And miss the chance to criticize my placement technique? I don’t think so.” I climbed onto the first step, testing its stability. It wobbled but held.

Second step. Third. The ladder creaked ominously.