Page 57 of Rekindled Love

“Who died and made you Tree King?” Kyleigh asked.

“Military training. And the fact that this is taller than both of us. Y’all want it to look nice or like a crime scene?” I challenged.

“Nice,” the girls said together.

“Crime scene,” she said under her breath.

I ignored her. I started stringing lights, moving in wide circles, stepping on and off a low ladder Mr. Benton brought out of nowhere. The girls tried to hand me things and almost tripped me twice. Max yipped a warning. I looked down at them and sighed.

“Back up some, little mamas. I like y’all lives.”

They scooted back and sat crisscross applesauce, separating hooks and arguing over which ornaments were “iconic.”

“This donut is iconic,” Aziza said.

“This dinosaur is,” Zoriah countered. “He holy.”

Kyleigh sighed. “He is not holy. He is ridiculous.”

“He’s both. Like Uncle Jay,” Zoriah insisted.

I would’ve been offended if I hadn’t heard the admiration in her voice. I finished the last loop of lights and stepped back. Warm white wrapped the tree, making the room glow soft and gold.

“That’s… actually beautiful,” Kyleigh admitted.

I smirked. “You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

“You gon’ keep wounding me in front of my child?”

Aziza smirked. “You doing a good job, Daddy.”

I froze.Daddy. My eyes flitted to Kyleigh’s. They were warm, understanding. It was the first time Aziza had called me that, and she did it so casually.

“Thank you, baby,” I managed to get out.

We hit the ornaments next. Kyleigh and I both went for the same box of glass balls and our fingers brushed. Heat shot up my arm way out of proportion to the contact. Her eyes jumped to mine. For a second we were seventeen again, sneaking kisses behind Mrs. Amanda’s tree.

She snatched her hand back like I was hot. Maybe I was.

“These go up high. Far away from little hands,” she directed, trying to sound all cool and brisk.

I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

I put the glass ones higher as she handed them to me. She was beautiful as she concentrated. She’d taken a moment to change into some kind of casual dress that hugged every curve on her body. I was what my Uncle Brady used to call “jealous than a muhfucka” of that material. We let the girls go wild on the lower branches with donuts, dinosaurs, reindeer, glittery music notes, and one highly unnecessary flamingo in a Santa hat that Ola Kate shoved in the basket just to start mess. Max was their faithful assistant, damp nose in everything, whole body wagging along with his tail.

“Why is there a flamingo?” I asked.

“Because he festive,” Zoriah said, like that answered everything.

Aziza nodded. “He from Florida.”

“Y’all don’t know a damn thing about geography,” I said, hanging him anyway.

“I know enough. I know Emancipation is in Louisiana and the hill is dramatic,” Aziza argued.

Kyleigh sputtered. “Who told you my hill is dramatic?”