Page 35 of The Christmas Arrangement

When I sip the cider, it tastes like apples and cinnamon and everything I never had.

Chapter 15

Two (Secret) Weddings and a Roman Shade

Ivy

* * *

The family room glows with firelight and the soft twinkle of the white lights strung on the seven-foot blue spruce that Dash cut down this afternoon. The tree I wanted stands in front of the mullioned windows, and boxes of ornaments cover every surface—the coffee table, the side tables, even the ottomans. Fuzzy blankets drape over the backs of chairs and the arms of sofas. Wicker baskets full of books and board games compete for space with fragrant candles and more than a dozen whimsical nutcrackers. It’s cozy. It’s inviting. It feels like home. I wonder what it feels like to Jack and Dash.

Noelle passes around pink Negronis in rocks glasses garnished with orange slices. Holly opts for glass of sparkling mineral water instead and settles onto the loveseat beside Jack.

Dash stands near the tree, holding a delicate glass ball painted to look like a cardinal. “Where does this one go?”

“Anywhere you want,” I tell him. “There’s no wrong place.”

He studies the tree with the intensity of someone defusing a bomb, then carefully hangs the ornament on a branch at eye level.

Merry snorts. “You put all the pretty ones at eye level. Ivy’s going to move them around after you go to bed.”

“I will not,” I protest.

“You absolutely will,” Holly agrees. “She has a system,” she adds approvingly to Jack and Dash.

“There’s no system,” I insist, even though there definitely is. Ornaments should be distributed by color, size, and sentimental value to create visual balance. This is basic decorating.

Dash grins at me. “Should I be taking notes?”

“Ignore them. You’re doing great.”

And he is. Watching him handle each ornament with care, asking about the stories behind them, laughing at Merry’s chaotic hanging style—he fits here. Like he’s always been part of our weird, loud family.

Dad hands him a wooden ornament carved to look like a stack of books. “Carol made this one the year Noelle came to back to town for good to run the library. She loved that her best friend was back.”

Dash turns it over in his hands, studying the detail. “She was talented.”

“She was,” Dad agrees quietly.

The moment stretches, comfortable and sad at once, until Merry breaks it by hanging three ornaments on the same branch.

“Structural integrity, Mer,” Holly calls.

“I’m creating a vignette.”

“You’re creating a problem,” I tell her.

I catch Dash’s eye and he mouths, “Vignette?”

I shrug. With Merry, who knows?

An hour later, the tree is decorated. We settle in. Dad and Noelle in their usual spot on the sofa, Merry curled up in the wingback chair, Holly and Jack snuggling on the loveseat. Dash and I share an oversized ottoman, several careful inches of space between us.

Dad raises his glass. “Before we call it a night, how about three things? Since we didn’t eat dinner together.”

“Yes!” Merry bounces in her seat.

The ritual is so familiar, so comforting, so integral to who I am, who we all are. This feeling of belonging what I wanted for Dash when I insisted he join us tonight.