Page 22 of Unwrapping Love

“Not always,” he said. “The first year West bought this place he wanted to have Christmas here so we were around snow. I might have been in college. Maybe twenty, no older than that. We all flew in and West had the decorations bought and delivered and we set it up as if we were home. It was nice.”

“You only did it once?” she asked.

“Twice. For two years in a row, but my mother said it was way too much work. She loved the holidays and decorating the house we had at that point. West put the decorations in storage. I think maybe he thought we’d do it again. Or now that he has a family, he might want to.”

Rowan pulled out the box the Christmas tree was in. She wished he had a T-shirt on so she could admire his muscles. She was positive he had some under there.

He wasn’t a big guy. Not like a bodybuilder she imagined there were plenty of on the beaches, but he was tall.

Being a surfer, he most likely swam well. She’d bet he wasn’t a gym rat type of guy when it came to working out.

“What do you want me to carry?”

He looked as if he was going to hesitate and then nodded. “That tub there is full of ornaments if you can get it. I don’t think it’s too heavy.”

She moved over and lifted the tub, her arms spread wide. It wasn’t heavy, just bulky. She got it up the stairs behind Rowan with the tree.

“Is there anything else?” she asked.

“There are more decorations down there, but unless you want to go nuts, the tree is fine.”

“No. I think the tree is enough.” He pulled half of it out of the box. “It’s got lights on it already.”

“It does. Hopefully, they still work.”

“It will still be great even if they don’t,” she said, taking the top off the container and sorting the ornaments.

There were glass and wooden ones, some funny, some pretty. A delicate blend that gave it a homey feel. Nothing that was homemade by kids over the years, but rather store bought by a son who wanted to create fresh memories.

Once Rowan assembled the tree, he held out the plug, as if displaying a prize. “Cross your fingers.”

He plugged it in and the white lights flickered to life. “It works,” she said excitedly.

“It does,” he said. “Now we can decorate it.”

“You’re going to have to do the ones up high,” she said. “Unless you’ve got a ladder.”

“I’m sure there is one somewhere,” he said. “There is everything else in this place.”

“I noticed that.”

They’d even opened a bottle of wine that had been in a fridge under the island.

One glass wouldn’t hurt. Nor the Christmas music he’d found on the TV that was playing.

She picked her wine up and took a sip. Whatever she was drinking was better than anything else that touched her lips from a bottle.

She closed her eyes and let out a little sigh.

“Are you trying to torture me?”

She snapped her lids open. “What?”

“What was it you said earlier? You look in a mirror, you know what you see. Or others see. Then add your closed eyes, your lips pursed, and that moan. Jesus.” He was fanning his face comically.

Talk about mortification. “Sorry. No one ever said they see what you’re saying you are.”

“Then they are blind,” he said.