“Well, fingers crossed that it’ll taste as good as it smells.”
“I’m not worried about it.” He adjusted the scarf around his throat, and I noticed he was still only wearing a sweater and shirt. It seemed way too cold outside to not have an overcoat. “I have to run back down to the car and get the box. I’ll be right back up.”
He went back out — leaving the front door slightly ajar. I stared at it for a long moment. It couldn’t really be that easy, could it? I could just walk out of here and….
And what? Leaving aside the impracticality of wandering around sub-freezing Flagstaff on Christmas Eve in only a thin sweater and a camisole, was I prepared to do that? Walk out and leave?
I realized I wasn’t. Right now, this was where I wanted to be.
Maybe it was a test. Maybe he wanted to see if I would leave. That seemed more like something Damon would do, though, not Connor.
He came back with a large cardboard box in his hands. I was watching him carefully to see what he would do when he realized the door was open already and I hadn’t bolted, but beyond the slightest lift of his brows and maybe a small shrug, I didn’t notice anything. Once he was inside, he pushed the door shut with his foot, and that was that. No more chances at freedom.
Not that I’d really wanted them.
After setting the box down in the living room, he turned and glanced back at me. “How much time until dinner?”
“A half hour or so.”
He nodded. “Think we can get this decorated by then?”
“Maybe. Some of it, at least. We can always finish up after dinner.”
“Sounds like a plan. Let me get a fire started, too.”
I’d noticed the fireplace, of course, but despite the chilly weather, he never seemed to use it. Now, though, he went over, opened the glass doors, and touched one finger to the wood stacked inside. A spark touched the bottom-most log and spread out quickly. Soon the entire stack was crackling away happily.
So he had that power as well. It was a minor skill, one Adam possessed, too, but I did find myself wondering how many others Connor had up his sleeve, since he seemed to studiously avoid using magic whenever possible.
“I need to get back in the kitchen in about fifteen minutes,” I warned him as I came into the living room.
“That’s fine. We’ll do what we can. I’ll get these lights on at least.”
The box of ornaments was very organized, the white lights wrapped neatly around spools instead of thrown into the box in a jumbled mess the way the ones Sydney’s family used always were. I’d been at their house once or twice for their tree-decorating, mostly because Aunt Rachel never got a tree and I felt like I wanted to participate in the holiday at least a little bit. Also, a plate of her holiday cookies was usually all I needed to bribe my way into the Hodges’ family tree tradition.
Connor plugged the lights in. A whole section was dark, and I shook my head, wondering how long they’d been kept in storage. At least twenty years, probably, if everything had been packed up after his mother died.
“No worries,” he said, and touched the wire connecting the lights. At once the whole thing lit up.
“That’s handy. My friend Sydney’s family would love to have you around when they’re decorating their tree. I swear, every year they have to stop the whole process and have someone run off to Walmart to buy a new set of lights.”
“They probably don’t put them away properly. It looks like my father is the one who boxed all this up. He always was anal about keeping things organized.”
Connor sounded casual enough when he mentioned his father, so I thought maybe I could try asking a question or two. “From what you said about him, he didn’t exactly sound like the Christmas type.”
“He wasn’t. The tree was something my mother wanted. It’s one of my earliest memories, actually…reaching out to try to touch the ornaments on the tree and my father yelling at me about it.” His expression darkened, and I wished I hadn’t said anything. “Since that was before things got bad, I’m guessing I must have been around two. Anyway, all this stuff went into storage after she died. No more Christmas trees in the Wilcox household.”
As he said this, he was studiously looking away from me, intent on winding the lights around the pretty little tree. It wasn’t very big; he stood several inches taller than it did.
“We never had a tree, either,” I said, hurrying in to break the silence. “My aunt was fine with other people in the clan celebrating the holiday if they wanted to, but she always said she certainly wasn’t going to bother, since she wasn’t Christian. I did get one this year, since it was my own house and I could do what I wanted, but….”