The Geek Who Saved Christmas

“Gideon.” I made my voice stern as I moved closer to the flat section where he was securing the reindeer. “Did you turn the stereo on in our room?”

“We are hanging decorations,” he pointed out, tone all reasonable. “It seemed fitting.”

“It’s not even December first.” I still had a belly full of Thanksgiving leftovers, and we hadn’t seen a single snowflake this fall.

“I wanted a head start.”

“I know.” I groaned, pretending like I hadn’t been equally amenable to the idea of using the unseasonable warmth to get the outside work done. “I’m on the roof because you couldn’t wait. But you’re making me listen to Christmas carols too?”

“Yup.” He gave me the sort of smile that usually ensured he got whatever the heck he wanted, everything from trendy gray cabinetry to butter-colored bathroom walls to me on my back and both of us sweaty. “I’ve already picked a movie out for later while we decorate the trees.”

“There better be explosions. Wait. You said trees. Plural.” I gave him a hard stare.

“Well, yes.” He at least had the grace to look sheepish. “Yours from last year for the front room. My tabletop one for the foyer and—”

“Why, oh, why am I not surprised there’s an and involved?”

“This red foil one for our room fell into my cart. It matches our hunter-green walls. I couldn’t help it.”

“Likely story.” I shook my head, but I couldn’t keep up the fake ire any longer. Even though it had been several months, I still liked the sound of our room too much not to grin. My whole life, I’d never shared a room with another person, never knew how much I wanted to or how complete my life would feel waking up next to him with Jim in her dog bed across the room and the cat hanging out on the window seat. Our room. I could live with any number of trees as long as Gideon never stopped calling it that.

But apparently, he wasn’t done because he gave a sly grin. “And the dining room is so big…”

“Four trees?” I collapsed down next to his perch, setting aside my armful of lights. “I really must love you.”

“You must,” he agreed happily. He seemed to believe me more these days. The more I said it, the more readily he said it back, and the lighter he seemed with fewer questions about whether I really wanted to be here with him. Like I’d prefer being anywhere else. Silly man. I slung an arm around him as he continued, “I’m doing one entirely with a toy theme.”

“Brandon and Elaine aren’t expecting yet.” Not that I asked my brother these things, but I doubted they were even trying, what with Elaine settling into a new job with a full course load at Stanton Anthony and Brandon doing a post-doc in a lab at a different university, supervising research I didn’t entirely understand, but was proud of, nonetheless. They still had a newlywed glow about them, which I loved seeing. I’d seldom been as nervous as I had been making their wedding toast, but I’d only needed to look to Gideon to settle down and make my speech. He’d made the wedding weekend infinitely more tolerable, but of the two of us, he was definitely looking more forward to playing uncles.

“It’s not for them.” Gideon waved his hand far too dismissively for his precarious position up here on the roof. “For you. You like vintage toys.”

Oh. Even now, a year into this thing together, Gideon could still blow me away with his thoughtfulness. He saw things I wasn’t sure anyone else ever had.

“You noticed? Heck, I’m not sure I noticed, but I guess you’re right. I do like the train.”

“Of course, I’m right. And you’ll see. You’ll love this scheme.”

“I love you,” I said to make him beam that much wider. “And yes, I’ll love your trees, plural. But can we compromise on the movie?”

“Sure. Be a Scrooge.” He laughed, but his eyes were twinkling. “Miss the guy from that cop drama you like as a lumberjack fake dating a shopkeeper. A male shopkeeper.”

“All right, all right. Twist my arm. Guess we better support quality content like gay lumberjacks.”

“I knew you’d see it my way.” His voice was so smug that I had to give him a fast kiss, rooftop location be damned.

“I usually do.” I held him closer against me. “After all, you’ve got me doing lights on three houses this year.”

“Ours was a given. And do you trust your brother on a roof?” He pointed in the direction of our old houses. When I’d told Gideon that I wanted to make his dreams for his grandparents’ house come true, I hadn’t been entirely sure what would become of my place. But then Brandon had called, all excited because Elaine got the job, and I’d known. All that work I’d put into the house, all the hours, all the time spent trying not to miss him. It was simply meant to be.

Like Gideon and I. Brandon and I had come to an easy deal on a sale, and now he and Elaine were happily settled in with more photos on the walls than I’d ever thought possible and a steady stream of takeout delivery vehicles in the driveway.

“Brandon? On a roof?” I shuddered at the thought. “He’s one brilliant idea away from disaster. No, you’re right. You and I handling their outside decorations simply makes sense.”

“And the Curry-Williams are new.” He gestured at his old house. “We need to be neighborly. When Shelia said they’d only ever had apartments before this, I had to volunteer.”

“You had to,” I agreed because Gideon’s attachment to our new neighbors was super cute. I knew full well he’d turned down two higher offers simply because he was drawn to the two-mom household with their flock of adopted kids. “The kids deserve some fun lights.”

“They do.” Gideon’s eyes went wide like Jim eyeing a treat.