The Holiday List (The Script Club 4)

“I like it,” I commented. “Are there any bare patches on the other side?”

Sam made a production of turning the tree from the tip for my inspection. I pretended to give it a thorough once-over while clandestinely studying my lover.

He’d been given a clean bill of health from his doctor shortly after we returned from the mountains, along with the sage advice to stay out of the way of three-hundred-pound linebackers. That wasn’t in the cards. He was scheduled to work his first game this coming weekend, and he couldn’t wait to get on the field. Thankfully, it was in LA, so there was no traveling involved.

I had a standing invitation to watch the game in person, but I’d promised to help my roommates procure their tree as well. I’d put off decorating for the Script Club and hadn’t attended any Sunday meetings in a few weeks. I had unkept promises to fulfill and if Sam was going to be busy, Sunday was a good day to play catch-up.

So…yes, about that. I spent all my free time with Sam. Or Sam and Lincoln.

And even though I didn’t need to, I made every excuse I could think of to justify my presence down the street. I told my roommates that our neighbor needed help after his doctor visit or that Linc needed tutoring or my holiday decorating ideas had gone off the rails.

I wasn’t sure why I felt compelled to fib. Asher already suspected something was going on, George was rarely home, Tommy was busy at work, and Holden was chairing a holiday event for the historic society. They were sufficiently distracted by their own lives and didn’t question that I wasn’t around as much.

Maybe I needed to justify my actions to myself, so I could throw in a silent reminder that this was all very temporary. I couldn’t play the part of helpful neighbor-slash-secret-lover forever. I knew better than to get hopelessly attached to someone who’d been nothing but honest about his priorities. Lincoln first, work, second. There was no room for me.

I might not fit in Sam’s world in the long term, but I could be a visitor. And if I did say so myself, I was an exemplary holiday guest. All cheer, no expectations…no problem.

Except the part where I was afraid I might be falling for the hunky man grinning at me as though he’d just won the Christmas-tree lottery. He did that a lot lately…the smiling thing. Sam wasn’t the grumpy, anti-holiday grouch he’d been a month ago. He was quick to laugh and wasn’t so easily frustrated by things he didn’t understand…like recipes or random shows on the SYFY channel.

He embraced Lincoln’s science obsession and was infinitely more relaxed about trying experiments even when I couldn’t be there to supervise. The man whose greatest fear was failing his son seemed to finally understand that just being there was what mattered most.

And I was happy to be part of their fun. What could be more entertaining than choosing a tree in a lot filled with dozens of parents and their exuberant progeny while Nat King Cole encouraged us to “Deck the Halls” in the background? Frankly, I couldn’t wait to get started. If our goal was to stay in the moment and take this one day at a time, I’d do my best to not take a single second for granted.

“I don’t see any naked spots,” Sam reported, pulling me from my reverie. “Do you, Linc?”

Lincoln giggled. “Nope. Our tree has clothes on.”

“You mean fir,” I quipped, raising my hand in a high five.

Sam let out a low whistle as he smacked his hand against mine, gripping my pinky for a moment before releasing me. “Wow. That was so bad, it was good. C’mon, boys. Let’s get this one and head home.”

“We have to name it,” Lincoln pronounced, jumping excitedly as he “helped” his dad carry the tree to the register.

“It’s a tree, not a pet, buddy.”

“All trees have names, right, Chet?”

I zipped my jacket to my chin to ward off the evening breeze. “Correct. The genus of noble fir is Abies procera, so Abby could be a good name.”

“Abby works,” Sam agreed.

Lincoln wrinkled his nose. “That’s a girl name. We don’t have any girls in our family. We have me and Dad and Papa and Chet.”

I met Sam’s gaze, swallowing around a ball of unexpected emotion. I liked the idea of being included in their family far too much. I half expected Sam to remind Linc that I didn’t belong on that list, but he didn’t say a word.

He just…smiled.

The one good thing about hanging out with pint-sized people was that they didn’t leave you much time to overthink. Lincoln changed the topic to tree toppers and lights, and we officially moved on.

By the time we were back at the house, stringing lights from the branches with boxes of newly procured ornaments on the coffee table and on the floor near the fireplace, I should have put the moment behind me. But Sam kept doing that smiley thing. And touching me every chance he got.