Nice Until Proven Naughty

“Decorating for Christmas.” When she stands up, she’s holding a giant snowman I bought to decorate my dorm room my first year of college.

“I’m not decorating.” I take the snowman from her hand and smile when I remember the day I bought it. “I got this my freshman year of college. My roommate Jared and I were both a little homesick. Of course, neither one of us wanted to admit it. We bought a few decorations for the dorm room. This was one of those things.”

“You should put it up.”

She tries to take it from my hands, but I keep a firm grip on it. “Nah. I’m throwing it away.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not decorating this year,” I say a little too harshly. When she flinches at my tone, I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just not feeling very festive. Plus, Lorelei always hated this snowman. She said it was the ugliest thing she’d ever seen.”

“It is the ugliest snowman I’ve ever seen,” Samantha says, laughing. “But I think you should put it up because she hated it.”

“Yeah?”

She nods, and then her smile fades and she tilts her head and watches me with an empathetic eye. “Why aren’t you decorating? Is it because she broke up with you at Christmas last year?”

“That and because she’s getting married tomorrow.”

“Shit.” Samantha looks at the snowman in my hand, and I swear her eyes get glossy. “I hate her.”

“Why?” I ask, taken aback.

“Because she hurt you. Not only did she cheat on you for a year—which is despicable, by the way—she broke up with you at Christmas, and now she’s getting married right before Christmas?”

“She sent me an invitation to the wedding,” I blurt.

“That bitch,” she mumbles. “You can’t let her win, Lucas. Christmas is about hope and love and miracles, and maybe you should start looking at it as a time to celebrate her absence.” She takes the snowman from my hand, and this time I let her, because maybe she’s right.

Is it possible I’ve been looking at this all wrong?

Rather than wallowing in self-pity, I should be celebrating because I am better off. And right now I’m with a woman who is nothing like Lorelei.

Maybe I need someone more like Samantha.

“Bring that box over here,” she says, interrupting my thoughts.

I should protest, but when I look up and see her peeling off the Santa coat, all rational thought flies right out of my head.

She’s standing in front of me in a tiny red dress, candy cane stockings that stop just below her knees, and a beautiful smile.

“What do you think?”

“You’re gorgeous,” I say, not feeling at all embarrassed for blurting that out, because it’s the truth.

She’s stunning. Like my very own Christmas present sent from Santa for me to unwrap.

Samantha smiles bashfully, and her cheeks turn the prettiest shade of red. “Thank you. But I was talking about the snowman.”

When I look up, I see the snowman Lorelei hated sitting front and center on the mantle. “It looks great up there,” I say, grabbing the box and walking it to her. “She hated everything in here.”

“Then we’re putting it all up. Grab the garland.”

We spend the next thirty minutes decorating my living room and another hour putting up the pre-lit tree I bought two years ago but never got around to opening.

By the time we’re done, it looks like Santa threw up in my house. It’s over the top, and a little gaudy and, “I love it.”

“Me too.” Samantha giggles and throws her arms around my neck. I find myself laughing right along with her as I wrap my arms around her waist and spin her around.