Ah, Christmas…
Rhett didn’t appear convinced, but his daughter’s insistence got him there. Skylar helped by giving the back of his head a little nudge.
“Really get your face in there. Grab a lungful.”
He looked at her like she was crazy. “A lungful of what?”
“Just do it,” Addison snapped.
He shut his eyes and breathed deep. Then he looked at them. “Now what?”
Skylar shook her head. “Grinch.”
Addison also shook her head. “Yeah, Daddy. Can’t you smell it?”
“What? It’s a tree!” He held out his hands, but she and Addison left to go find an attendant to string up the branches and tie their Douglas fir to the roof of the SUV.
The tree was enormous, but they had the room for it in that big, empty house. Once they got it inside and centered on the new tree stand, Rhett inspected it like one might scrutinize a monolith. Addison had gone upstairs to change into her pajamas.
“This is a good one, Skylar?”
“Sure. It’s definitely a big one.”
“Big’s good, right?”
Such a masculine assumption. He was adorable. “In my family, you either go big or go home.”
He nodded with agreement, appearing pleased. “Big is good.”
“Do you have ornaments?” When he gave her a panicked stare, she asked, “Lights?”
“Crap.”
He really never had a Christmas tree before. “McGinty’s is still open.”
Addison returned to the den in her pajamas. “Get your coat. We’re going back out.”
“But I’m in my jammies.”
“Just put your snow boots on. No one will notice.”
Bundled back up, they drove to McGinty’s. Rhett went a little overboard, buying every possible Christmas decoration he found. He even bought a mixer, since they didn’t have one at the house. The SUV was packed to the gills, and Skylar was a little sick over what he must have paid at the register.
“You’re a little extreme,” she said, as they carried in the bags and formed a mountain of packages in the foyer.
Rhett shrugged. “It’s for Addy. I want her to have all the perfect memories kids should have.”
She studied him as he examined the instructions for an inflatable lawn snowman. “I don’t know if perfect is how I’d describe holiday memories.”
“No?”
She shook her head. “Chaotic seems more fitting.”
His smile was slow as he turned to look at her. “Maybe chaotic is the perfect way it should be. Maybe that’s normal.”
He used the word normal as if he didn’t fit the category. Her family was absolutely abnormal, but in a way that made them extremely regular in a very dysfunctional yet normal way.
“How would you describe your Christmases?”
“Empty.” He opened a box of lights.
Something pinched in her chest and she took a step closer to him. The strangest urge to hug him took hold of her, but she forced her arms to stay planted at her sides.
She looked directly into his eyes. “Did your family—”
“What do you say we string these in the front hedges?” Once again, he’d purposefully dodged any questions about his past.
“Yay!” Addison bounced off the floor and followed him out front, leaving Skylar standing in the foyer, unsure of the secrets her boss so obviously wanted to hide.
His holidays were empty? The word empty seemed bursting with hidden meaning.
Where had he lived before coming to Jasper Falls? And how did someone who called his memories empty, bring so much charm to their little town?
They left the ornaments in the foyer and spent the night decking the yard with blue spotlights, colorful twinkle lights, and tacky, inflatable decorations. Skylar didn’t dare broach the subject of his past again.
By ten o’clock, Addison was cranky and ready for bed.
“I’ll take her up,” she offered, and as she held her, Rhett kissed his daughter goodnight. The scent of his hair and skin filled her lungs, and she might have enjoyed breathing him in as much as she loved sniffing Christmas trees.
Addison didn’t make it through two pages of a story. When Skylar returned downstairs, Rhett had organized the ornaments by type and color.
“I guess we’ll do this part tomorrow night.” He glanced at her. “You’ll help, right?”
“Sure.” She hovered by the arm of the couch, content to simply watch him. Painfully curious about who he was and what made him tick.
As if he could feel her observing him, he stopped arranging the boxes and self-consciously gripped the back of his neck. “Thanks for coming with us tonight.”
“No problem.” She gathered up the trash and walked it to the kitchen to throw away. Rhett followed.
“You’re really wonderful with this stuff.”
She put on a kettle of water and unpacked a box of chamomile tea. “Thanks. I love Christmas.”
“It shows.”
She studied him for a moment, setting the water to boil. Feeling courageous, she returned to their earlier conversation. “Earlier, when you said your Christmas memories were empty, what did you mean by that?”
He took the box of tea and read the label. “Nothing.”
It was clear he didn’t want to answer, so she took pity on him and let it go. “Do you want some tea?”