Evan turned on the football game and sat in the leather recliner in front of his TV. He didn’t know which he loved more: the massive flat screen or the plush chair. Sometimes it was just the stillness of the house that he relished. There was no one demanding answers. No one needed anything. And then there were days when he came home to an empty house and he knew this wasn’t how he envisioned his life at thirty.

He twisted the top off a beer brewed locally. He was glad there were other people his age still in Harpers Point interested in starting new businesses. Seth had started a small brew pub down on the waterside of town. He hoped to draw in the summer boaters, but it was hard to sell seasonal ales. He was trying for a Mistletoe-themed flavor this year. As soon as Evan’s feet were up, he heard the doorbell. He scowled, kicking the footplate on the recliner and sauntered to the front door.

It had been a long day. The calls were non-stop about the flotilla. There was a problem with the permits with the Coast Guard and he had to intervene for several of the vessels. It didn’t help that now Mellie Miller wanted to add a performance to the event since strep throat had kept her away from the tree lighting. The rental company said the stage wasn’t available, and the kid who ran the sound system was gone for Christmas break. It didn’t look like Mellie was going to have her chance this year.

Evan placed the beer on the table and approached the front door. He opened it and instantly forgot all the reasons he had been frustrated. Cami was standing on his porch, holding a cast iron pot. A light gray cashmere scarf was tucked around her neck.

“Hi. This is kind of last minute, but I thought you might need dinner?” She held up the heavy dish.

“Let me get that for you.”

“No,” she shrieked. “It’s hot.” She batted him away with a pot holder.

Evan opened the door, ushering her inside. “What did you make?” he asked. He wanted to follow that up, with a question about why she was here on his doorstep when it was dark.

“I found Aunt Sophie’s homemade mac and cheese recipe. And it’s way too much for me to eat and it’s so good as soon as it comes out of the oven. And I thought you might be too busy to cook, so why not stop by? But Maybe I shouldn’t have. Did I interrupt? Do you have company?”

“Cami, stop. I’d love some.” It was cute how she rattled things off when she was nervous. There was a sliver of panic on her face. He hadn’t even thought about dinner yet. The food smelled delicious.

He stepped aside and she hurried to the kitchen. She placed the pot on the counter over a second set of pot holders. She glanced around. “Where’s your Christmas tree?”

“I don’t have one.”

“The mayor of Harpers Point doesn’t have a Christmas tree?” She sounded as astonished as she looked. He couldn’t tell how much of it was genuine.

He exhaled. “No he doesn’t.” He grabbed a couple of bowls and handed them to her. He scrounged through the drawers for sets of silverware.

“Wait until the Post finds out about this,” she teased. “You really are the town scandal.”

“Hopefully, they won’t send an investigative journalist to my house.” He scooped a heaping spoonful into a bowl for Cami and one for him.

“Well you need a tree.” She perched a hand on her hip. “And some lights outside. It’s practically dismal.”

“Do you have a tree?” he asked.

She nodded emphatically. “I put it up before I even unpacked. All Aunt Sophie’s antique decorations are out too. I found my favorite Santa of hers.”

“Of course they are. That’s great.” There was a quick pit of jealousy, when he wondered how tiny Cami hauled a tree upstairs to her apartment, but he had to put that aside quickly.

She looked at him, and he could tell something was going on. She had a plan. “I think we should go get a tree for you tonight.” She clasped her hands together.

“What? I was about to watch the football game. It’s the playoffs.” He still had an untouched beer to drink. But the house was suddenly warmer. There was a new energy swirling under his roof, and he didn’t need a town proclamation to tell him to pay attention to what was happening between him and Cami.

“Eat,” she ordered, waving a fork in the air. “And then we’re headed to the Crawford Tree Farm. They are open until eight.”

“I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?”

She shook her head. “No. You need a Christmas tree. And all your decorations. We’re not going to leave anything out. Every box you have.”

Evan laughed. “I think that’s because you forgot about the Santa and Mrs. Claus my mother used to put on the lawn.”

“Oh the one where they were each riding a reindeer? I always thought they were cute.”

“Cute? It was the tackiest display on the street.”

She grinned. “The most memorable. I think Santa and Mrs. Claus might want to ride again.”

He shook his head. He didn’t know how she did that—how she could bring up their childhood like it was the picture of childhood bliss. Nostalgia washed over him when he was with Cami.

“Fine. We can get a tree. But I’m going to at least watch the first quarter while we eat this masterpiece.”

Cami walked with him to the couch. “I hope it’s a masterpiece.”

He took a bite and groaned. “It’s a masterpiece. Trust me.”

She smiled. “So it’s ok I stopped by? It wasn’t a mistake?”

He glanced down. Her leg was slightly touching his. Her eyes sparkled. Something in his chest tugged at him. “Honestly?”

He saw the worry.

“I couldn’t think of a better way to end this day.” He shoved another bite of mac and cheese in his mouth.

* * *

“What about this one?” Cami stared up at a ten-foot tall Frasir fir. It was practically twice her height.

“That’s way too tall. I’m a single guy. Something small and simple.”

“But you have those high ceilings. That living room begs for a tall tree next to the fireplace.” Cami made her argument, but he wasn’t going extreme this year.

“Smaller,” he warned. “Much smaller.”

They walked on to another line of trees. They moved past a family arguing about what type of tree to get for their living room. The wife wanted a pine and the husband said he didn’t like the needles. There were stumps were trees had been cut and removed by the Crawfords. They had five sons who worked the farm every season.

“But not Charlie Brown small?” Cami asked. “It has to have more character than that.”

He laughed. “No. But what tree has more character than the Charlie Brown tree?” He paused in front of a full fir. The branches were almost too thick to add ornaments. He didn’t think they would fit between the branches, let alone the strands of lights. He examined the one next to it. “Who is going to decorate this thing?”

She twirled toward him. “I will. I’ll help you do it.”

“You want to decorate my tree.”

“Mmmhmm.”

When she answered that way, suddenly decorating a tree seemed like the most critical thing on his agenda. If it meant he got to spend more time with Cami, he wanted that. Maybe a taller tree was better. Look how it made her face light up.

“You choose,” he added. “Whichever one you think will look best.”

“I think this one.” She stood in front of the one next to the tree with thick needles. “It’s not too tall, but it has the perfect shape. It’s going to look gorgeous in your house. I just know it.”

“This is the one then. Wait here, and I’ll track down Trevor or Travis. I don’t know which one of the boys is working, maybe it was Trent and the gate. It doesn’t matter, I’ll get the saw.”

Cami wrapped her arms around the tree playfully. “It’s not going anywhere, but in your truck. I’ll guard it with my life.”

He returned a few minutes later with the saw and crouched to the ground to begin sawing back and forth. Cami braced the side of the branches as it started to sway and tip towards the piles of sawdust on the ground.

“Timber,” Evan called. He stood just as the tree tipped into her arms. He caught it before she had the full weight of the fir. He moved, closing his arms around hers. For a moment, he caught the scent of her hair mixed with the fresh cut fir.

“Let’s get this in the truck. I can take it from here. You should get in the cab where it’s warm.”

She wiggled out from underneath him and watched as he hauled the tree on his back and lugged it to the parking lot. After Evan paid Trevor Crawford they were headed back to his house.

Cami grabbed the tapered end and helped Evan take the tree in through the front door.

“It looks perfect in here.” She smiled when he finally had the tree straightened in the base. It only took a few times with the screws to align it.

“Maybe I should leave it like that.” He stood back to admire it. “It’s in its natural state.”

“No way. We’re putting lights and ornaments on it.”

“How about a glass of wine or one of Seth’s beers?” he offered. “Make this a tree-trimming party?”

“Seth makes beer? I thought he wanted to be a mechanic.” Cami followed him into the kitchen. “Wasn’t he in auto shop for four years?”

“Yeah. He always took that. Turns out, he designed his own brew system. I guess you could call him a beer mechanic.” He pulled one of the beers from the fridge for her to read the label.

“I can’t believe how everyone has changed.” She handed the beer back to Evan. He pulled a bottle of red wine from the cabinet along with a deep-bowled glass. “Jamie has a monogram business. Samantha has kids. You’re the mayor. And I’m…”

“You’re running The Sweet Spot.” He put the glass of red wine in her hand.

She sighed. “And I’m running The Sweet Spot.” She tipped the glass to her lips. “Did you ever think we’d end up here?”

He looked around. “Decorating a tree together in this house?” He took a swig of beer. He didn’t want it to happen, but it did. Twelve years of memories came flooding back. “Yeah, Cami. This is where I thought we’d end up. Right here in this bungalow on Cove Avenue. I thought we had a lifetime of Christmases together. It’s why I wanted to marry you. I saw all of this.” His voice quieted.

The blush spread from her cheeks along her neck.

He hung his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s in the past, right? We were kids. We’re not supposed to talk about those people anymore.” He tried to lighten the mood, but he knew he had said too much.

“It doesn’t feel like the past, Evan.”

Her blue eyes were filled with tears and he knew he should have kept his mouth closed. She wiped the corner of her eyes, trying not to smudge her makeup.

“I’m an idiot. Remember, Grinch over here? I shouldn’t have said anything about it. We were eighteen. We’re different people now.”

She sniffed. “Are you ever going to get over how I hurt you? Am I?” Her eyes darted back and forth like wildfire.

He took the glass from her hand, and placed the wine on the counter.

He tipped her chin upward. “I was in love with that girl twelve years ago. The one who wanted to take the world by storm and sing on everyone’s radio. And she broke my heart. But I want to know this Cami. I want to know who you are now, because I’m not the same guy you knew back then either. I’m a different man.”

“Because you went to war?” she asked.

“Partly.” He nodded. “And because I lost both my parents. I’m the mayor. We’ve both changed.”

“I want to get to know this Evan.” She held his eyes with her gaze. “But what if this is us playing with fire again?” she whispered. “What if we both get burned? What if we hurt each? Maybe we’re only repeating the past.”

He held her lips within inches of his. The heat built between them.

“Don’t you believe in Christmas magic?”

She nodded slowly.

“Then tell me you think this happened for a reason. That you’re in Harpers Point because we needed a second chance.”

Before he could coax an answer from her, Cami’s lips were on his. His hands circled her waist as she raised on her toes to reach his mouth. She whimpered as his tongue pressed inside her mouth and they melted into each other.

“So that’s your answer?” he whispered, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“That’s my answer. Are we crazy?”

“I think so. But when was anybody in Harpers Point normal?” He laughed. “Come on, are you going to help me finish this tree? Decorations are in the attic.”

He threaded his fingers through hers and led her to the attic where he stored the Jacobs family Christmas boxes.