“Are you excited for your first tree, Alexa?” Charlotte asks, holding Alexa up and wiggling her from side to side.

“Tweee!” Alexa yells. We took her to the lights in the park show the other night and she’s been yelling about trees, deer, and lights ever since. I can’t wait to see how she reacts when we get the tree in the house and all lit up.

“Are you and Marcel going to the party tonight?” I ask.

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Will your uncle be there?”

“As far as I know, he’s on the road.” She settles Alexa in her lap and hands her a plushy unicorn. “Are you upset you’re not going?”

Do I like being included in club events? Yes. Do I want to hang out at Crystal Ball all night wondering which bunny or stripper has banged my fiancé in the past? Not so much.

“I’m fine with skipping it. I just don’t want Murphy annoyed about missing it.”

Charlotte casts a you’re-being-ridiculous look my way. She nods to the window. “Have you seen him? He’s more interested in decorating that tree tonight than anything else.”

My mouth quirks. Murphy’s as excited about this as I am. I can’t deny it. “I haven’t had a real tree since I lived with my grandmother. She hated Christmas, but Marcel would sneak a tree in the house when she was at church or something.”

“Marcel was horrified when I told him I wanted one of those artificial pre-lit trees. He claims the pine scent will be worth the mess of needles all over the house.”

“That sounds like my brother.”

Once the guys finish with the dangerous machinery, we join them outside again. Alexa bursts into tears at the sight of the mutilated trees. “Nooo. Tweee,” she cries, reaching her little mitten-covered hands toward the branches.

“It’s okay. The trees are coming home with us.”

At the word “home” she whips around. “Bed,” she states.

“Are you tired?”

She shakes her head no. But these days she answers no to, well, almost everything. She’ll be out cold before we hit the highway.

Blake and Marcel load the trees into the back of the truck, securing them with rope while I buckle Alexa into her car seat.

“I bought a few strands of lights, but don’t own enough ornaments for that monster,” I say once we’re on the road.

“Are you planning to decorate your tree in a particular theme?” Charlotte asks.

“Her theme when she was little was shove-as-much-tinsel-as-possible on the tree,” Marcel answers.

“No one asked you.” I flick his shoulder. “No tinsel for our tree. It’s not baby-safe.”

“I always wanted a hot-pink tree,” Charlotte says. “Pink lights, ornaments, garland. Monochromatic pink.”

I can’t help laughing, because Charlotte has never struck me as a woman who yearns for a pink Christmas tree.

“Pink’s not very Christmas-y,” Blake says.

Her mouth twitches and I’m not sure if she’s upset or something else.

“Well,” I say, patting Marcel’s shoulder. “The house is certainly big enough for more than one tree.”

“No fake trees,” he grumbles.

Blake reaches back and runs his hand up the back of my calf. “Alexa asleep?”

“Yup.”

When Marcel had said earlier that he had one stop to make, I never suspected he meant a storage facility. And I didn’t realize he still had boxes and furniture from our grandmother’s house and from his old apartment.

Charlotte offers to stay in the car with Alexa, so I can help Marcel.

“Why do you still have all this stuff?”

He shrugs. “I got rid of most of it, but there were a few things I thought you might want once you had your own place.” He rearranges boxes until he finds what he wants. “Plus, I’ve been saving these for you.”

I recognize the battered cardboard box he offers me right away. “Mom’s Christmas ornaments?”

“A few might be broken, so be careful opening them around Alexa.”

“You don’t want any of them?”

“No, they should be yours.”

Searching through this box of ornaments with my mother is one of the few happy memories I have of her. “Thank you, Marcel.”

“Is there anything else you want?”

I glance around the small space. “My old bedroom set and desk for Alexa? By the time we finally move into the house she’ll probably be able to use it.”

“Done. Murphy said he’d help me clear it out this week. I’ll store the stuff at my place.” He slings an arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer, dropping a kiss on my forehead. “I’m so glad you’re here this year.”

“Me too.”