Current Day

Mia is whacked. The question of her sanity flits through my mind the moment I cut the twine and this sorry excuse of a tree springs to life. I tilt my head, but the angle doesn’t help make the tree look any better. It’s hopeless.

“Of all the trees to choose from, this is what you picked?”

“What’s wrong with it?” The sides of her mouth twitch. It’s so obvious what’s wrong.

“It’s a Charlie Brown knockoff tree.”

“Come on.” She laughs—a genuine sound I don’t deserve—and gives me a slight shove. “It’s not that bad.”

“Okay, okay, the needles aren’t falling off yet, but look at the pitiful thing. It leans too far to the right.” I examine the trunk base and shake my head. “There’s no way to fix it.”

“It’s fine, really.” She eyes the eyesore with admiration. “This is how our trees looked every year.”

“Mutilated?”

“Noooo”—she purses her lips—“slight imperfections.”

My curiosity piques. “Why?”

“Back in seventh grade during Christmas break, I went to my friend Jillian’s house. Her house was slightly bigger, a tad bit nicer, and she never let me forget it. But her bragging never bothered me. I didn’t care.” Her gaze flicks to mine. “Too much.”

I smile and picture a teenage Mia. I bet she was cute.

“I followed her into their living room and bam! There it was. The biggest, fullest tree I’ve ever seen. Blew our scraggly trees away. When I went home, I complained about the eyesore standing in our living room. Mom sat there and listened. When I finished my rant, she just shook her head. It’s the first time I ever felt like she was disappointed in me.”

“I’m familiar with that feeling.” More than you know.

“She told me everyone always goes for the perfect ones, but then their trees all look the same. Ours is unique because of the flaws. And the flaws are what makes the spirit.”

A beat of silence passes before I speak. “Did your mom do drugs?”

Her laugh comes out naturally. Relaxed. It’s the sweetest sound in the world. Guilt from my past actions lodges in my throat. I hate that I hurt this girl, but knowing I had no other choice back then hurts worse

“She was a free spirit.” She shrugs and then adds, “And maybe a little nutty.”

“She sounds great, actually.”

“She was.” Sadness coats her eyes, and I don’t miss the past tense usage. “Despite our less than stellar tree, we had kick-ass ornaments. They were the handblown glass type, which are expensive. Another reason I haven’t replaced them yet. But I will someday.”

The dreamy look of determination reduces me to silence. She sported that same look back in college when she talked about opening an art studio. Her passion and drive are what made me want her back then, but seeing her now? Yeah, grown-up Mia is sexier than freshman Mia. Especially in those boots.

“Okay, you ready?” She goes over and grabs hold of the light cord.

“Yeah, do the honors.” My feet carry me over to the light switch, and I flip us into darkness. After she plugs in the cord, I move back beside her. We stare at the naked Christmas tree illuminating the corner of her apartment.

The multi colors highlight her face as she stares in awe. It’s a beautiful sight in more ways than one.

“Thanks for helping me.”

“My pleasure,” I grunt, not wanting to admit what she’s doing to me. Our gazes connect, and mine drops to her mouth and lingers a moment before returning. “Look, Mia, I’m sorry for standing you up back in college. That was a shitty thing to do.”

Her face slackens, and I immediately regret saying anything. But I have to apologize. It’s only right.

“It was a long time ago.”

“Still, shitty.”

She’s trying to be strong, but I can tell the past still upsets her. Why wouldn’t it? I never called her afterward. In fact, I blocked her damn number. We had the most epic date of all dates, and then I treated her like shit. It was the hardest thing I had to do. But the circumstances surrounding the last half of our date made it clear what I had to do. I had to protect her from me. No matter how much I justify my actions, the regret doesn’t stay away. Instead, it burrows deep into my soul, never letting me forget.

A few awkward moments tick by, and I do what I do best—tease her. “You have to help me with my tree now.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Wasn’t it? I’m pretty sure I said you have to come back to my apartment to help me.”

“I’m sure I would’ve remembered that.”

“Your memory must be slipping, Cupcake, because you agreed. Besides, I need help with the stand, and I did save your ass.”

“Oh, good grief. I…” She pauses as a sly smile crosses her face. I’m not sure if this is good or bad, but if she agrees to come back to my apartment, I’m game. I’m not ready for the night to end. Who knows when I’ll get another chance to be with her? “On second thought, I will help. But if I’m coming with you, I need to grab something first.”

She exits to her bedroom, and I force myself to not follow her. Instead, I take in her apartment. The living room flows into the kitchen in an open-floor plan. Other than a door leading to what I presume is a bathroom, the only other room is her bedroom. The apartment may not be large, but she keeps it tidy.

I search the beige walls for pieces of her artwork. Any piece of the girl that connects me to her past. The corners of my mouth tip upward at the single painting. The familiarity of the beach warms my insides. I did love the West Coast.

“I miss the area.” Mia’s voice is soft as she stands beside me.

I remain fixated on the painting as I respond. “Me too. You’re so talented. Do you have any recent paintings?”

“No. Most of my supplies burned in the fire. I haven’t gotten around to replacing everything yet.” She averts her gaze when I turn to look at her. I want to ask if our painting got destroyed, but I don’t dare. I’m already pushing it by having her come home with me.

“Well, I’m ready.” She rifles around her purse for her keys. “I’ll follow you this time.”

“You sure? I could bring you back home.” What the hell am I saying? The last thing I need is to confine myself with her. Then why am I asking her back to my place in the first place?

Her “no” comes out rushed, and my jaw clenches as I nod, the anger blindsiding me. Her dismissal should make me relieved, not mad.

Reminding myself yet again how she’s off-limits, I follow her out her door. This time, I think I mean it until her purse opens slightly and something catches my eyes. Something pink and fuzzy that looks an awful lot like…handcuffs? Cute, fuzzy handcuffs? My resolve flies out the window as my heart kicks up a few notches. This night just got a whole lot better. High heels and cuffs. What can go wrong?