“Atticus, shut up, will you.” The incessant barking on the other side of the door stops, though the animal whines softly. A moment later, the door swings open as far as the security chain allows and Lara’s face appears in the narrow crack. At least I think it’s Lara’s face; it’s kind of hard to tell exactly what’s under the thick layer of bright green goo covering her skin.

Atticus inserts himself between the door and her ankles and sticks his ugly face through the crack to growl at me.

“Paul!”

“Hey, I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, I got up about a half hour ago.” Lara raises her hand, touches the goo and grimaces. “I decided on a mini-spa day.”

“You deserve it.” I rattle the paper bag I’m holding. “I bought doughnuts. Let me in and I’ll share them with you.” I look down at Atticus. “I’ll even let the mutt have one.”

“Oh.” Lara unfastens the security chain and opens the door. “How can I possibly refuse an offer like that?”

Moving in perfect unison, we head to the kitchen. Lara grabs a plate out of the cupboard and sets it on the table. While I pull the doughnuts out of the bag and arrange them on the plate, she pours two cups of coffee, one of which she hands me before she sits down.

“It’s decaf,” she warns. “Apparently caffeine isn’t good for babies.” She takes a sip and grimaces. “I had to throw all of my good stuff away just to avoid temptation. I don’t know what I’m going to do downstairs. My customers don’t drink much coffee, so they won’t care if I change, but my staff might revolt.”

“You’ll think of something.”

She selects a raspberry jelly doughnut from the plate and bites into it.

“I’m seriously considering telling them that they need to start bringing their own thermoses, but I’m afraid I’ll start stealing sips each time I walk past the employee break room like some kind of caffeine junkie who’s desperate for their next fix.”

“I bet after a day or two, you get used to the caffeine-free life.” I chuckle before biting into my Boston crème. Atticus whines, reminding me of my promise, so I drop the plain powdered sugar one I bought specifically for him on the ground. He springs forward and starts eating like it’s the only food he’s seen in days.

Lara eyeballs me over the top of her doughnut. “Thank you for working the bar last night. I can’t believe how easily you took to bartending. I wish you’d let me pay you.”

“Lara, we talked about this last night.” The words come out sharper than intended. “You’re not paying me.”

“But it feels like I’m taking advantage of you and I hate that.”

“I’m at least fifty percent to blame for why you need to rest. More when you consider that I was the one with experience that night, and therefore the one expected to make sure we were protected every time we made love and not just the first. Shouldering your workload is the least I can do.”

“Well, when you put it that way, you make a good point.” She doesn’t look like she’s as convinced as her words indicate. “Are you willing to lend a hand?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good.” Lara doesn’t bother to hide her relief; that and the fact she’s not still fighting me about the money situation proves she still isn’t feeling one hundred percent.

We eat our doughnuts, occasionally breaking off a piece for Atticus, and drink our decaf coffee in strained silence, both of us knowing we need to talk about the baby and what the future holds, neither of us wanting to be the first to broach the subject.

I can’t take the silence any longer. “Are you still getting sick?”

“No. Well, not really. Morning sickness hit as soon as I woke up, but after that I popped one of the anti-nausea pills Dr. Henson gave me and my stomach settled right down.”

“That’s great.” I reach for another conversation topic. “What are you planning for today, aside from the mini-spa day and relaxing?”

Lara wipes her finger with a napkin, and nods at the boxes stacked in the living room. “Decorating. I should have done it weeks ago.”

“Excellent. I’ll help.”

“Really?”

“I’m an excellent decorator. And I don’t often get a chance to show off my skills. Living by myself means there’s not much point in doing the house up, and a team of professionals decorates the office each year.”

Lara doesn’t look convinced. “If you’re sure you really want to.”

“I am.” I all but leap off my stool just so I can help her down from hers. Atticus follows us into the living room. “Where do we start?”

“First we’re going to haul most of these boxes downstairs. The only ones that don’t go down are the ones labeled tree,” she explains.

“Everything but the tree ones. Got it.”

I survey the boxes, reading the words neatly printed on the side of each one. Outdoors. Lights. Wreaths. Wall Decoration. Tree. My eyes fall on the final box and my blood runs cold.

I jab a finger at it. “Please tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

Lara looks at the box. “It’s a tree.”

“No, it isn’t,” I tell her. “It’s a poser. An abomination against Christmas. You can’t put that thing up.”

“I put it up every year. It works great. “

“Abomination,” I repeat. I pull out my phone and find the number of the private car service I use every time I’m in Chicago.

“I’m putting it up in this room this year. And I’m ordering one of those pre-lit ones for downstairs.”

“No. You’re not. You’re putting on something warm, grabbing Atticus, then, as soon as the car gets here, we’re finding a real Christmas tree. One that smells like a forest, needs to be watered every few days, and sheds needles all over the place.”