I couldn’t help but notice Logan tracking every move we made, like he was sizing me up, or like he didn’t actually believe we were a couple. So when Olive tried to walk away, I reached out, grabbed her hand, and pulled her toward me. Her eyes widened, but I kept grinning like we did this every day. Like her dainty fingers wrapped in mine didn’t make me light a fire in my stomach. I was simply an actor, and a professional one at that. One that pretended like the soft brush of Olive’s fingers against my calloused ones was an everyday experience.

“Come sit with me,” I said, scooting over on the tiny loveseat to make more room. She nodded slowly and made her way over, sitting close enough for our legs and hips to brush. Her black leggings looked soft and warm compared to my basic denim jeans. I fought the urge to run my hands over those leggings, to see if she was dying for my touch the same way I was for hers. Between those and her cropped sweater, I knew I would be fighting with the zipper of my jeans all evening.

I looked up at Logan to see if he was still studying us, but Sarah was there now, her hands on his arms, looking like she was comforting him. No one in particular was looking our way, so it shouldn’t matter if we acted like a couple or not. But I still felt the need to wrap my arms around Olive and pull her close.

Olive’s dad was stringing lights on the tall tree in front of him. When any of us offered to help he told us to “hush and worry about ourselves.” Which made Olive chuckle quietly next to me. It was a sweet sound I’d missed since we got off that plane.

Olive’s mom excitedly pulled out different boxes labeled Christmas ornaments and told us to get busy. Olive and I grabbed one and sorted through it. The box we picked was filled with all homemade ornaments, done by Olive and her siblings when they were kids. With each ornament we withdrew, Denise explained the backstory as she placed it on Olive’s tall tree.

I pulled out a tree made of colored popsicle sticks, then another of Olive’s tiny handprint from second grade, and one from Matt the year he graduated high school. With each one, Denise looked as though she would tear up.

At the bottom of the box, I found one that was a homemade frame with glitter and macaroni pieces glued to it with a blurry, dated picture. I peered at it and saw a young girl standing in snow with her arms up and big red rain boots on her feet.