“That’s what you say about me every night,” I tell her with a grin.

She laughs. “You wish.”

Hey, she never complains, I know that.

Before I brought the tree inside, Amelia moved around some furniture, and we place the tree against the very small wall where her wreath hung last year, next to the sliding glass door.

“That way, people can see the lit tree from the slider at night. As long as I pull the curtains back,” she says once I’m done setting it up.

“Speaking of lights, I need to string this baby up.” I brought lights with me too, and I get Amelia to help me wind them around and around the branches. An hour later and that meticulous task finished, Amelia vacuums the floor while I open box after box of brand-new ornaments I picked up at the store at the tree farm.

“The tree is absolutely gorgeous,” she says on a sigh when we’re finally finished decorating it and sitting on her couch, examining our work. The tree is indeed a gorgeous, glowing representation of the holiday season.

It’s not even December 5th. If she slacks on watering this baby, it’ll dry up in about two weeks. I’ll just have to come over every single day—not a chore, I’m here pretty much every day already—and make sure she waters it.

Or I’ll water it. It’ll be like our first pet together. I sound ridiculous even in my own head, but this is what this woman does to me. She makes me ridiculous.

In the absolute best way.

I drape my arm across her shoulders and haul her into my side. “You’re pretty gorgeous yourself.”

“Stop.” She nudges her shoulder into my ribs, making me chuckle.

“Hey, it’s true. You’re beautiful. Prettier than any Christmas tree I’ve ever seen, and trust me. I’ve seen a lot of them.”

“Glad I can rate above a Christmas tree,” she teases.

“You definitely do.” I hesitate only for a moment before I say what I’ve been thinking since I arrived at her apartment. “I can’t believe we’ve been together for a year,” I admit.

“I can’t either,” she says softly, a little smile curving her lips.

Leaning in, I kiss her. Sneak my tongue between those still smiling lips. Stroke it against hers. “I love you,” I murmur after I break the kiss.

We’ve only been saying that to each other recently. Remember, my lady is a big fan of taking it slow. Or fast.

Mostly slow.

“I love you too,” she whispers.

“Merry Christmas baby.”

“Merry Christmas.”

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