“They sent over the Fraser Fir,” I squeal, and bend down to run my fingers over the prickly green needles. The scent of pine slowly perfumes the area. It already feels more like Christmas here. “I was so worried they’d send the wrong one and then I’d have to call them back and have them deliver a new one—”

“You do have to call them back,” Asher says. “I want them to remove it.”

“You’re telling me that you’ve never had a Christmas tree before?”

“Of course I’ve had a Christmas tree,” he says and spoons another scoop of cereal into his mouth. “When I was a child.”

“I… didn’t realize there was an age restriction on Christmas trees.”

“There isn’t,” he says. “I just don’t care to have one in my home.”

“That makes me really sad.”

“I’m sorry that my lack of enthusiasm surrounding Christmas festivities makes you sad, Olivia.”

I take a deep breath and count to three before I walk over to the table and unwrap the bagel.

“Is that for me?” he asks.

“It was,” I say. “But you’re already eating.”

I’ve already had three donuts, but arguing with Asher really works up an appetite.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t eat a bagel,” he says as I pull the top and bottom apart. “What are you doing? That’s not how you eat a bagel. Are you some kind of savage?”

“I don’t think there’s a right or wrong way to eat a bagel, Asher.”

“Of course there is and that’s definitely the wrong way.”

I roll my eyes. “Which is your favorite half?”

“Both.”

“I like the bottom,” I tell him before taking a bite. “It has more of a chew.”

He’s glaring at me as I sweep leftover cream cheese off the corner of my mouth with my tongue.

“It’s rude to eat a bagel that you bought for someone else.”

“It’s rude to not thank someone for ordering you a Christmas tree.”

“It was an unsolicited Christmas tree.”

“This is an unsolicited bagel.” I grin. “Besides, you’re already ruining your workout with a bowl of sugar. You don’t need more carbs.”

He’s wearing fitted track pants and a gray hoodie, his hair hidden beneath a beanie. He runs. He also does pilates, but his masculinity is too fragile for him to admit that.

“Are you the carbohydrate police?”

“Of course not,” I say. “I had three donuts before I got here.”

“Then why are you eating my bagel?”

“Because I’m an emotional eater and your lack of Christmas cheer is making me very sad.”

Asher closes his eyes and pinches his forehead. I’m aggravating him, which is something I’ve grown good at without even trying.

“Uncle Asher!”