A little later, walking back into the living area with a tray of goodies, Sarah paused in the doorway to look at Bodie.

He might have only come back to help her decorate the tree out of guilt for shutting down her questions, or concern that she’d hurt herself on the ladder, but he was doing a great job. The lights were spaced evenly, just the way she preferred, and she hadn’t even had to tell him.

Sarah really liked that about him.

She liked a lot of things about Bodie. Like the fact that he was humming along with the Christmas music she had playing. No doubt if she mentioned it, he’d immediately stop.

For whatever reason, Bodie didn’t want to like anything related to Christmas. Sarah didn’t understand how that was even possible. How could she, when she loved everything about the holidays?

Maybe by the time he finished with Hamilton House, she’d have shown him what Christmas could, and should, be like.

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Bodie wrapped light strands around Sarah’s “perfect” tree, stopping every so often to make sure he had them evenly distributed, then moved on to the next layer.

How did she keep pulling him into all this Christmas stuff?

He had told her no, walked away, gone to the bathroom and cut the vanity free of its cardboard and Styrofoam casing. He’d heard her go outside, come back in, heard the Christmas music come on, heard her start singing while she trimmed the tree.

The more he’d heard, the more guilt had eaten at him. For however long he was in Pine Hill, he needed to help Sarah.

He’d abandoned the vanity and gone to help her, almost having a heart attack when he’d seen her on the ladder, looking like an angel tree topper who was about to topple.

At the moment, she was a cookie-bearing angel watching him from the doorway, thinking he was unaware she was there even though he’d been aware of every step she’d made since leaving the kitchen.

“You did check to make sure all the bulbs still work, right?” she asked, finally coming on into the room.

“You think I’m an amateur?”

“At decorating a tree?” She sat a tray down on a table. “I’d put money on it.”

Turning from the tree, he eyed her. “How much money?”

“How much are you willing to lose?”

He chuckled. “Am I so bad at putting lights on a tree that you’re confident I’ve never done this before?”

“Honestly? You’re great at putting on the lights.”

“You’re just saying that because me putting the lights on means you don’t have to.”

“Guilty as charged,” she admitted. “But I’m also serious. You’re doing an amazing job.”

Pleased at her praise, he asked, “What makes you think I’m any good at light hanging?”