A Fool's Gold Christmas (Fool's Gold #9.5)(44)

Perhaps the healthiest decision, Evie realized. But without the hurt and anger, she wasn’t sure who she would be.

* * *

“I GUESS I DIDN’T think this part through,” Evie admitted, trying not to laugh.

Dante obviously didn’t find anything about the situation amusing. Probably because he was tired and hungry and wasn’t the kind of guy to enjoy shopping for a Christmas tree.

Or maybe it wasn’t the shopping itself, but the fact that she’d asked him to carry a seven-foot-tall tree three blocks in the cold and then drag it up a flight of stairs to the studio.

Narrow stairs, where the too-large tree was now stuck.

“I’m sorry,” Evie said, staring up through the branches at the scowling man. “Seriously.”

“Uh-huh. You’re not sorry. You’re having fun.”

She bit the inside of her lip in an attempt to keep from smiling. “No, I’m not.”

“Right.” He grabbed the thick trunk with both hands. “I’m going to give this thing one more try. If I can’t get it to move, I’ll resign myself to slowly starving to death up here.”

He kind of had a point, she thought, realizing the tree blocked the only way up or down.

“On three,” she said, taking hold of the top of the tree and planning to push.

“Don’t help,” Dante told her.

“I’m helping.”

“You’ll get hurt. I can do this.”

As he spoke, he began to pull. Despite his instructions, she pushed from the top. Nothing happened. She pushed harder and felt a little bit of give.

“One more time,” she yelled.

“Stop help—”

But it was too late. She shoved, he pulled and the tree suddenly moved free, zipping up the stairs, hitting Dante in the center of his chest. They both went sprawling.

Evie found herself flying forward. She braced herself on her hands and landed somewhat gently on the stairs, facedown.

“You okay?” she asked, almost afraid to stand up and look.

“Fine.” Dante’s voice was slightly strangled.

“I’m going to order a pizza. Pepperoni all right with you?”

“Sure.”

She rolled onto her back and pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, then called the local pizza place and put in their order. After she’d hung up, she stood and brushed off the needles decorating the front of her coat. Finally, she risked looking upstairs.

Dante still lay on his back, the tree on top of him, the base of its trunk maybe three inches from his chin.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked.

“Not really.”

She went upstairs and helped roll the tree off of him. He rose and glanced down at the tree on the floor and the layer of needles everywhere.

“Whose idea was this?” he asked.

“My boss’s.”

“I admire her willingness to delegate.”

An hour later the tree was in the stand and the lights were strung. When the pizza guy arrived, Dante disappeared downstairs to pay him and returned with a pizza box, a bottle of wine and two wineglasses.

“I didn’t order wine,” she said. “Do they deliver wine?”

“They do not. We have a small wine cellar in the office.”

“Because you never know when you’re going to need a bottle of merlot to get through the day?”

“Something like that.”

While she served their pizza, he opened the wine and then poured. They settled across from each other and each grabbed a slice. The scent of pine mingled with the fragrance of cheese and pepperoni.

“Wine, pizza and a Christmas tree,” she said. “What’s not to like?”

“Can I get back to you on that?”

“Don’t be a Grinch. You know this is fun.”

His blue eyes brightened with amusement. “You’re fun. Is that enough?”

“It works for me.”

He glanced at the tree, then back at her. “You’ve been talking about getting one of those for your place. Still thinking it’s a good idea?”

“I am. I’m also thinking of getting a cat.”

“As a decoration?”

“I’m not sure he would like that idea.”

“He? You’ve got a cat in mind?”

She thought about the black-and-white one she’d seen at the shelter. Despite how busy she’d been, he kept popping into her mind.

“Sort of. He was very sweet and needs a forever home.” She was still getting used to the idea.

“Cats are okay,” Dante said, surprising her.

“I would have thought you were the dog type. You know, slavish devotion and someone to play fetch with.”

“I don’t have any burning desire to play fetch, and I respect how cats make you earn their interest. Cats are like lawyers. Discreet, quiet and watchful.”

She managed to keep from choking as she laughed. “You’re a weird guy. You know that, right?”

“It’s been hinted at before.” He looked at the tree. “Your students are going to be excited.”

“I’m sure it will help with the holiday spirit.” She thought about what he’d told her about his upbringing. “What were Christmases like when you were a kid?”