That way maybe there’d be a chance of getting some actual work done that day.
Whoa, Ethan, play fair. He’d agreed to this whole magic of Christmas idea; he just hadn’t reckoned on the extent of Ruby’s enchantment scheme.
‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘So
you’re in charge of purple. I’ll do the red.’
For a while they worked in a silence that seemed oddly peaceful. To his own irritation he found himself stepping down at intervals, to check the effect of his handiwork. A snort of exasperation escaped his lips and Ruby’s subsequent chuckle had him glaring across at her.
‘Sorry. I couldn’t help it. You look so...absorbed.’
‘Yes, well. If I do something I make sure I do it properly.’
For no reason whatsoever the words travelled across the pine-scented air and took on an unintended undertone...one that brought an image of kissing Ruby with attention to every detail. It was an effort not to crane his neck in a search for mistletoe. Instead his eyes snagged on the lush outline of her lips and desire tautened inside him.
Her fingers rose and touched her lips. He heard her intake of breath and forced his gaze to return to the tree.
‘So...’ His voice resembled that of a frog. Try again. ‘So, believe me, my share of this tree will rock and roll.’
A small shake of her head and then her lips tilted into a full-wattage smile. ‘See? It is kind of fun, isn’t it?’
Ethan blinked—to his own surprise, it was...but it would be a whole lot better if he could tell himself that the reason had zip to do with his fellow decorator. Maybe her palpable belief in the magic of Christmas was contagious. Dear Lord—he’d lost the plot big-time. If he didn’t take care he’d find himself with a pillow round his middle in a red suit.
‘Could be worse,’ he muttered as he stretched up his arm to thread a silver-spangled ball on to a branch.
Hmm... Alarm bells started to toll in his brain. If Ruby had gone this over the top with the tree, what other schemes were afoot?
‘So...any other magical plans apart from the tree?’
Ruby expertly unhooked a strand of tinsel and rearranged it. ‘I’ve planned a bake-off.’
‘A bake-off?’
‘Yup. I think they’ll go for it because of all the TV shows. My plan is that everyone has a go at Christmas cookies and gingerbread. It will be friendly—they can judge each other. Or the ones who really don’t want to bake can judge. It will make a nice start to the festivities. Then they can eat Tony’s pizzas and chill, play some games, maybe catch a Christmas movie. I’ll make popcorn.’
‘That sounds like a lot of work for you.’ Ethan hesitated; he didn’t want to hail on her parade or dim her enthusiasm, but... ‘You do know that these kids...they may not appreciate your good intentions.’
‘Don’t worry. I know I’m coming across all Pollyanna, but I have kept a reality check. I’ve got in extra fire extinguishers, plus I’ve cleared out all the sharp knives, though I’ve decided cookie cutters won’t be lethal. I know there is a chance none of them will engage. But...’ Reaching up, she attached a gold bauble. ‘I’ve got to try. Because if we get through to even one of these kids and create a happy memory of Christmas then it will be worth it. Even if they aren’t in a place to show their appreciation.’
‘The “dilute the tainted memories” approach?’ he said.
‘Yup.’
For a second Ethan wondered if that were possible—then knew he was deluded. It wasn’t. He wasn’t even sure he wanted it to be.
Once he’d believed the best thing to do was obliterate the chain of memories with mindless anger. Beat them into oblivion. Especially the memory of the Christmas after Tanya’s death. His mother, him, and the ghost of Tanya. In the end rage had overcome him and he’d hurled the microwaved stodgy food at the wall, watched the gravy trickle and blend in with the grungy paint. Once he’d started he hadn’t been able to stop—had pulled the scrawny tree from its pot, flung it down. Stamped on it, kicked it—as if the tree had been the bully who had driven Tanya to her death.
His mother hadn’t said a word; then she had left the room with a curt, ‘Clean it up.’
Seconds later he’d heard the sound of the television and known that it was the end of Christmas. By the following Christmas she’d consigned him to social services and he’d taken to the streets, consumed by grief, anger and misery. Then finally he’d decided to take control—to leash the demons and channel his emotions in order to succeed.
With an abrupt movement he stood back. ‘I’m done.’
Seeing the snap of concern in her blue eyes, he forced his lips into a smile. Ruby’s way wasn’t his way, but that wasn’t to say it wasn’t a good way—and she was right. If her way could help even one of these teenagers then it was worth every moment.
‘It looks spectacular.’
That pulled an answering smile, though her eyes still surveyed him with a question. ‘It’s a work of art.’