Now we get to the Hallmark part of the story. Those who were asking for more might not want it lolll jk see you tomorrow and thank you so much for reading :3
7
On the walk to Edward's place, he texts Garrett to make sure he's not home. Knowing why Edward wants to make sure we'll be alone sends a thrilling spark throughout my body.
Unfortunately, Garrett texts back that he's home, so that spark burns out. But thankfully, he's heading out soon to meet a friend.
I'm about to suggest to Edward that we just head to my place when I notice a Christmas tree lot across the street from his apartment.
"You need a tree," I tell him decidedly. "And a wreath."
"Oh, do I?"
"Yes. I know the pine needles will fall onto the floor and mess up your perfect apartment, but you don't want me to think you're a Grinch on top of having OCD, do you?"
Edward grins and shakes his head. "What's so wrong with being a Grinch? You're one, too."
"Just because I can be moody and sarcastic does not mean I'm a Grinch," I insist and tug on his arm so we can cross the street. "Come on. It'll waste some time until Garrett leaves."
Sighing, Edward hooks an arm around my neck and pulls me close as we walk toward the lot.
"You're lucky I like you," he whispers in my ear.
"Why? You have something against Christmas?" I ask as we leisurely walk down aisles of trees that collect the falling snow.
"No. I'm just not into decorating. Seems like a lot of work, especially since Christmas is next week and I'd have to take everything down soon."
"You should've decorated sooner."
"What's the point of decorating at all?"
It's nostalgic for me but for others… I don't really know.
"For festivity," I guess.
"Again, just seems like a lot of work when I could be doing… other things with my time," he says, giving me a small, knowing smirk.
"Doing other things like what—me?" I innocently ask.
With his arm still slung over my shoulder, he grins wider. "You said it. Not me."
"Decorating doesn't take that long. You're underestimating my skills—put me to good use."
"That's exactly what I was trying to do until you brought us here," he whispers in my ear again.
"Another innuendo?" I laugh.
"I'm a man. What can I say?"
"That you'll liven your place up with some holiday spirit."
"Hear me out, Swan. I live in an apartment and I can't dispose of the tree in the garbage, so I either have to saw it into pieces to put into the compost bin, or haul it to the transfer station to dump it and—"
"I'm now convinced you also suffer from anxiety," I say dryly. "Don't overthink this."
He laughs. "Who doesn't have anxiety? Punk."
"Fair point. I'll dispose of the tree for you if you're so annoyed by the idea of having to get rid of it."
His grip on me loosens and I walk toward a medium-sized tree that's my height.
"You'll dispose of it how—your brute strength?" he asks. "You don't have a license or a car."
"Yeah, well someone offered to teach me, so…" His expression softens after I say that. "What about this tree?"
He scrubs a hand through his hair to brush away snowflakes. "I'm still not convinced I need a tree, Bella."
"You're not really into this, are you?" I ask, a little deflated, and he apologetically shrugs. "If you're not into decorations, then you definitely shouldn't go to my mom's house. It's like a winter wonderland inside. And the outside used to be—" Magical. Cheesy. Perfectly over-the-top and so, so my dad.
"What?" Edward asks, tugging on my coat.
I reach for a branch and shake off some snow as I talk. "My dad used to put up this huge outdoor display with a million lights, inflatables, and synchronized music." I chuckle now despite the heavy emotion in my chest.
"He sounds like Clark Griswold," Edward muses, a gentle smile on his face when I look at him.
"Yeah. Worse than Clark, maybe. Eventually, my dad's Christmas spirit inspired our neighbors, so the entire street got into it, too. Every house was insanely decorated, and people would idle down our road in their cars every night from December 10th until New Year's to check out the displays."
Edward's brows pinch together, but there's recognition behind his gaze. "Really? I used to do that with my family when I was younger. My mom would let us drink hot chocolate in the car and we'd go to this street called Candy Cane Lane. That place was fucking intense," he says thoughtfully, causing my heart to stop, then immediately beat faster. "My favorite house had real snow on their lawn, even when it hadn't actually snowed."
I blink. "Shut up."
"What?"
"That was my house."
"What?" he asks again, brows furrowing even more.
"That was my parents' house. The one you're talking about. My mom still lives there."
"You grew up on Candy Cane Lane?" he asks in disbelief. "Why isn't that the first thing you tell people?"
I laugh at how impressed he sounds. "Well, I actually grew up on Northeast Park Road, but yeah. For December, it was Candy Cane Lane. Some years my dad would pay a shit ton of money to have real snow dumped on our lawn if it hadn't already snowed. It'd eventually melt after a few days, so you and your family must have driven by early on."
Edward's smile is so fucking tender. "My family always went the very first night it started."
I fucking love this about him. I love that at some point in our childhood, I was inside my overly decorated house and Edward was outside in his car with his family, admiring my dad's hard work.
Overwhelming emotion catches me off guard. I blink away tears that don't fall, and I think Edward notices because his expression further softens. He doesn't comment on it and I appreciate that.
Maybe it's silly how emotional this is making me. But my dad's obsession with Christmas has always been a sentimental memory to me, and this time of year is always difficult. Add in the coincidence that my house was always Edward's favorite, yeah. It feels big and is making my heart swell three sizes.
"Ever since my dad passed away, we don't do it anymore," I admit, thankful my voice sounds normal and not like I'm about to cry anymore. "We never could get it right, and it was a huge undertaking. Some of the neighbors pitched in for a couple of years, but it just got to be too much, so. Now our house isn't decorated at all."
Edward's sweet smile turns a little sad. "I bet it was a lot of work. Over the eight or so years we drove by, I don't remember your house ever reusing the same display," he murmurs, and it's another thing I love about this bittersweet moment. Even though Edward will never get to meet my father, he already has an idea of the dedicated and enthusiastic man he was.
"Every year my dad had a new theme, so my mom made him rent a storage unit so everything wouldn't take over the garage and attic," I recall, laughing a little. "I remember how my dad pitched a fit over that because he was worried someone would break into the storage unit and steal his shit. As if people coveted Christmas decor." Edward laughs, too. "As pathetic as it might be, we still pay for the storage unit. Getting rid of everything just feels wrong."
Edward brings a hand up to squeeze my shoulder softly. "It's not pathetic, Bella. It's really fucking sweet."
"Yeah." I sigh. "What a small fucking world, huh? Edward 'Pretty Boy' Cullen drove down my street as a kid."
"I know." His smile is soft and so sincere, and then he reaches between the parted branches of the tree to grab the trunk from the middle, easily lifting it. "C'mon. Let's get this one."
I brighten, and if I were the type to jump up and down, I would. "Really?"
"Yeah," he agrees, and I throw myself at him with a hug. "I'm not that big of a Grinch, and just like your neighbors, I've been inspired by your dad. Let's go deck my halls."