Page 75 of The Goalie in Room 1

“Yes.”

“My house.”

“For now,” he said, and my eyebrows rose, but he disappeared without a glance or another word.

The car wound up the hill toward the house. Windows down, the smell of pine trees and salty ocean filled the car. The house, which you’d only know was there if you knew to look for it, came into view, and my mood lifted and my heart rate picked up.

A few moments later, the garage door closed behind me. I reached for my bag, only to stop and stare at the packages on the passenger seat. Gifts for Cash because…tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and given the conversation we’d had about decorations, I worried he bought me something. I couldn’t not have a gift— or ten— for him.

Yes, I channeled Sheldon Cooper. Sue me. Sighing, I placed the presents on the floorboard of the back seat, knowing the tinted windows would keep him from seeing what was back there. With everything stowed out of sight, I grabbed my bag from the passenger seat, got out, and walked into the house.

Three steps inside, I stopped, the doorknob still in my hand.

Pine.

Fresh pine.

I wiggled my nose and sniffed, chalking up the tingle in my nostrils to driving home with the windows down. I shucked my jacket and shoes in the mudroom. Prior to Cash, I wouldn’t have bothered with the shoes, but he had a thing about wearing outside shoes inside. Just one of the many things I knew about him after nearly two months of sharing a house with the man.

When I turned the corner from the garage entrance to the open expanse of the living area , I came to a halt. A screeching halt.

A Christmas tree stood before the wall of glass.

“Cash?”

“Before you say anything, I didn’t do shit.”

I closed my eyes. I dropped my bag on the kitchen island.

A Christmas tree stood.

Not decorated.

Not lit.

Just enormous, green, and very fucking present in the middle of my previously tree-free living room.

And stationed on the sectional with his right leg stretched along the cushions sat Cash Benjamin, wearing a grin big enough to power half of Southern California.

“Merry Christmas, Doc.”

I looked at the tree.

Then him.

Then the tree.

“You…bought a tree,” I stated, still not sure how I felt or should react to the ginormous green monstrosity taking up a very large portion of my living room.

“Ordered.”

“Huh?” I asked

“Ordered, Doc. I ordered a Christmas tree. The delivery people brought it inside.”

I looked at the stand for several minutes, then pointed at the metal legs and water bowl holding up the…tree. The word felt way too tiny. Why wasn’t there another word for a tree after it got big enough to have two whole forests of tree offspring and grand saplings ? Like…it had to be bigger than a Sequoia.

“They put it in there too.”