JESSICA BERKELEY.
The tree isn’t enough. I step back from it for the second time, studying the glow for a moment before turning away. The rest of the cottage still feels unfinished, like the warmth is trapped in one corner and hasn’t spread properly.
“We’re not done,” I say.
Devin, who’s halfway through checking the lights again, glances at me.
“Of course we’re not.”
I ignore the tone and move toward the fireplace. The mantel is bare.
I reach into another box and pull out a long garland, deep green with small gold accents woven through it. It smells faintly like pine, like it’s been waiting all year for this moment. I lift it carefully and stretch it across the mantel, adjusting the ends until it sits evenly.
It slips and I catch it quickly, frowning.
Before I can fix it again, De
