Grace
Once everyone is up, it is all hands on deck to finish getting the house ready for the party tonight. The entire place feels like a Christmas-themed war zone — boxes everywhere, half-strung lights in the foyer, and the faint smell of cinnamon battling with the scent of pine from the Christmas tree.
Mom has been in the kitchen all morning, finishing up her dishes for tonight. She scowled when she realized that there was a pumpkin pie missing, muttering something about “mysterious dessert thieves” while banging cabinet doors a little too dramatically.
I pretended not to hear.
Or blush.
Or think about Dawson’s wicked grin this morning as I openly ogled him.
I’ve been placed on inside-decorations duty, which apparently means I am now elbows-deep in garland and tinsel, tangled in a
