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Christmas Lights and Love

By Joi Copeland

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Quinn Burkett tightened a light bulb on the edge of his roof then inched his way down the ladder and moseyed backwards to the end of his driveway. His breath came out in puffs, lit by the Christmas lights brightening up the front of his house. It took a lot of work, entering the Christmas Lights competition every year. Yet it had been well worth it, especially the last three years.
How many more times could he enter and win first place? Quinn almost had enough saved to make amends. Almost. They told him it wasn't necessary. He'd done all he could. And yet...he couldn't shake the feeling he should've done more. What if he'd held on longer? Somehow, managing to retain his grip instead of letting her...
No. He wouldn't think of that fateful night. He couldn't think about that night or else it would suck him down a path he'd scratched and clawed to escape. While he'd been able to move forward, he still had to do one more thing before letting go. To accomplish that, he had to win this contest and next year's. Maybe then, he would finally be free.
Darkness descended upon the earth while he stared at his winter wonderland. Blinking lights, carousels, candy cane creations traveling the sides of his driveways gave the impression Quinn loved this holiday. And he did. Just not as much as he used to. One day, he prayed that would change. To return to the magic of Christmas. To feel God's presence in his life like he used to. To open his eyes on Christmas day, grateful for the gift of God's Son instead of the reminder of his failure.
Enough. The judges would be by tomorrow night, scrutinizing his house as they'd done several times before. Everything had to be perfect.
A door slammed behind him, footsteps crunching the snow. "Hey, Q."
Quinn turned at the sound of his friend's voice. "Ethan. How's it going?"
"Good. Your house looks pretty festive. Think you'll win again?" Ethan handed him a styrofoam cup. "London knew you'd be working on your house, so she made me bring you some hot chocolate."
"Tell her thanks for me." The hot liquid warmed Quinn's insides. "This is delicious. And I hope I win this year. Have you seen the competition?"
Ethan dipped his head and rubbed the side of his chestnut beard. "I have. Pretty tough this year. You might get a run for your money."
Quinn shrugged. "It's more rewarding if I win against the best instead of mediocre."
"True." Ethan blew into his hands. "I should've worn gloves. My wife makes sure you have hot chocolate but doesn’t remind me to put on gloves. What's up with that?"
"She's always had a soft spot for me," Quinn teased.
The silence between Ethan and Quinn drew on. While most would be uncomfortable, Quinn relished it. Since he'd known Ethan Knight, they'd settled into an easy silence when neither of them had a lot to say. Although, Ethan wouldn't have driven over to Quinn's if he didn't have something on his mind.
"What brought you out on this cold night? Shouldn't you be getting ready for Christmas?"
Ethan tilted his head and glanced at his friend. "You know she's entering again, don't you?"
Quinn snickered. "Of course she is. Do you think she really wants to win, or is she just trying to outdo me?"
"Who's to say? What does she have against you anyway? From the moment she stepped into town, it's like she zeroed in on you and found you lacking."
"She ought to join the club. No, scratch that. She probably already has and is now president." Quinn shook his head. "I really thought since London and Belle befriended Deni, she'd come around. I mean, how many times have we all hung out? Still, I receive the cold shoulder."
Ethan tucked his hands in his pockets. "Wish I could help you. I've been praying she'll talk to London about it. Maybe one day she will. Or even better, maybe she'll talk to you about it."
"That would be ideal. Whenever I see Max and Miles, they cling to me like I'm a superhero. Those boys need someone in their lives. Not that I'm the one they need. Believe me. They could do a lot better than me. I hope she isn't so cold with all the men around here."
Liar. He really did hope she was as snooty with all the men. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought of Deni in a romantic way. Who wouldn't? With her dark hair cut in a bob, rich coffee brown eyes and pert little nose, she'd capture any man's attention. Add her five-foot-eight frame and hour glass figure, and she'd make any man proud to be by her side. He'd tried to be friends with her, offered to take her to coffee or dinner. She shot him down each and every time.
"Well, no matter what, I hope she softens toward you. She could use some help but is unwilling to ask."
Quinn took another sip of his hot chocolate. "I agree. Do you know her story at all?"
Ethan's eyebrows met his hairline. "You want to know more about her, eh?"
Quinn rolled his eyes. "Don't read into it. I just wondered what happened to her husband."
Ethan's lips tilted down. "I know he passed away. That's all I am at liberty to say. Maybe you should ask Deni."
"Yeah," Quinn grimaced, "that's what I'll do. I'll stroll on over to her house, knock on the door, and say, 'Hey, Deni. I was just in the neighborhood and wondered how your husband died.'"
Ethan chuckled and held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to become Oscar the Grouch."
"Would Oscar the Grouch live in a house decorated like this?" Quinn swept his hand toward his two-story home.
His friend's blue eyes held his own. "Perhaps if he was trying to make restitution for something that wasn't his fault."
Ouch. Quinn pulled his gaze away from Ethan's. Restitution indeed.

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