“You call this decorated?”

Bog winced as his sister-in-law’s voice echoed from the living room. He pushed back from his desk and the menu plans for his latest restaurant with a growl and stalked out of his office. To his dismay, Dawn came prepared, bags overflowing with sparkly baubles and garland piled in the center of the room.

“As decorated as it needs to be,” he grumbled with a gesture at the large wreath his mother arranged above the mantle, with a line of unused stockings a precarious distance from the fireplace.

Dawn rolled her eyes and began to unload. Glass baubles in garish colors mingled with lengths of gold and silver garland. Several small wreaths dotted with holly and oversized bows went into a separate stack. “You haven’t even got a tree,” she scoffed, fussing with a tangled string of lights.

“We don’ need one,” Bog said without much hope. He had little resolve against the pixish blonde. Not because she would pout. The girl was a damned steamroller when she got an idea in her head, and woe to soul who stood against her.

“Uh, yeah you do,” she replied, festive heels kicked off so she could use a 15th century table as a ladder. “Sunny will be here soon. It took a while to find one big enough.” She jumped down and crossed the room to pat Bog’s shoulder. “Now you get back to work and don’t worry about a thing. We won’t even ask you to put on the tree topper.”

Unenthused, Bog allowed himself to be ushered back into his office.

He got little work done over the next few hours, wincing at every bump and bang and praying for the safety of his China cabinet. Eventually, the house fell silent. That, he decided, was worse.

He crept down the hall and peered into the living room. The sight almost made him sick.

An implausibly tall evergreen stood in the corner by the front window, the branches almost completely hidden by piles of ornaments, lights, bows, tinsel, and lord only knows what else. Gold and silver garlands draped every wall anchored with wreaths at strategic points. Red and green bunting held down with cinnamon-scented candles covered every flat surface.

Dawn had just placed a log in the fireplace, unconcerned with the pine needles that covered her oversized Christmas sweater. “Ready with those lights?” she called over her shoulder.

“Almost.” The familiar figure of Dawn’s best friend, Sunny, crawled out from underneath the tree, several cords wrapped around his small frame. “Just need the tree topper.”

“I’ve got it.”

Bog’s eyes jerked up to the peak of the tree where his own grinchy wife stood atop a ladder, wrestling a shimmery star into place.

He skulked back down the hall unseen, giving her a fond look. “Traitor.”