The Last Virgin Standing

Bonus: Ian

I hope everyone has a nice holiday! Hopefully we get some snow for Christmas!

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Emma was over for dinner when Mrs. Jameson announced that she wouldn't be decorating the house for Christmas. It came as a shock to everyone, Ian especially. For as long as he could remember, his mother made sure their house looked like it belonged on the cover of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine in December. "I need to finalize my new line of holiday home décor," Mrs. Jameson said, "and I'll need all of my creative energies focused on that. I still need the house to be decorated." She looked at Emma. "So I'd like Emma to be in charge of that."

Emma's eyes widened and she set her fork down. "Me?"

Mrs. Jameson nodded. "I have faith that you'll make this place look as grand as it always is. You have good taste, darling."

Emma blushed at the compliment. "I'd love to."

Ian was also pleased. He knew that his mother had always adored his girlfriend, but he didn't realize that she trusted her this much to decorate the Jameson house. His dad threw a holiday party each year—yet another business ploy for establishing connections—and a good impression always started with the aesthetics. Ian could practically feel the stress radiating from his father. He also adored Emma, but he wondered how she could possibly pull this off.

Emma started planning as soon as they were excused from dinner. She was at Ian's desk, sketching away at possible layouts for each room. "This isn't a home makeover," Ian said, peering over her shoulder.

"It might as well be," she said. "This has to be perfect."

He squeezed her shoulders. "Don't stress too much."

"I don't want to disappoint your mom."

"You're not going to mess it up."

She pouted and shrugged him off. "You're distracting me. Why don't you go look for a Christmas tree farm?"

"Christmas tree what?"

"You know, a place where you get Christmas trees."

"I don't think we get our tree from a farm."

"Well, you're getting one this year. That way we'll know it's perfect."

There was one twenty minutes from town. Before they switched to a plastic tree, Emma had gone Christmas tree shopping every year since she was born. She zigzagged expertly through rows and rows of evergreen trees, inspecting the color, the build, the scent, and every other detail Ian would've easily missed. Ian squeezed her hand and told her to relax. He thought a vein might pop out of her head.

"I can't relax! The tree is so imperative. It's the central piece tying everything together. I can't mess this up. Everyone will hate me."

"I won't hate you."

Emma grunted. "Who cares what you think?"

He chuckled. "Ouch. My mom loves you, Em."

"That's what she says now, but wait until I mess up the popcorn pattern. Then what?"

He grinned. "Then we eat it."

She rolled her eyes and went back to fussing over the tree. She placed her hands on her hips and inspected the tree in front of her for imperfections. They were shopping a little bit early for trees so they would get the pick of the litter—not that most people would get a tree the size Emma was looking for.