Page 82 of A Little More Forgiveness

“This one?” Gabe asked, sounding exasperated at my continued refusal of every tree they suggested. I ignored him and my tiredness due to trekking through the freezing snow all morning. Maybe I hadn’t made as much of a recovery as I’d anticipated. I didn’t care, though, and would have trudged in the snow all day, because if I intended to pick out my first ever Christmas tree, I wanted it to be perfect.

Careful with my steps in the high drifts, I made my way over to a pine tree half hidden behind a couple of others. Nice thick branches to hang a multitude of Christmas baubles from, it had the right height at about eight feet, and the exact triangular shape I’d always imagined. “This is the one,” I stated triumphantly.

“Oh, thank God,” Mitch replied. “I didn’t think this search would ever end.” My death stare had no effect, except making the cheesiest grin possible stretch across his face.

“Asshole,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

“Okay. Let’s get this thing chopped down so we can get back to the cabin. I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

“Nice.”

He shrugged his shoulders and, shucking off the massive backpack he’d brought with him, pulled out a chainsaw that belonged in a slasher movie instead of the snowy scene around us. I made sure to move well out of the way.

“What?” Mitch grinned, waggling his eyebrows. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Hell, no.”

He pushed some buttons before pulling on the start cord a few times. The engine hummed for a couple seconds before the grating whir of the blades echoed all around us, deafeningly loud as the sound bounced off the surrounding hills. Squatting down under our tree, Mitch expertly cut through the bark, making short work of the thick trunk. He looked like a real lumberjack and, as visions of him sweaty and stripped to the waist in a pair of snug overalls whizzed through my mind, I had to adjust my hardening dick, which pushed against my jeans.

Gabe sniggered and winked at me, letting me know exactly where his mind had gone. “Our very own sexy lumberjack,” he remarked, echoing my thoughts.

Not long after, we trudged home, all three carrying the tree between us. Once there, we lowered our cargo carefully on the porch, close to the door. Mitch took the couple of steps back down to the yard. “I’ll go get the lights and decorations.”

“You need any help?” Gabe asked him, concern in his eyes.

His gruff, “I’m good,” didn’t appease Gabe at all.

“You sure? We could—” I stopped him talking by placing my hand on his arm.

“He’ll be fine,” I said gently, getting me a worried look from Gabe. “Let him go.”

Mitch hadn’t waited and was already halfway to the barn in the far corner of the yard.

“He needs to do this on his own.”

“Doesn’t make me not want to be there when he does.”

“Me too, but I don’t think he’d want us to be.”

Gabe kept his eyes on Mitch’s retreating form. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Giving his arm a squeeze, I called the dogs, and we headed inside, marking time by sitting together on the sofa, waiting for Mitch to return. When we heard his boots on the porch, we were up and off our seats and opening the front door the same time he got there. He held a tree stand and a bag overflowing with lights in one hand, and a large box of Christmas decorations propped under his other arm.

“Here, let me.” I took the stand and the bag containing the lights from him. He didn’t say anything, his face remaining solemn, but the rims of his eyes were red where he’d been crying. I leaned over and kissed him tenderly on the cheek. In that moment, I’d never been more proud or loved this tender-hearted man more. “Let’s set up the stand and bring the tree inside.”

We worked in harmony, setting the stand in place and slotting in the tree, ensuring it was perfectly straight before securing the base.

“You got any dark chocolate?” Gabe asked Mitch.

“Probably a bar in the cupboard. Why?”

Gabe winked at him. “You start work on the tree, and I’ll be back in a bit.” He turned and headed toward the kitchen.

“Hey,” I complained. “You can’t get out of decorating the Christmas tree.”

“I won’t,” he called out over his shoulder, but he didn’t return to help us.

Bringing the heavy box of decorations closer, I opened the flaps up to see what we had to work with, being careful as I pulled out lots of smaller boxes containing ceramic baubles we’d use later.

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