Page 27 of Wynter's Second Chance

“So,” he said, his voice almost hesitant, “what do you think Christmas’ll be like this year?”

I looked down, scuffing at the snow, thinking. “Different,” I admitted. “Maybe even good-different. But…” I hesitated, then added, “it hasn’t felt that way in a long time. Rory hasn’t been this excited about Christmas since the one before Royce passed.”

Wynter nodded, understanding without needing anything more. “Maybe different can be just what we need. Start fresh with people who… get it.” He trailed off, his words hovering between us.

Rory was already zigzagging over to a thick, shorter pine, the other “lopsided” fir already forgotten. “What about this one? It’s short. But maybe it’s cozy? You know, like, uh... compact.”

Wynter and I shared another glance, both of us stifling laughs as Rory went on critiquing. “I can’t decide if he wants a tree or a mascot,” I said, leaning a little closer to Wynter, enough to feel his warmth against the cold.

Wynter’s gaze softened, his eyes crinkling just a bit. “I love watching him like this. Pure joy in every step.”

Just then, Rory dashed off to help one of the workers struggling to balance a tree on a sled. “Dad, Wynter, I’m gonna go help!”

Wynter chuckled softly, and I could hear pride in his voice. “That kid has enough energy to power the whole town.”

We both laughed, sharing a warm look, but Wynter’s gaze lingered on mine, his smile fading just a bit, replaced with something more thoughtful.

After a pause, he spoke, his tone quieter. “What do you want for Christmas this year?”

I swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment. “Maybe I already have it.” The words slipped out before I could think twice, my heart racing as his expression shifted—maybe a little surprised, maybe uncertain, but definitely something more too. Had I said too much? I searched his face, holding my breath, hoping I hadn’t crossed a line.

He glanced at Rory before his gaze returned to me, warmer, almost protective. “It feels right being here with you, Taran.” His words were quiet but clear. “After everything… it feels… it feels like maybe we can start something?”

Before I could respond, Rory charged over, breath puffing out in bursts, pointing to a tree with a proud grin. “Look at this one! It’s perfect!”

Wynter and I turned to inspect Rory’s choice. We both leaned down with exaggerated seriousness to examine the pine he’d picked. It had a sturdy trunk and thick branches, just wide enough to fill our living room corner without taking over.

“You know, it does have a certain… majestic quality to it,” Wynter said, glancing at me with a glint of humor.

I nodded, matching his tone. “Fine, Rory,” I said, as if I’d been debating the matter deeply. “You’ve convinced us. This is the one.”

Rory beamed, practically vibrating with excitement as Wynter grabbed the saw from the tree farm’s gear rack. “Stand back, buddy,” Wynter said to Rory, who nodded with wide eyes, stepping back to give him room.

I knelt beside Wynter, gripping the trunk firmly to keep it steady as he worked the saw through the base. The sharp scrape of metal on wood filled the quiet air. Every now and then, our eyes would meet, a shared smile passing between us. After a few more cuts, the tree gave way, and Wynter guided it down carefully to avoid snapping any branches.

“All right, kiddo,” I called. “Help us carry it to the tree shaker?”

Rory’s face lit up, and he immediately reached for a branch with both hands.

“Whoa, maybe not by the branches,” Wynter chuckled, shifting Rory’s grip to the trunk instead. “Don’t want to mess up our masterpiece.”

Rory nodded, adjusting his hold. Once we had a solid grip on the trunk, we carried it over to the shaking machine. The sound of branches rattling as the machine shook loose the needles was satisfying. The tree swayed back and forth, shedding the excess debris before the shaking stopped.

“Looks good. Now for the binding,” Wynter said, moving to grab the netting.

He expertly wrapped the tree in the netting, pulling it tight to keep the branches from sprawling out. Once it was secure, he gave it a few test shakes, making sure everything was bound properly.

“All ready,” Wynter said with a satisfied smile. “Let’s get it on the truck.”

With a few more grunts of effort, we carefully maneuvered the tree to the truck bed. Rory buzzed around us like a coach on the sidelines, offering his own tips. We both laughed as Wynter tightened the cords around the tree, then I caught him watching me. His gaze held a warmth that stirred something deep in me, steady and open, like he was seeing more than just this simple outing. For a second, everything else seemed to fall away—Rory’s chatter faded into the background, leaving just us, wrapped in this unguarded quiet between the laughter and the work.

A strange ache settled in my chest, unexpected but welcome, the kind of feeling you want to hold onto without fully understanding why. Moments like this didn’t come around often, at least, not for me. But this one felt like it might last, finding its way into the memories I’d keep close.

"Looks secure to me," Rory said, breaking the spell.

Back home, Rory was in his own world, sorting through his ornaments like treasures. “This one has to go on the highest branch!” he announced, holding up a tiny Santa with a chipped hat.

Wynter and I started stringing the lights, moving around each other in a quiet rhythm. The warmth of the room, combined with the glow of the tree and Rory’s happy hums, made everything feel… right.

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