Page 39 of Meet Me on Christmas Eve

“Oh, you—” I sputtered, “it’s notyou. And I’m not clumsy. It’s probably an inner ear thing that controls balance, you know. I was planning to call my doctor, actually—”

He chuckled. “Relax, Mariana. I was just giving you shit. You can do the tree if you want.”

My face relaxed, even as I’m sure it was probably a few shades of pink. He was teasing me. He couldn’t hate me if he was teasing, right? Another possible sign that maybe, just maybe, all was not lost. “Really?” I said hopefully.

He shrugged. “It’s your tree.”

When we got to the wall where I wanted this tree placed, I worked slowly on the base. I’d helped my dad with this when I was little, but it had been so long. I didn’t want to mess it up. I had to unscrew the different sides a few times when it seemed tilted, and Terry took hold of the tree when it seemed that it might tip over.

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

Maybe I should make small talk. This was not the most uncomfortable silence ever, but it was not exactly pleasant either.

“So, a tree farm, eh? Is this just … an extra income thing or a particular interest of yours?”

He didn’t answer for a long time. Finally, I looked up at him, curious at whether he’d even heard me.

“Both, I guess.”

I thought about how to respond to this. “Really? You’re interested in Christmas trees? Or farming? Or retail or … what part of it is your interest?”

I heard him take a few breaths before he responded. “All of the above, I guess.” I thought he wasn’t going to say anymore, but after a very long pause, he added, “I got a botany degree a couple years ago. And I like this area, so … finding some unconventional ways to put it to use, I guess.”

“Wow, that’s … really wonderful,” I said. A botanist? What on earth? I never would’ve guessed. Of all the things. “It’s great to have an occupation that is rewarding in more than just money.”

“Is that how owning an elite resort is for you? Or is it just about the money?” His voice had an unmistakable note of derision in it.

I felt my hackles go up again as I turned to him. “Why would you just assume that? Is it that hard to imagine that I might enjoy what I do?”

I pushed up with my feet then, trying to stand, but I lost my footing while trying to hold onto the tree. I started taking the tree with me as I went crashing back to the floor, my shoulder blades hitting the wall. Dammit, that hurt.

Just before the tree trunk crashed into my face though, a large hand wrapped around it, and Terry’s solid form fell against my side.

“Oof!” I think I said, or maybe it was him. He carefully set the tree further aside so it leaned against the wall before starting to back away from me, and in the meantime, I couldn’t breathe.

It was getting hard to be so close to him. More like impossible. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t breathe or think. I couldn’t—

“Mariana, are you all right?” He looked concerned. “Your breathing … are you hurt?”

I just looked at him, my lips unable to form words.

His eyebrows drew together as he looked at my hunched form, and he touched my upper arms gently, so gently I thought I would cry. “Mariana, please. Where are you hurt? What can I do?”

I had to speak, or … I didn’t know what would happen. I took a few breaths, trying to steady my racing heart, with little success. “M-my shoulder hit the wall.”

His eyes darted to my left shoulder and then my right and then back to my face. “Which one? How bad is it?” His face made a pained expression before he added, “Do you think it’s dislocated?”

My eyes widened. “Oh, uh, no. They both hurt, but I … I’ll be fine. It’s not that bad. I’m just … I’m OK.”

The reactions on his face changed so many times I lost count, but eventually he settled on frustrated, with a touch of confusion. “So, you’re not really hurt? You’re just fine?”

I tried to smile. “Right. It just took the wind out of my sails, you know.”

He looked at me with some doubt but started to rise to his feet. “All right.”

“I’ll just ice it later or something. It’s no big deal.” It would probably be a pain in the ass, actually, as my neck and shoulders tended to be sensitive in the past year, especially when I was stressed, but I’d deal with that later. Now wasn’t the time to worry about that. I needed to get distance. Now.

“Do you need a hand?” he asked as I started getting up, holding onto the wall for support.

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