Page 106 of The Christmas Tree Farm
She poured her soup into a bowl and moved to the table trying and failing to not think about the contents of the letter. It filled her with anxiety every time she thought about it.
Had he gotten it yet? She’d sent it a few days ago. How long did it take mail to get from here to there? What if it got lost? Mail got lost all the time, didn’t it?
And worse, if he had gotten it, what did he think about it?
Maybe she’d been inspired by Edwin’s prolific letter-writing. She was still sorting through them all on the off-chance he’d put a treasure map in one of them, but a letter had seemed like a good idea at the time. She wanted something less instant. Something that would let Bennett formulate his answer before he sent it. Something that wouldn’t be like staring at the thinking dots on a text message. Those dots would have broken her for sure.
But now the waiting was just as bad.
Just say the word…
Had he meant it?
Maybe he’d gotten back out into the real world, away from their snowed-in fantasy land, and realized it had been just the circumstances. Just the magic of the season. Or the loneliness.
But even if that was true, she was still glad she’d sent it. He’d said so many beautiful things to her during that last fight, and she’d given him nothing but icy silence. He deserved to at least know how she’d felt about him. How much she’d loved their Christmas together.
And anyway, it was too late now. The letter was out in the world, in her sloppy handwriting, and there was no taking it back. She could still remember every word she’d written since she’d rewritten the damn thing so many times.
Dear Bennett,
Even after reading so many of Edwin’s letters, I don’t know how to start this one (sorry but it’s not going to be dirty). I guess I just wanted to say a few things I didn’t manage to say before you left, even though I probably should have.
I thought I was doing the right thing, the selfless thing, by ending things between us. I thought I should insist that you go home, but once again I wasn’t thinking about you. About what you wanted. I shouldn’t have doubted you. If you wanted to stay, I should have let you.
I am still a work in progress.
But I wanted you to know that to me, you are perfect, too. Which surprises me, honestly. You are everything I didn’t know I wanted. But I fell in love with you because you are good and kind. A nearly unbearably handsome caretaker. Selfless and sweet. And by far the best sex I’ve ever had. I’ve used that little pink vibrator thinking about you so many times since you’ve been gone that I burned out the battery (okay, so, a little bit dirty).
I realized, maybe too late, that being independent doesn’t have to mean being alone.
I miss you.
So, I guess, I’m saying the word…
All my love,
Kira
P.S. I loved the socks.
She ate her soup, listening to her latest podcast,Horticulture and You, with Benny snoozing, his big head covering her feet, and she tried not to think about Bennett reading those words. She was putting her bowl in the sink when Benny started growling.
‘What is it, buddy?’ The dog was staring at the back windows. ‘Probably just a skunk or something,’ she assured him, peering out into the dark but Benny wouldn’t stop. His growls turned to barks.
‘Okay, you’re freaking me out.’
She followed the dog into the living room, grabbing her phone on the way, ready to call the cops, or Logan or someone, to come and scare away whatever was outside, scaring her big baby of a dog.
She looked out the front windows. The lights by the Christmas-tree cabin were on. So were the lights she had strung over the first few rows of trees. But it was the three dogs running through the farm that stopped her heart in her chest.
‘Holy shit, Benny.’
He whined next to her, nudging his head against her leg.
‘It’s okay. They’re … friends.’ She was already moving toward the door, fumbling with her boots, pulling on her coat. She couldn’t work the zipper; her hands were shaking too much.
He was here.
