Page 37 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
“This is all going to work out,” Sara gushes, and a fresh wave of dizziness threatens my vision.
So I stare at the dashboard, trying my best to hide my brain fog from Sara. I need her to believe I’m healing. That my head’s not at risk, let alone my heart. If I can just hold on a couple moredays, she never has to know how much I’m beginning to dread being without her.
By the time we pull up to Humboldt Farms, Sara’s officially wiggling like a puppy. “You’vegotto be kidding me,” she gasps. “This is amazing! Isn’t this amazing?”
My mouth goes crooked, but then I try to imagine the scene through her first-timer eyes.
Snow-dusted pine trees stretch in neat rows across from where we’re parked. To the right is a beverage stand selling mulled wine and hot cocoa. Two large firepits flicker in the space between the trees and an enormous barn. The rooftop and open doors are all lit up with strands of red and green Christmas bulbs.
“I love everything about this,” Sara says, almost breathless.
I nod toward the barn. “I don’t want to send you into orbit, but they’re probably selling gingerbread cookies and Santa hats in there. And Stanley will definitely be giving away candy canes.”
“Yes, yes, and yes.” She beams at me. “But first things first, we need a tree!”
She clambers out of the car and takes a shortcut to the nearest row of pines, crunching over a low snowbank at the edge of the parking lot. I follow her, hands stuffed in my pockets, watching as she ruffles the branches of each tree. She peeks around the back of them, probably searching for potential bald spots. The whole time, she’s got her chin tipped, eyes in a squint, nose wrinkled in concentration.
The woman means business.
And it’s adorable.
“I like this one!” She’s stopped in front of an eight-foot noble fir at the edge of the third row. “What do you think?” she asks, with a little hop and clap.
I bob my head. “It’s a beaut, Clark.”
“Ha! Ilovethat movie.” Sara snort-laughs at myChristmas Vacationreference, her eyes shining with pure joy. She’s basically a kid in a candy store right now. It’s like she’s never picked out a Christmastree before.
Oh, right. I guess she hasn’t.
“Hey! Mr. Fuller!” someone calls out from a few rows away. It’s Sullivan Ackerman in a Santa hat, all six foot six of him, looking like Jack and his beanstalk melded into one giant teenager.
I had Sully for US history last year, and he’s in my senior government class now. Good kid. Great basketball player. Talented enough to score a full ride to Ohio State next fall.
“Hey, Sully.” I wave as he approaches. When he spots Sara for the first time, the kid’s jaw comes unhinged.
Yeah, I get it, man. She’s really something else.
He reaches up to adjust his hat, then boomerangs his focus back to me. “How … how is …how’s your winter break going, Mr. Fuller?”
Since my bandage is hidden by the beanie, I make a snap decision not to go into any of the details. “So far, so good,” I say, vaguely.
Sara lets out a barely audible yelp.
Sully nods, his gaze flicking between us, ultimately landing on me. “What can I do for you, then?”
“Oh, we’re just here to get a tree.” As soon as the word ‘we’ slips out of my mouth, I regret it. Good thing Sully’s already so awkward around girls—he’s probably not gonna ask about Sara. Who she is. What she means to me.
Please don't ask about Sara.
“Sure thing, Mr. Fuller.” Sully nods to indicate the tree next to Sara. “Is this the one?”
“Yes!” She claps again and something stirs behind my ribs. Seeing her happy like this makes me happier than I’ve felt in a while. Concussion or no concussion.
“I’ll just net the tree up for you and load it into your truck, then.” Sully surveys the parking lot probably searching for my Chevy.
“It’s the blue sedan over there today.” I pull out my wallet and slip out a twenty for a tip. “Can you tie the tree to the roof?”
“’Course.” I pass Sully the money while Sara hands over the keys. He ducks his head, throat blotching up. “Thanks, Mr. Fuller. Ma’am.” He stuffs the bill into his pocket, then yanks the tag off the tree so I can take it to the cashier to pay. “Won’t take me long.”
