Page 12 of OMG Christmas Tree
I couldn’t help laugh. “Country-bred? What’s that?”
She gestured out the window. “Fields. Corn. Cows. Look, there’s a barn.”
“We have the internet out here, you know. Netflix. HBO Max. Stores, and culture, and art.”
“Art?” She looked amused now. “What kind of art do you have in farm country?”
“There’s a shop in town with a local artists’ gallery. Paintings and sculptures. Our community center hosts a judged art show every year.” The heat in my neck transferred to my face. “You know, for telling me I’m spoiled, you sound pretty stuck-up yourself.”
She let out a singleha. “I pay my own rent, own my car, my own phone—all of it, without help.”
“But you think anything beyond the city is trash. That’s so...basic.”
“I’m basic?” she blasted back. “I never said you were trash, to be clear. I grew up in the suburbs. I still have friends there.”
“Do you visit them?”
She scoffed. “I don’t need to explain myself to you. You’re doing a lot of judging right now.”
“Only because you judged me.”
“You tried to manipulate me to steal my tree. Because you’re a Fail Hard.”
I gripped the wheel and hit the brakes. We slowly stopped with plenty of feet to go to the stop sign.A fail hard. She pegged me that quickly. Never left home, took the family job, but still didn’t live up to even those lame standards.
We looked at each other, the tension thick as the ice coating the edges of the windshield.
“I wouldn’t be driving you if I didn’t feel a little bad about earlier,” I admitted. “The...manipulation. I’m sorry.”
“Fine.” She sank back into the seat. “I didn’t know the tree was meant for a charity event. I’d say sorry for buying it, but honestly the tree lot shouldn’t have sold it.”
“It’s not your fault.” I could only blame myself for assuming the Sawyers would keep the tree. And for assuming I’d plan the event in a handful of days. Here I was blaming a stranger for my own procrastination. A beautiful stranger, sitting so close, trusting me for some reason, to help her family holiday not suck with the perfect Christmas tree.
“You can have the tree—”
“Keep the tree—”
We stared at each other. A horn blared behind us. I hit the gas and headed past the stop sign through the intersection.
I cleared my throat. “Please, keep the tree. For your family. I’ll get one myself for the mayor’s benefit.”
A few beats passed. “Okay. Thank you.”
“You can help me load the new tree into the truck.” I flashed a look her way to see how she’d react.
“Oh, will I?” Now her smile grew. “We’ll see about that.”
