Page 7 of OMG Christmas Tree
Not that I was swayed by dimples. I liked arty guys with chiseled features. Broody types who dressed in black and gray. Nick wore a pricey brand waterproof parka the color of an evergreen with a coordinating plaid scarf. The guy looked practicallyfestive.
Ahead of me, Nick’s truck slowed within sight of a stop sign. He’d started breaking earlier than he needed to driving a truck with those winter tires. My own tires slid as I gently pressed the brakes. Oh, right. He slowed early for my sake. Thoughtful.
A sign with Crystal Cove in retro cursive announced our arrival. Greenery hung along the edges of the sign with red bows shouting from the top corners. Beyond the sign, the street lit up. Okay, maybe I was a sucker, but I gasped. Even in early evening, the town—it looked magical. White lights wound around spindly tree branches and street lampposts. More lights hung in narrow vertical rows against brick building exteriors and spilled out of flower boxes stuffed with holiday greens. Crystal Cove played the holiday game and played it well.
We shot out the other end of Main Street to a stretch of road with nothing notable, the light fading to gradually deepening darkness. Nick’s truck made a right, a left, then another right. I’d have been lost on my own.
The truck slowed and I tapped my brakes, wincing at the fishtail from my tires.Stupid unsalted country roads. Stupid nearly-bald tires.
Nick turned into a driveway. We were here. I gaped at the house. Seriously, Mom lived here? With Stu and what other family? This place could eat my childhood home with a side of graham crackers and milk.
Nick eased up to the garage, his truck taking up the whole middle of the driveway. Something I realized as I careened straight toward it.
Too much momentum. I steered right and slid toward a mass of snow piled along the edge of the driveway. The snowdrift accepted my front end with a forebodingsqunch. Like a snow-mound padlock clicking into place.
Well, I’d made it.
I stared at the house. The house stared back. Not a mansion or anything but large and modern. Not at all what I expected.
Knuckles rapped against my window, sending me jumping in my seat. “You getting out?” Nick’s muffled voice carried through.
Now or never. Could I choose never?
I opened the door and the cold nipped at my skin.
“Nice place.” Nick stood broad-shouldered like a corn-fed hay baler. That’s what country guys did, right? Baled hay? Loaded pine trees from truck beds?
The house loomed over us. “It’s kind of shocking.” I pointed to the house next door, set farther back from the road. “Who needs a four-car garage?”
“Boats? ATVs? Lots of people have extra storage garages up here.”
Derp. Of course, he was right. But I could dwell on my obvious ignorance about sprawling homes in the borderlands on my own time. “Listen, thank you so much for bringing the tree here. I’m sure I would have gotten lost.” He probably expected a tip. I only had ten bucks cash on me. Ten bucks tip wasn’t horrible, right? I rummaged through my purse. “Here.” I handed him the crisp bill.
He leaned against the back of the truck, an unreadable grin on his face. “How about you keep your ten spot. I can still take this tree off your hands. There’s a big box store down the road who sells trees.”
“You drove all the way to Stu—to my family’s house.” Ugh. Still couldn’t get used to saying that. “Why are you trying to convince me to give up the tree?”
“Are you hosting a party?”
“What? My brother’s coming in from Seattle.”
“So, you, your brother, and your parents, and this magnificent pine?”
“This pineismagnificent. My...family is going to love it.”
He crossed his arms, scrutinizing the house. “Step family?”
“Something like that.” Screamingly obvious.Petulant Twenty-Something Avoids New Step-Dad at Christmas — next on Your Basic Millennial Stereotype.“We always had an artificial tree. This year my mom asked for a real tree and tasked me with bringing it. It’s our first Christmas here.”
Unless Mom bought out the ornament section at Target, I had no idea what else we could put on the tree. Our childhood ornaments would barely cover half of this thing.
Nick didn’t say anything and we both sort of stood there looking at the house. I would need to go inside eventually.
“Did you know Crystal Cove was named the number two holiday destination in the state, second only to Chicago?” Nick suddenly asked.
“By what, Small Town Quarterly magazine?”
He named a major travel publication.Double derp.
