Page 72 of Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm
‘It sounds like a lot, but we can deal with it.’ Now we’ve got a bit of privacy, he presses his lips against mine again. ‘I promise. It’s just a blip. One of many that we farmers get chucked at us by Mother Nature, but we overcome them as and when they crop up, and sometimes they lead to even greater things that we never expected.’
He waggles both eyebrows and I tangle my hands in his hair and pull him down, losing myself in the heat of his mouth against my cold skin as his piercing presses against my lips in a spine-tingling sexy way, and the shivers running through me have nothing to do with the wet clothes and hammering rain.
I don’t even notice that the heavy drops of water have changed to light flakes until I register the iciness settling on my back.
‘Snow!’ I squeal against his mouth, and when we pull apart, his eyes are dancing with a lightness that was missing earlier.
‘Snow is good.’ He pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around me and squeezing tight as we stand there, ankle-deep in mud with water still pooling at our feet and gentle snowflakes landing on us. ‘It’ll freeze the ground and give the river a chance to drain, and it’ll be amazing for people walking around. You’re still opening on Saturday.’
‘Even after this?’
‘Even more so after this. We need to assess the storm damage and clear up any trees that have fallen before then, and grit the paths on Saturday morning, but you can’t let this change anything. It’s not great, but it could’ve been so much worse.’
The snowflakes come down thicker as we walk back hand in hand. It’s already starting to settle and the ground starts to crunch underneath our feet before we’ve reached the house. The outside world is covered in a blanket of white again and the wind has eased from the howling gale of earlier, making perfect white snowflakes dance around us. Nothing has ever felt more magical than standing on this perfect farm, in this perfect place, with this beautiful man, surrounded by beautiful Christmas trees, with new friends and a community that I never thought I’d be part of, and I’m happier than I’ve ever been.
Chapter 17
I follow the track on foot, walking behind a family with three children excitedly carrying their chosen Christmas tree that I’ve just cut down. It’s Saturday morning, the last day of November, and the farm is buzzing with people on opening day. The sun is bright in the sky after the storms of the week, and I’m surrounded by the sound of dripping as the snow starts to melt from branches all around me. The elf hats are pinned to intermittent Christmas trees, glittery footprints are spread between the trunks, and the silver bells hanging in the branches jingle with every wisp of the gentle breeze. I swing the saw by my legs as I walk, humming along to the strains of Frank Sinatra’s version of ‘Little Drummer Boy’, which is playing from a speaker on the roof of the caravan. The track around the farm is frozen earth, surrounded by the snow that has settled again, and all around me are the excited screams and laughter of children as they dash around, playing hide and seek behind the Norway spruces, and their squeals of disappointment as the crunch of their shoes in the snow gives away their hiding places too easily, interspersed with the good-natured arguments of families who disagree on which type of tree to get and how high their living room ceiling is.
When we get back to the wide open driveway, the family drink hot chocolates and watch as I run their tree through the netting machine. I take it to their car, parked on the verge halfway along the main road because there are so many cars here that they couldn’t get any closer. A huge thrill goes through me as they hand over the money and thank me profusely, promising to be back next year.
Noel’s serving hot chocolates in the caravan and he leans forward and beckons me over when I get back. I stand up on tiptoes so I can hear him.
‘Congratulations. That was your first sale on your own little Christmas tree farm. You’re now officially a Christmas tree farmer.’ He leans out of the window and presses his lips to my cheek, taking advantage of the brief lull between customers. The hot chocolate stand was definitely a good idea. But then again, whenisn’thot chocolate a good idea?
Fiona and Fergus are chatting to customers, and Glenna and Gizmo are organising the queue to Santa’s sleigh, although Gizmo is arguably more popular than Santa himself. It’s the little elf outfit that does it – the stripy red and green jumper with fluffy white edges, complete with a tiny jingly hat, his own pointy ears sticking out through holes in the top, the hat moving every time his ears stand to attention. And while Noel’s pouring hot chocolates, he keeps whistling the tune fromGremlinsto get his attention, delighting everyone nearby as Gizmo cocks his head from one side to the other every time he hears it. He’ll be viral before tonight given the amount of videos people have taken of him.
Iain and the two farmhands are spread out around the fields somewhere, cutting trees down and carrying them for customers. I stand in the driveway which is now lined with piles of netted trees and trees in pots arranged in size order from my tiny little thirty-centimetre tall ones to much larger six-foot ones. Some are flashing with fairylights and sparkling with tinsel for decorative purposes, but most are potted up for sale, and I’m watching the supply diminish fast. It’s going to be hard work after everybody leaves tonight to restock the ready-to-buy ones for tomorrow. There are wreaths hung up along the fences, and bunches of freshly cut mistletoe tied with ribbon dangling all around, and Noel’s made the most beautiful chalkboard signs and put them up at the junctions of the road on either end, and people just keep coming.
‘Well, this is a bit better than the ugly plastic thing in our loft,’ says a voice behind me.
‘Chelsea!’ I jump on her and Lewis catches us both. ‘I thought you weren’t coming unless it magically turned into a vineyard on the French Riviera.’
‘Couldn’t let my best friend’s opening day go unnoticed, could I?’ She hugs me back. ‘You can still send me a little one to test its survival in the post, but we’re not leaving without your finest Christmas tree. Lewis has even put the roof-rack on the car for it.’ She pulls away and holds me at arm’s length. ‘Why do you look so different? Your skin’s all glowing and you look so healthy and fit.’
‘Lugging Christmas trees around will do that to you.’
‘Or the healthy glow of love.’ She scouts around for my hot Scot pumpkin farmer, and I catch Noel’s eyes and beckon him over.
Fiona takes over making hot chocolates and manning the chestnut roaster, and Noel comes over carrying a cardboard tray of four hot chocolates for us.
‘Oh my god, is this him?’ Chelsea says loudly, fanning a hand in front of her face. ‘You said Luke Evans, you didn’t sayDracula Untold-style flaming gorgeous Luke Evans multiplied by a thousand degrees of hotness.’ She turns to him before I can even introduce them all properly. ‘Please say murder.’
Noel laughs enough to cover his blush and obliges, deliberately elongating the Rs, and Chelsea makes him teach Lewis how to say it properly.
‘It’s beautiful up here.’ She sips her hot chocolate as she looks around. ‘I’d be disappointed if it was a vineyard on the French Riviera now. This is much better.’
If that’s not a cracking endorsement, I don’t know what is.
‘And now you know it must be special because no one’severheard me saying I preferanythingover wine before.’
I hug her again before she and Lewis go off to wander around and meet Gizmo, Glenna, and everyone else.
Noel wraps his arms around me from behind, pulls me against his chest and we stand there watching the comings and goings of customers and Christmas trees.
‘They’d be proud,’ he whispers in my ear.
I know who he’s talking about without him saying it. And for the first time since they died, I think they would. I can imagine Mum here, serving hot chocolate and dishing up roasted chestnuts from the oven, and Dad would be in his element stomping around amongst the Christmas trees, talking the ears off of anyone who’d listen about the pros and cons of different species. I never thought losing them would lead to something positive, but Iknowthat this is what they’d have wanted in their absence.
