Page 54 of Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm
‘Yeah, that’s not like you at all.’
I snort even though he’s teasing me, grateful for the unexpected giggle.
‘No one knew what to say or how to act. If there was a joke in the office, no one would share it with me because people felt guilty for getting on with life, like treating me normally was somehow downplaying this monumentally awful thing that had happened. I felt like an outsider. Everyone was scared to talk to me because I was in a permanent state of being four seconds away from a complete emotional breakdown. I didn’t want to be there, but I knew I needed to keep busy. A couple of months later, Steve transferred in as the new head of department, and with hindsight, I can see that he wormed his way into everyone’s affections. He’d take everyone into his office individually and sit down for a cup of tea and a chat, and it seemed like a nice way of getting to know us, but looking back now, I can see that he was very cleverly finding out everything he could about everyone who worked there, their strengths and weaknesses, so he knew exactly what buttons to push when he needed to. He chose the women he knew were vulnerable. I can’t believe I didn’t see it at the time. He made each of us feel special and important, when all he really cared about was what he was going to get from us.’
‘It’s amazing how the most predatory men can spot the most emotionally vulnerable person in their vicinity and home in on them like a penis-driven missile, isn’t it?’
Tears sting my eyes and I turn my head away, determined to blink them back. Steve doesn’t deserve any more tears.
‘So, what happened?’ he asks gently. I know he knows I’m trying not to cry and is keeping me talking as a distraction.
‘Walked in on him shagging one of the other girls on his desk. Called him every name under the sun, poured hot coffee down his naked front, quit the job, vowed never to let a man take advantage of my weakness again, and sat crying in the stairwell for half an hour.’
‘And then drowned your sorrows, had a tipsy peek at an auction for a Christmas tree farm, and the rest is history?’
I nod, quite impressed by how much he’s paid attention to the throwaway comments I’ve made over the weeks we’ve known each other. ‘It was exactly what I needed. Packing and getting ready to come up here took my mind off Steve. It stopped me feeling used, and stupid and weak, because I was taking back control of my life and doing something I never imagined I’d have the courage to do.’ My voice is still shaky, but I realise the words are true as I say them. Buying Peppermint Branches empowered me. It gave me a chance to break the cycle of grief and guilt and move on with life on my own terms.
‘Well, I’m glad you did. Come up here, that is.’
I look down at the dark head of hair which is still resting on my shoulder. ‘I’m starting to think it might not be theworstmistake of my life.’
‘Starting to?’ He finally lifts his head and pushes himself upright, shifting around to face me as stray bits of hair fall across his face. ‘And you say that before you’ve cut hundreds of Christmas trees, learned how to grade every single one with colour-coded ribbon, and sold enough to replant another few thousand in the spring.’
‘What, that little job?’ I say with a grin. ‘Oh, that’s eas—’
He kisses me. His hand slides along my jaw and cups my face as he draws me to him and presses his lips to mine. It’s soft and gentle at first, just a chaste touch of lips on lips. I can feel the outline of his piercing against my skin and it makes me shiver in the most delicious way. I’ve been desperate to kiss him since the moment I caught sight of that silver ball glinting in his lip. My fingers come up and wind in his gorgeous hair and tug him closer and he takes the hint and kisses me harder, his thumb rubbing gently along my jaw, his stubble dragging against my chin. I let out a little moan of desire and he echoes it, and then he’s gone.
He scrambles back onto his knees and runs a hand over his face. ‘I’m so sorry. I think all those berries must’ve got to me. They probably release a mind-altering poison or something in such vast amounts. Hallucinogenic properties in those mistletoe berries, I’m telling you. It’s the only explanation. Or maybe this moss has got some dodgy mushrooms growing in it.’ He runs his fingers through the tufted greenery, looking for evidence.
He’s right, of course. Well, maybe not about the mushrooms, but kissing him is the last thing I intended to do. If mistletoe berries aren’t known for their psychedelic properties, then his aftershave might be.
He yanks the backpack over and starts clearing up the debris from our picnic, his fingers shaking so much that he keeps dropping things, his cheeks flaring so adorably red that I want to throw my arms around him, but I force myself to be sensible. I swore no men, only trees. Just because he’s got a tattoo of a tree, it doesn’t count.
‘Well, you’re supposed to kiss under a sprig of mistletoe, you certainly have to kiss when you find a whole tree of the stuff, don’t you?’ I say, desperate to ease the weird tension that’s shot through the clearing. It’s not like he did anything wrong because I wanted to kiss him too. But running a Christmas tree farm is complicated enough without adding Noel to the mix, and I can’t make another mistake like I did with Steve.
‘Aye. Wouldn’t want to anger any ancient druids.’
It makes me giggle and he looks up and meets my eyes with a grin that looks forced, but it does ease the atmosphere between us. It’s just because we were both a bit raw and exposed after talking so openly. It didn’t mean anything.
On the plus side, if there are any ancient druids looking down on us, we definitely made them blush.
Chapter 13
I open my eyes and groan when I see 01:03 blinking from my alarm clock on the cabinet. It’s Thursday night, and we’re taking the first of the cut Christmas trees to the market tomorrow, alongside the Christmas tree competition, which is being judged at lunchtime. Market traders and people from local businesses have been rushing around all week putting the finishing touches to their trees, and tomorrow is the day that local schools have arranged trips to the market so the children can pick their favourite tree. The winner will get the new town Christmas tree decorated with their winning design. The council came to collect the tallest Peppermint fir and have installed it on one of the hills between the market and the road, clearly visible from the busy dual carriageway. It’s something a bit different when it comes to exposure and advertising, and most local businesses have jumped at the chance to get involved in the festive fun at the market, even if they don’t win.
It’s the right time to start stocking pre-cut trees on the stall. After all the cutting practice yesterday, today Noel and I left the farmhands shearing and weeding, and went to cut a selection of trees, brought them back to the barn, tagged them with species and size, and netted them with a big tunnel-type machine that Evergreene had in one of the outbuildings. It’s a metal contraption that you thread net around the edge of and pull the cut tree through by its trunk so it picks up the net on its way out, covering its branches and holding them in tight to make the tree stackable and easier for transporting. A pile of trees is waiting in the driveway to load into Noel’s truck in the morning, a few of each variety – the Norway spruces, the Nordmann firs, the Blue spruces, the Balsams, and the Peppermint firs.
We didn’t talk about the mistletoe kiss.
I’mexhaustedafter such a long day of cutting, hauling, heaving, pushing, pulling, and stacking. I never thought I’d be able to say that driving a tractor was the easiest part of my day, but with so much cutting practice, my tree stumps no longer look like they’ve been chewed off by a hyperactive beaver, and I’ve found bones in my shoulders that I didn’t know existed before because every inch of them aches. I should be asleep by now, but the excitement of actually selling a tree tomorrow is keeping me awake. This will be the first time I find out if strangers think my trees are good enough to buy, and it’s a scary prospect. In the past few weeks, I’ve worked harder than I ever have before in my life, but none of it will matter if no one buys.
After a few more minutes of tossing and turning, I give up and go downstairs for a cup of tea. Sleep is clearly not happening anytime soon. As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I hear a noise coming from outside. I stand inside the door and listen for a moment, just to beabsolutelycertain that it’s not the growling of mountain lions, then I open the door and go down the three steps to the driveway.
It sounds like the whirr of an electric sander on wood. It’s intermittent, like someone is stopping and starting again, and it’s coming from somewhere behind the house. I go across the garden, past the caravan, and walk down the narrow path towards the patch of wasteland where nothing grows. On my side there’s the barn and Evergreene’s collection of stone outbuildings and tin sheds, and on Noel’s side there’s one huge barn and a couple of old stables that he uses for storage.
The main double doors at the front of the barn are closed, but the side door is cracked open and there’s light spilling from under it, and I step over the short wall dividing the land to get a bit nearer.
When the sanding noise stops for a moment, there’s the low hum of Christmas music coming from inside. I stand still and listen to the dulcet tones of Cliff Richard’s ‘Mistletoe and Wine’ before the sander starts up again. It can only be Noel.
