Page 59 of Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm
‘Aye, exactly!’
‘You keep telling yourself that.’
Both of our hands are cold and wet, but when he reaches out to take mine, the sensation starts to come back into my fingers, numb from the snow. He leans down and presses his lips to my cheek, his nose icy cold where it touches my skin, his lips like a burning hot brand in the best way possible. ‘Nothing I tell myself makes any sense when I’m with you.’
I know the feeling. I watch as he goes back into the barn and picks the whole dog basket up, including Gizmo, and carries it under one arm, his other hand holding Giz secure. ‘Goodnight, Lee. See you in the morning. Bright and early.’
I smile at the throwback to one of my first days here, even though ‘bright and early’ doesn’t seem to be a specific time with Noel, and I have a feeling that tomorrow will be even brighter and earlier than usual.
He nods a goodbye and I watch as he crunches his way back through the undisturbed snow of the pumpkin field, growing thicker by the second as large flakes fall down. I look up at the black sky and twirl around a few times.
This is nothing like what I expected when I won that auction – it’s a million times better.
Chapter 14
By the time I get myself up and dressed the next morning, Noel is already outside in the dark with his truck, slinging trees into the back of it like they weigh nothing, and whistling ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree’.
‘How can you be so ridiculously chirpy?’ I can’t help smiling at the sight of him as I open the door and walk down the steps.
He’s obviously had a shower and changed because his hair is still wet. He’s wearing black cargo trousers and a navy long-sleeved top with a blue and grey flannel shirt over it, the puffy bodywarmer over the top of that, and knitted fingerless gloves. It’s not right that anyone can look this good at five-thirty in the morning.
He stops in the middle of picking up another tree when I get close to him and looks up to grin at me. ‘I’m chirpy because I get to do this.’
In one swift move, he slides his arms around me, lifts me up and sits me on the bed of his truck, then stands on his tiptoes and presses his lips against mine.
‘It’s way too early for that sort of display,’ I murmur against his mouth, holding onto his shoulder for support.
Even so, it’s nice to be taller than him for once, and I slide my arms over his shoulders and cross my hands behind his neck, my fingers automatically winding in his dark hair as he kisses me again. As usual when his lips are involved, I lose track of time, but when we pull back, the sky looks lighter and birds have started chirping their morning chorus.
I tighten the loop of my arms around his neck and rest my forehead against his because I don’t want to lose this yet even though I know we need to get going.
‘Are we going to keep this to ourselves?’ I whisper. ‘It’s just that I like Fiona and I suspect she might burst if she finds out, and I’d quite like her tonotburst.’
He laughs, panting for breath, and I try not to think about the fact that he can chop down and lug around a few hundred Christmas trees without breaking a sweat, but kissing me makes him pant.
‘Are you kidding? It’s our duty to avert the mild coronary event that will occur if she finds out. Besides, you’re my wee secret and I want you all … to … myself.’ He punctuates every word with a brief kiss, and I can feel the butterflies in my belly taking flight again because being ‘his’ anything is all right by me.
I pull back and smooth his hair down where I’ve had my hand tangled in it, and he closes his eyes and actually looks like his knees are going to buckle for a moment. ‘As much as I hate being the sensible adult – you’ve got to stop doing that or we’re going to be late on the one day that wereallyneed to be early.’
His arms slide around my waist and he lifts me down, setting me safely back on the snowy ground. ‘Breakfast and coffee’s in the front. I’ll finish loading.’
I gratefully retrieve the travel cup of pumpkin spice latte and stand in the open passenger door while I watch him shake his hair out and tie it up, his bicep muscles straining against his shirtsleeves as his hands move behind his head. More paint flakes off as my hands tighten involuntarily on the truck door, and I know he knows the affect that has on me and he’s doing it on purpose. And I really don’t mind.
When I’ve had enough sips of caffeine to feel like a functioning human again, I put the cup down and go over to the small pile of Norway spruces that he hasn’t already loaded, pick one up, and follow his footsteps through the snow to heft it up onto the bed of the truck. It’s surprising how quickly you get used to handling trees, but with all the cutting practice, pulling them through the netting machine, shearing, and everything else, it’s hard to remember a time when Iwasn’tflinging around Christmas trees.
He jumps up onto the bed of the truck and lets me pass the trees up to him while he stacks them safely.
The snow has stopped for the moment, although it carried on falling for a long while after we went to bed judging by the depth of the drifts around the side of the house and along the grassy verges of the road. Footprints and tyre tracks where Noel’s reversed in are all that’s visible of the driveway. Even the few pumpkins left in his fields are lost under a blanket of white.
‘Did you sleep okay?’ I ask as I hoist the last tree up to him and he jumps out of the truck and closes the tailgate.
He makes an incomprehensible grunting noise, jangles the keys out of his pocket and walks around the side towards the driver’s door, then he stops and comes back. ‘I don’t know why I said that. I slept better than I have in months because of how you made me feel.’ Even in the dark morning, I can see his cheeks are burning red. ‘Sorry, I don’t know why I said that either. I’m delirious from spruce needle inhalation. Come on, we should go. Fergus has promised gingerbread trees to mark the occasion, which will probably be the most normal thing he’s baked all year. Of course, knowing him, they’ll be pink dragonfruit trees.’
He’s in the truck before I can even blink, with the engine revving and the exhaust pipe puffing warm fumes out into the cold morning air. I sigh and walk around to the passenger’s side.
When I get in, his hand is on the gear stick ready to move, and I cover it with mine, stopping him. I reach across, slide my hand up his jaw and deliberately pull his face down and press my lips to his cheek. I don’t say anything, because he obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, but I see him doing what I’ve done every day before work for the past two years – you gather yourself, steel yourself, prepare yourself to face the day while outrunning the wave of emotion inside you. You prevent yourself fromfeelinganything in case something as mundane as the bus driver asking you for your ticket is enough to set off a complete emotional breakdown. You live in constant fear of crying in front of someone. Of letting someone see your weakness and somehow use it against you.
I pull away to shift back across the bench seat and busy myself with putting my seatbelt on. His hand leaves the stick and slides across until it touches my thigh. He squeezes gently. ‘Thank you.’ His voice catches and he shakes himself, yanking his hand back and pulling out of the driveway with a sharp jolt.
