Page 52 of Any Girl But You
QUINN
Thank you to whoever invented waterproof, weatherproof, Quinn-proof winter boots. I have no doubt had these bad boys not been developed, I’d have a raging case of frostbite and perhaps a broken toe by now.
The snow on the farm is beautiful. It drips from the pine trees, lights up like tiny crystals in the sun during the day, it smells clean and fresh. But after four hours out here today, making sure all the precut trees are in the right spot,again, and doing the final touches on the outside decorations, I’m freezing.
Even though it’s early afternoon, I turn on all the outside lights, step back, and try to picture opening night. Will there be a line of cars wrapped down the county road? Will children be chasing each other, screaming in delight, fat like abominable snowmen stuffed in their snowsuits? Will couples hold hands and stroll the property and pick out their very first joint Christmas tree? The day is so close, I can almost taste it.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Zoey again? My heart skips a beat until I look at the screen. My sister. Not that I don’t want to talk to Frankie. It’s just that Ialwayswant to talk to Zoey.
“Go inside,” Frankie says when I answer.
I would not put it past Frankie that she has security cameras adorning my property to make sure I’m not doing something dumb. Like standing outside four hours straight looking at the same stuff I’ve been looking at for the last week. “How did you know?”
“I didn’t,” Frankie says. “But now that you’ve busted yourself, can you please go inside so I can talk to you without your teeth chattering?”
The snow and gravel crunch under my feet as I make my way back into the barn. As Frankie asks all of the usual mother-hen questions, and I give her an update on all things farm-related, I step inside the barn and a warm gush of air hits me. I shrug out of my jacket and take a seat on the folding chair.
“So, Morgan says you haven’t been home for almost a week,” Frankie says.
My mouth is uncontrollable. It immediately quirks into a grin. “Morgan likes to lie.”
Although, Morgan is not completely wrong. I haven’t slept there since Zoey and I got together. But I was at home yesterday to shove some more clothes into an overnight bag, but Morgan was gone.
Is this normal? Is this what other people feel like in relationships? Warm and buttery, but also tingling inside, like you’re getting constant zaps of luscious currents anytime you picture your partner. Since being with Zoey, everything is more vibrant, more colorful, sweeter. Even the snow-filled gray days are prettier. “In all fairness, though, I’ve spent almost every other second at the property. It’s almost ready.”
“Zoey told me it is ready.”
My head snaps up. “Jesus, did you call my girlfriend?”
“Oh, sonowwe’re getting somewhere,” Frankie says. “Girlfriend, huh? Is this official? Did you have the whole ‘let’s go steady’ conversation?”
I lift myself from the chair and cross the room to the coffee pot. “No one under the age of sixty uses that term anymore.” I drain the last of the liquid into a mug and lean against the counter. “It’s just…perfect. She’s perfect.”
Frankie is not a swooner. But that is the only way I can describe theawwsound that releases over the phone. “I knew it. Can you please, for once, finally admit that I knew something? It would make me feel so good inside if you would utter three tiny words to me. Call it an early Christmas present.”
I know the words she wants me to say. And normally, I refrain. But even with the stress of setting up the shop, I’m darn near dancing on the insides so just once, I’ll give in. “You were right.”
“God, that feels good! I mean, really, have any other more perfect words in existence ever been said? I’m going to savor this for a while.”
I hate that I’m grinning. I’m sure somehow Frankie can see it over the phone. “You are seriously annoying. Do you need anything else, or can I get back to work?”
“Nope, nothing else,” Frankie says. “I switched my morning flight to the red-eye tonight, so I’ll hopefully see you sometime tomorrow.”
“Awesome. I need your muscles out here once you’re rested.” We chat for another moment, then we drop. I finish the rest of the coffee in my mug and start my rounds. As I stroll by the display shelf, I examine each item and confirm a price tag is attached. I do a dozen mock sales, verify the register is working, and swipe my credit cards. Approved purchase.Good.
I cross the room to wiggle in the Santa chair, step on top of it, and shake to validate its sturdiness.Good. I continue through the room, check the ornaments on the artificial tree and the wreaths. In the supply closet, I recount the paper cupsand marshmallow supply, and exhale. Outside the window, the snowflakes grow heavier.
Okay, okay. Mother Nature is nudging me to take a break, go back to Zoey’s, and get ready for my date. I stuff my hat and gloves in a bag, gather my empty lunch container, and check the weather app for the fifth time today.
My breath hitches.Snow.A ton of snow is on its way. This forecast clearly changed from this morning when it said mild flurries with minimal accumulation. Now it says some blustery conditions and moderate accumulation. I refresh.Shit.
Everything is going to get canceled. Ruined. The opening weekend will be a disaster, no one will come. The streets will shut down, I’ll lose my business, and my life as I know it will be over. I pinch the bridge of my nose and punch out a breath.
Now that I’ve let my little downward spiral of fear tailspin away, I slip my phone in my pocket and take a full, calming breath.
Everything isfine. We live in Northern Minnesota. There has never not been snow on Thanksgiving. It’s part of the magic of the area we live in. How many tornado watches and warnings did we have this spring and summer? So many I lost track.
Things will be okay.
