Page 10 of If You Give a Grump a Christmas Tree Farm
“What’s yours say?” She leans forward.
“Your family will come to mean everything to you.” I smirk. “Ha. Fat chance.”
She shrugs. “Don’t count out Christmas magic.”
I scoff. “There’s not enough Christmas magic to fix that.”
“You can foresee the future, then?”
“No, but I can remember the past.”
“Maybe you should forgive them,” Rebecca whispers.
Doesn’t matter how softly she says it; it still cuts. “And maybe you should get a life.” I stand. “You ready?”
She lets my attitude roll off her, and I remind myself she’s probably used to that kind of thing from my brother. And he’s the last person I want to emulate.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” she bites, and I’m truly sorry for being a dick. She doesn’t deserve any of my anger. She wasn’t a part of any of it.
We walk outside. “My bike’s this way. Where’s your car?”
She points in the same direction, and we walk down the street. After a few minutes, she seems to lose her anger with me and breathes in deeply. “You smell that?”
I inhale and grimace. “What is that?”
“Pumpkin spice lattes. Let’s get one,” she says as we come to a kiosk selling coffees. “My treat.”
“No thanks. That’s a chick drink.”
“Okay, how about an apple cider?”
I know she’s not going to be happy until I get something with her, so I shrug. “Fine. But I’m paying.”
“I already offered. Put your wallet away.”
I do as she asks. I’ve ruffled enough feathers for one day.
She pays and passes mine over, then takes a sip of hers, her face getting all dreamy-eyed. “Mmm. That is so good. How’s yours?
I take a sip and try not to grimace. “Mmm. Great.”
CHAPTER FOUR
JJ—
I lead the way on my bike. Surprisingly, I still remember how to get there after all these years. It’s only a couple of miles outside of town. A flood of memories returns as I make the turn off the highway onto the long gravel road that leads up a shallow hill.
The sign has seen better days, it’s paint flaking, but I can still read the words.Holly Jolly Christmas Tree Farm.Gram hand-painted it herself, surrounding the words with holly leaves. They’re all faded now.
I roll on past it, Rebecca right behind me.
The cabin is visible at the top of the hill, with the long empty field on the right, a pond beyond that. A line of pine trees on the left with a small turnoff that leads to a gravel parking area on the other side of the tree line.
The acreage goes beyond the crest of the hill, where a red barn sits, and fields full of rows of trees in varying sizes fan out.
I pull to a stop in the area in front of the cabin and shut my bike off. Rebecca pulls in next to me.
