Page 30 of Knot what I want for Christmas
So he noticed that too.
“It’s just an Omega reaction,” I say. “Hollie Bright’s never liked me, and she’s definitely never liked Alphas.”
“Why wouldn’t she like you?” Nash asks seriously.
“Yeah,” Tucker says, “You’ve got the personality of a broom. You’re as grumpy as Scrooge and you like to berate her in public.”
“He’s also tolerably good looking, hard working, and loyal,” Nash says.
I ignore them both, heading instead to where my truck is parked outside the house.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get a head start on the others. Let’s choose the best tree.”
I almost say for Hollie, because the seriously soft spot I’ve always harbored for the omega – the one that has lain dormant for years – is beginning to reawaken, even if she did vomit on myboots last night. I want her to have the best Christmas because I know it’s going to be hard for her and I want to make it special.
We drive out to the copse of Christmas trees. We cut and shipped out most of the fully grown trees several weeks back, but we left about half a dozen of the best for the family to choose from. We walk through them now, assessing each one. Nash, in particular, has a strong opinion on Christmas tree aesthetics. He insists it can’t be too tall, too short, too fat, or too thin, and he likes it to look symmetrical.
“I think it’s out of these two,” he says.
“It doesn’t matter what you think,” I say. “You know it’s going to be my mom’s choice.”
The other two nod in agreement. They spent last Christmas here at the ranch with my family as well and they know how things work.
Five minutes later, my dad’s truck is pulling up, and he climbs out along with my mom, Hollie, and Annie. They walk into the copse of trees. As well as the six fully grown, there are the ones we planted more recently – all different heights.
Hollie’s eyes light up. “It is so pretty,” she says. “And there’s so many Christmas trees.”
“And we’ve come to choose the best,” my dad explains. “The one we’re going to put in the front room.”
“This is so lovely,” Hollie says. “We never had a real Christmas tree at home before.”
“Oh no,” Annie says, “don’t tell me you had one of those horrible plastic ones.”
“There’s no point in having a real tree in Rockview,” Hollie reminds her. “It’s so hot, they wither in about three seconds flat.”
“Well, this one will last,” my mom says. “So come on, Hollie, help us choose.”
She leads the Omega through to the remaining fully grown trees, and they walk through, my sister on the other side of my mom. We watch from a distance as the women assess each tree.
“We could be here a while,” my dad reminds us men, passing me the family axe.
“I think they’ll choose that one,” Nash says, pointing to the one he’s already selected.
The girls continue to weave in and out of the trees, Hollie’s voice and her scent carrying back to us on the cold air and making something in my stomach warm and cozy. Then they’re walking back toward us.
“Chosen?” my dad asks them.
“It’s out of two,” Annie says.
And Nash smiles, because it seems his prediction was correct.
“I think Hollie should choose,” my mom says.
“Me?” Hollie says. “It’s your family tree. It’s your house, your tradition.”
“Yes,” my mom says, “and you’re our guest, so I’d like you to choose.”
Hollie spins back round and looks across at the small selection of trees.
