Page 50 of One Golden Ring
“All on one side though,” Darcy says. “Otherwise it’s a really nice tree, and just the right size. It will have to go against the wall anyway, right?”
I picture the tiny cabin living space and realize she’s exactly right.
“Yes,” I say. “I think that’s a perfect tree for us.”
She smiles and her eyes are shining and I want tohold her so badly I have to ball my hands into fists to keep myself from grabbing her.
“I’ll throw it on top of the car for you,” Phil says.
“Thank you,” Darcy tells him.
It takes him about two minutes to put the tree on the car and secure it to the roof rack with some twine.
“I guess he’s done that a few times,” Darcy says quietly.
“Thanks a lot, Phil,” I tell him when he’s done. “How much will it be?”
“Oh, no charge,” he says, waving me off.
“It’s almost Christmas,” I tell him. “And that’s one of the last cut trees on Angel Mountain.”
“I heard how much you donated in the silent auction,” Phil says quietly. “Consider it a community thank-you.”
“Oh,” I say, for once so flabbergasted I have no idea what to say. “That’s…that’s not why I did it.”
I guess I went overboard on my donation. It probably would have been better to donate anonymously. I just figured that if I waited until the end to bid no one would really see it.
But I forgot how everyone in this little town loves to talk, especially about anything that speaks well of Angel Mountain. A local man’s grandson coming back and making a big contribution would be irresistible fodder for gossip in a community with so much town pride.
“I know that’s not why you did it, son,” Phil says warmly, clapping my shoulder. “It’s good to have you home. Come by the farm if you have time, and bring your daughter. Roan would be glad to see you all.”
Home.
“Thank you, Phil,” I tell him, shaking his hand.
I lived with my grandfather a lot growing up, but never gave myself permission to think of this place as my own hometown. It feels like home, though. It always did.
I open Darcy’s door for her and help her up before jogging around to the other door and hopping in.
“I think the Christmas Shop is still open,” I tell her. “We can grab some ornaments.”
“That sounds great,” she replies lightly, like we do this all the time.
We continue on and get lucky to find that the shop is open for another ten minutes. We make a game out of racing around the cinnamon-scented shelves, grabbing ornaments, strings of lights, and a tree stand. And of course it wouldn’t be an Angel Mountain Christmas tree without a few Foster’s Figurine ornaments, including one of the new gingerbread ones that everyone seems to be loving.
When we get to the counter, Darcy is admiring an angel tree-topper. The angel has long brown hair like hers, a golden halo, and a little wooden harp.
“We’ll take that too, please,” I tell the owner.
“Is this too much?” Darcy asks suddenly, eyeing the pile of purchases on the counter.
“I think you know better than anyone that it isn’t,” I tell her quietly.
She’s seen the quarterlies. The game is making money hand over fist at this time of year. Not that it needs to. My personal accounts are practically overflowing from past years’ profits.
She frowns, and I realize that maybe that wasn’t what she meant.
Maybe she’s thinking that it’s too much for us to spend so much time together and have so much fun when it’s all pretend. Maybe she’s afraid I’ll want more.
