Page 26 of Not In The Christmas Plan
Grant does turn off the radio, then swivels toward me. “So, about that kiss—”
“I just remembered,” I cut in quickly, my voice higher than normal. “There should be a case of CDs in the glove compartment.”
Grant chuckles but reaches for the small handle. Crisis averted.
“I used to have some of these,” he says, flipping through the selections. “You care if it’s not Christmas music?”
“Nope. Whatever is fine by me.”
I don’t see what he picks, but a moment later Tamia’s voice pours through the speakers.
Grant relaxes in his seat. “This era hits different, huh?” he remarks and starts singing along.
It’s like he knows 90’s RnB is my kryptonite.
I’ve always been a sucker for love songs. The kind that make you long for love when you don’t have it, and appreciate it all the more when you do.
I didn’t realize until now, but I stopped listening to music after Eddie.
The beat flows, the storytelling and soulful lyrics speaking to me now. They paint a picture of how life could be if I were brave enough to open my heart again. To have what Ivy and Braxton have. What Mom and Dad had. And as I glance down and see Grant’s fingers tapping along tothe beat against the seat, I long to reach over and grab on. He wouldn’t let me down like Eddie did, right?
Grant catches me looking at him and I direct my gaze back to the road, just in time to not miss the entrance of Oh, Christmas Tree!
“Remember, we need something at least seven feet tall,” I tell Grant after parking. “And the stronger the pine smell the better.”
We get out and he makes it to the front of the truck before I do, holding his hand out. I pause, surprised he wants me to take it, until I realize he’s gesturing me to go ahead of him. I stuff my hands into the pockets of my coat so I’m not tempted to reach out for his hand anyway.
I stop before we get to the entrance, right next to their makeshift hot chocolate stand where you can enjoy a warm treat for browsing for five dollars. The price seems a little steep for me considering it’s served in a Styrofoam cup with no added marshmallows.
“Alright, why don’t you take the left side, and I’ll take the right,” I say. “Now, they do have some of the best trees, just be careful of who helps you. Text me if you find a good tree.”
Grant frowns. “You don’t want to find one together?”
“There’s so many trees here, it’ll save time if we divide and conquer.”
Grant hesitates but nods his agreement and I take off, speeding through the threshold and heading off on my side, determined to find peace and pretend the kiss and Grant’s not-so-subtle reminders don’t exist for a while.
I need to find the perfect tree. One Ivy will love.
With a deep inhale, the pine-scented air hits me sharp and sweet. When I came with Dad last year, it took us over an hour to find “the one.” And then a new worker tried to overcharge us—big mistake. He didn’t realize we’d been coming here for years, and that the one thing I hate most is people trying to get over on others. Especially at Christmas. Especially when the “others” are my family. I went full lawyer mode, and we walked out with a tree so discounted Dad said he finally knew how my clients feel when I win their cases.
I weave through the rows, relishing the soft spiky needles brushing my fingers, weighing each tree I pass. Some are that perfect dark green I’m seeking but don’t reach my shoulder. Some have the height but gaps of branches that would be awkward to fill with ornaments.
When I get to the stand of mistletoe in the back my face heats and I back far away. The last thing I need is for Grant to pop up and get any ideas.
I keep going and pause in front of a tree that could work. It’s shorter than I’d hoped but full and lush and would look wonderful wrapped in twinkling lights. I step back to get a better view and pick up Grant’s voice.
“Excuse me, how much is this one?” he asks.
“For that height and density, you’re lookin’ at two hundred,” the worker says and I frown.
Grant whistles while I try peeking through the trees to get a look at the worker.
“For that amount does it decorate itself?” Grant says under his breath.
“Sir?”
“Nothing.” Grant sighs. “Do y’all trim the trunk?”
