Page 114 of Every Thought Taken

Helena laughs. “I’ve only had a mini tree since I adopted her. This should be fun.”

“I’ll go warm up the van.” I kiss her forehead, step out and jog down the stairs.

Cold stings my cheeks as I hit the bottom step and the wind whips. I unlock the van and crank the ignition. While the engine warms, I think back to the last time I experienced cold like this.

The past few winters, I drove farther south and explored the Carolinas and southeast. Sure, temperatures cooled off there, but it was nothing like home. Winter in the Southeast was similar to fall in the Northwest. Much as I enjoyed the mild winters, I missed the wonder and change that came with the seasons.

The temperature light flicks off once the engine is warm. I turn on the heat, jump out of the van, and dash up the stairs for Helena. After one last head scratch for Smoky, we leave the apartment.

“Do we need decorations for the tree?” I ask, remembering her earlier comment about not having a larger tree for some time.

“I have some, but maybe we should get more.”

“On it.”

Since we have to drive out of town to the tree farm, I steer us toward the closest Target. We spend way too much time in the holiday section of the store and load the cart with way more than anticipated. But if it makes Helena happy, I am happy.

Before we leave the store, Helena orders hot cocoa and a baked good from Starbucks. Then she makes me swear not to tell Ales. I don’t argue because Ales would have both our necks if she found out.

Once everything is loaded in the van, I steer us toward the tree farm. Located a few miles outside Lake Lavender, the tree farm sits on five expansive acres. As a young child, I loved coming out here with just Dad. It was one of a few family activities without Mom. A happy memory. We’d walk the rows for hours before finding the perfect tree. I got to pick the tree and he’d cut it.

This first Christmas with Helena, where it is just her and me and lil’ Smoky, I want us to choose together. A tree we both love.

Flipping on the blinker, I guide us down a long gravel drive, passing under a sign withEmberly’s Evergreenscarved into and painted on cedar. Weaving through the rows, I back the van into a spot at the far end of the lot and cut the engine.

Helena hops out, hot cocoa in hand, and meets me at the back of the van. I take her free hand in mine and guide us toward the entrance between two log cabins—the smaller is an office for the business, while the grandiose cabin is the farm’s family home. The attendant hands us a numbered tag and tells us to holler when we find the tree we want. We have the option to cut it ourselves or ask an employee to help. Since I’m a bit rusty at cutting down trees, the assistance is much appreciated.

In no rush, Helena and I stroll the first row of trees. I inhale the crisp, piney air and momentarily close my eyes as it relaxes my muscles. Birds chirp and animals scuttle in the browning grass. Helena’s thumb slowly strokes the length of mine, providing a sense of calm no one but she gives.

Opening my eyes, I peer at her out of the corner of my eye. Cheeks rosy from the cold. A soft smile etched on her glossy pink lips. Try as I might, I can’t tear my eyes away from her. Her hair is slightly longer than when I first returned to town.Will she grow it longer again?Today, she has it hidden beneath a cream-colored, knitted beanie, the ends of her hair peeking out and curling just beneath her jaw. My fingers twitch, eager to reach up and toy with the strands. My lips tingle, eager to kiss her in the middle of the tree farm.

A faint whooshing echoes in my ears, my pulse picking up the more I think of her lips. Impulse takes over and I stop walking.

She jerks slightly then spins around, her addictive smile on her perfect lips. “See one you like?”

Honestly, I haven’t looked at a single tree since we’ve been here. Not really. So I shake my head.

A deep wrinkle forms between her brows. “Everything okay?”

I step into her, wrap an arm around her waist, and hold her close. “Perfect.” Then my mouth is on hers, the kiss sweet enough for public but a hint spicier with no one nearby. I lick the seam of her lips, eager for a deeper taste when I hear someone approach.

Breaking the kiss, I rest my forehead on hers. I open my mouth to sayI love youbut get cut off.

“Really, Anderson?” The shrill sound of Joan’s voice floats around me and steals every molecule of joy. “Making out at the Christmas tree farm. Like you’re a damn child.”

Helena’s eyes widen as mine vibrate. She tightens her hold on my hand, anchoring me to her as I straighten my spine. Right now, I am so incredibly thankful she is here. Without her, my next move would be much worse. Volatile. Explosive.

“Ah!” I scream far too loud, and the sound bounces as it travels. “Will you stop!”

Her lip curls up into the sneer I’ve seen more times than I care to admit. She plants a hand on a hip and points at my chest with the other hand. “Don’t you dare speak to me in that tone. I am your mother. Show some respect.”

I laugh, and not just a little. Head tipping back, I clutch my chest then cover my mouth as laughter pours out. The chortle humorless and empty. As my laughter dies, I level her with my gaze.

“Respect? You want my respect?” I snort with a shake of my head. Lifting a hand, I gesture between us. “It’s a two-way street. Respect is earned, not assumed because of who you are.”

Fire lights her eyes. The fact that I don’t bow or crumple at her authority has her livid. Her nostrils flare, her shoulders square, and she puffs out her chest like some small woodland creature forcing itself to appear bigger, badder, better. Her goal is to scare or intimidate or suppress my strength, my courage, my ability to be more than she wants me to be.

And it makes me sad… for her.

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