Page 21 of A Very Merry Mistake

CHAPTER 6

JAKE

By the time we leave, the sun has set and it’s sprinkling. It’s the break in the storm I was hoping we’d get.

We travel five miles outside of town, and soon I turn into the farm. Claire leans forward, looking up at the sign that greets everyone who’s crossed the property line since the day my great-great-grandfather started Jolly Christmas Tree Farm. Over the years, the wood has rotted and been replaced, and the green background and logo have been touched up and eventually repainted. Right now, the sign has chips, and the words are faded. It’s seen better days, but I guess the farm has, too.

“Oh, this is the Christmas tree farm,” Claire says. “It’s been in business quite a long time.”

I chuckle and glance over at her. “Yeah, it has. I just hope it can stay that way.”

I didn’t mean for those words to topple out, but thankfully she doesn’t ask any questions. We bump along the road for a few moments in silence.

“What does that mean, exactly?”

So much for not asking questions.

She’s not being rude, but I can see a twinkle of curiosity in her eye.

So I tell her. “When my grandfather got sick and eventually passed away, my grandma tried to keep up with finances. The hospital bills were out of control, and she did what she could to keep afloat. She emptied their savings to keep my grandfather alive just a little longer. The time they got together was priceless, but it left the farm in crisis, one we haven’t been able to recover from yet.”

“I’m…sorry,” Claire says. I don’t think she expected me to go into detail, but why hold anything back? She won’t be here long enough for it to matter. I’ve seen thousands of her type over the years; they come in flocks, but they always go. Women like her never stay.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” I tell her. “It will work out.”

She nods. “I’m happy to hear that. I hope you’re right.”

I hope I am, too.

“It will.” I smile as we approach the cabin I designed myself.

“Wow,” Claire says, getting out of the truck. She stares at it with amazement. “This is gorgeous.”

I look at her and grin, shoving my hands in my pockets, taking a moment to admire her. “Thanks.”

I want to get to know her better, learn all of her secrets and hear about the things she loves. Based on how she speaks and presents herself, it’s obvious that she’s someone. The only question I need to answer is…who? Who is Claire Chester from New York? She seems familiar, but I think that’s how I feel about women with blue eyes, cute button noses, and pouty lips. Everyone has a type, and she’s mine.

I grab her suitcase, which feels like it’s full of bricks, and haul it up over the edge of the truck. She pulls her purse from the cab and falls in line beside me. As we walk up the porch, I see Tinsel in the window. She looks at me and meows, but when she spots Claire, the fur on her spine raises and she hisses.

“Oh, no.”

I chuckle as I punch 1-2-2-5 into my keyless entry to unlock the door. “She’ll warm up to you if you’re around long enough.”

“So she does that to everyone?” Claire asks as I stand behind her, slide her jacket off her body, and hang it on the rack.

“Pretty much,” I admit. “She only likes me and one other person.”

She removes her hat as I put my gear next to hers. With her mouth slightly open, she takes in the large cathedral ceilings, gigantic windows, and natural wood walls that are painted to preserve the look. To see her obviously impressed as she glances around makes me feel like a rock star, because I designed every aspect of this place myself.

It’s my dream home.

The windows allow natural light inside during the day. I remove my boots, and she follows suit before stepping forward. She walks past the oversized chair and couch, studying the framed pictures I have on the mantel I carved. Her fingers slide across the smooth wood from trees I hand-picked and sanded down. This place was a labor of love.

Knowing the temperatures are dropping, I move to the fireplace to start a fire with the extra wood I have stacked next to it. The windows are incredible, but in the winter it’s draftier than I’d like. The dry logs immediately catch and I step back, watching the flames lick up the side. Claire sighs and relaxes, soaking up the heat.

“That feels good,” she mutters, and it’s almost a whisper in the wind.

Moments later, Tinsel trots past me, and the bell on her collar jingles.

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