RUBY DHANJI HAD NEVERseen herself as a particularly interesting or memorable person. Probably because she wasn’t all thatgoodat anything. She had no advanced degrees—hell, no unadvanced degrees, either—she had no athletic skills, and she was downright horrendous at sewing and car maintenance, despite her parents being a seamstress and a mechanic. But what Ruby lacked in God-given talents, she more than made up for in enthusiasm and living in the moment. Her life was great, because Rubycarpe’dthe fuckingdiemher way through it. Ruby didn’t just enjoy things; sherelishedin them.
Three passions had risen to the top of Ruby’s interests. First, she loved anything and everything coming out of the UK—except colonialism, of course. She was Indian, and British colonialism hadn’t been kind to her people. But she loved the architecture of old English manor houses, loved Jane Austen, loved the Beatles, and loved modern British exports, too, like Harry Styles and chicken tikka masala. Second, Ruby loved the finer things in life: designer clothes, imported skincare, even expensive handbags. This particular passion was probably the result of working in high-end retail for years, so she was surrounded by luxury goods every day. Ruby was practical, though—even with an employee discount she would have gone bankrupt several times over if she wasn’t willing to buy her luxury goods secondhand or on clearance.
And finally, despite her Muslim upbringing, Ruby Dhanjiadoredthe Christmas season with her whole heart. She loved the winter aesthetic, Christmas carols, holiday movies, and watching happy families celebrating together.Secularly, of course—she ignored the religious roots of the holiday. As far as Ruby was concerned, if she could love most things British while still being critical of their nasty habit of randomly declaring places people already lived in as their own colony, then she could also pick and choose which aspects of a holiday to celebrate and love.
This year, the Christmas season was a little bittersweet, though, because it would be her last one in Toronto—likely her last in Canada. So, as a proper send-off to the city that hadn’t always been great to her, Ruby was throwing herself a thirty-third birthday and tree decorating party on the day after her birthday—since she had to work on her actual birthday.
On Friday evening, the night before her party, Ruby left Reid’s Holiday, the small pop-up store in the Distillery District where she was store manager. The district had just transformed into the annual Toronto Winter Market, modeled after European Christmas markets, and Ruby hadn’t seen all the new vendors and temporary stores yet. When she spotted a new sign advertisingLIVE CHRISTMAS TREES, she knew it was fate. She’dplanned to set up the hot-pink tree she’d thrifted last year for her party, but a real tree would be so much better.
After buying the perfect small one (because her apartment was beyond tiny), Ruby carried the tree out of the lot by holding it in front of her so it wouldn’t touch her vintage red coat. She quickly realized she should have stuck with her pink one, though, because navigating cobblestones in high-heeled shoes, a velvet miniskirt, sheer tights, and a whole-asstreewas tricky. She should have brought a wagon. Not that she had a wagon. She was only three feet away from the lot when she dropped the twine-wrapped bundle. The trunk bounced on the stone walkway before falling sideways, hitting a person walking near her on its way to the ground.
“Bloody hell,” said a voice. “Watch it!”
“Oh no! I’m so sorry!” The man her tree hit could have been the one to chop it down in the first place. He seriously looked like he’d just walked out of a forest, with his worn blue jeans, a shearling-lined denim jacket unbuttoned to reveal a red flannel shirt, plus a blue beanie pulled down almost to his eyelids. He was Brown, like Ruby, and maybe in his mid-twenties.
“Careful with that…” He scowled, causing his hat to lower even more. “Is that a tree?”
Ruby smiled warmly as she bent to pick up her fallen tree, being careful to lift with her knees and not her back. She couldn’t get laid up with a back injury now. “I’m so sorry. It’s just… it’sso much biggerthan I thought it’d be!”
The man stared at her, his dark eyes blinking in slow motion. And… Ruby realized what she’d just said. Classic Ruby. She giggled at herself. “That wasn’t innuendo,” she said.
Although, maybe it should be? Because despite this man’sstereotypical Canadian attire (which honestly wasn’t Ruby’s vibe), he wascute. Actually, more like… classically handsome. That jawline. The smooth skin. Ruby had over a month left in Toronto—there was certainly time for a final fling with a young Canadian before she moved overseas.
But the guy wasn’t laughing with her at her suggestive gaffe. Orather. Okay, so the lumberjack didn’t have a sense of humor. No worries; a fling was probably a bad idea anyway. Ruby held her tree in front of herself with outstretched arms again and started walking.
The guy sped to walk next to her. “Why are you carrying a tree like that?” he asked.
“This is a vintage Max Mara coat. I’d rather not get poked right now.” She laughed again. Clearly her subconscious hadideasabout this guy and his cute frown. Although it wasn’t mutual. He still looked annoyed at her. In fact, he might be the surliest person in the Winter Market. Which was fair—she’d just dropped a tree on him.
“Isn’t it gorgeous?” she asked. “It’s sofragrant. Here smell it.” She turned so the tree was inches from the guy’s face.
“I can’t smell anything,” he said, nose wrinkled.
“Weird. It’s so strong! This is a Colorado blue spruce. I picked it because of the strong scent, and apparently, it’s a long-lasting tree—not that I need it past December thirty-first. I hope it lasts that long. Oh!” Ruby felt the branches in her hands start to buckle. In what felt like comical slow motion, she scrambled to prevent the tree from hitting the surly guy again, ending up hugging it close to her while the trunk hit the ground.
“Oh my god,” Ruby said. “I’m such a klutz.” She steppedaway from the tree, holding the branches with her hands, and checked her coat. She winced when she saw spruce needles stuck to the wool. This was definitely a mistake. How was she going to get this thing home?
Suddenly, the guy took the tree from her hands.
“Oh, um, thank you! But I’m fine.” Ruby reached out to take it back, but he’d already hoisted the thing onto his shoulder with what looked like no exertion at all. He was strong. She looked at his broad body carrying her tree on his denim-clad shoulder. It was… hot. Heshouldbe a lumberjack. Although, she noticed for the first time that there were dusty white splotches all over his jeans.
“I got it,” he said. Or rather, he grunted.
Ruby exhaled. “It’s okay! I can carry it!”
“You’ve already dropped it twice, so no, you clearlycan’tcarry it. Where’s your car?” he asked.
Ruby raised a brow. “A car? In this economy? Who can afford that?”
The guy blinked at her again. She could almost see his eye twitch with irritation. Ruby should shut up and take her tree home. But this guy didn’t look like he was going to give it to her.
“I could call an Uber?” Her condo was only a few minutes’ walk from the Distillery District, and she doubted an Uber would show up for such a short ride.
“They’re not going to let you take a tree in their car,” the guy said, exasperated. “Why did you buy a tree without a way to get it home?”
Ruby smiled. “Because it was pretty? I’m having a tree-decoratingbirthday party tomorrow. Today’s my birthday.”
He stared at her for several seconds. “You really should have thought this through.”
