“I’m fine.”
“Of course you are.”
“I don’t care if people make out on the skate trail.”
“Sure.”
“Idon’t.”
“If anything, you’re jealous.”
I whirl around on him. “What?”
“Come on, Roar. Your mom’s comment got under your skin because ofus. Not your sister. And we hear people having fun….” He shrugs. “I’m jealous.”
“Don’t project that on me.”
He holds up his hands. “Fine.”
“We didn’t break up hastily.”
“Oh, I’m painfully aware.”
But I am very grateful that I didn’t show up here alone, in a hatchback with a bad battery, and have to explain why I didn’t have the ever-helpful boyfriend in tow.
Dodged a bullet there.
So I’m not going to pick a fight with Garrett when he’s ambling along beside me, pretending to be mine even when I’m in a terrible mood.
“Do you want a hot chocolate before you leave with the delivery?” I ask. “A peace offering, if you will.”
He bows, exaggerating his gratitude. “I’d love that.”
I pick up my pace, speeding ahead of him into the clearing at the public entrance.
I love the tree lot so much. There are a few temporary huts that we re-purpose throughout the year with removable decorative pieces. In the fall, they’re pumpkin and apple themed. Throughout December, they’re straight out of the North Pole. After the holidays, they’ll pivot to a maple sugar bush aesthetic, which stretches the skating trail season all the way to March Break
My dad keeps the delivery truck right at the front gate. It’s a classic cherry red pickup that Garrett helped restore when we were in high school.
It has his fingerprints all over it—and so did I, back in the day.
We used toleapat the chance to do evening deliveries. We’d race through them as fast as we could to steal some make out time in the community centre parking lot before returning to the farm.
My dad is nowhere in sight, so Garrett turns right to find him deeper in the trees, and I go left to the pop-up coffee stand.
Cassie appears beside me as I’m leaving the counter, two hot chocolates in hand.
“So…” She scuffs her boot against the frozen dirt. And then she bursts into tears.
Oh, shit. “Um…” I wish I wasn’t holding the hot chocolates. “Damn it, I can’t hug you with my hands full!”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles.
“Let’s go to the delivery truck.”
She leads the way and opens the driver’s door for me. It’s a vintage truck with a bench seat, but when they were restoring it, they built in flip-out cup holders. Thank God.
I ditch the hot chocolate and then squeeze my sister again. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.”
