The feel of my hands on his smooth skin, the drum of his heart when I lay my head on his chest in bed, the taste of his lips on mine—all that and so many more pieces of Lucas I can’t put onto paper as easily as I can the roped veins in his forearms and the freckles on his shoulders.
Glancing out the window, I spot a tree that looksexactlylike one you’d see in a Hallmark Christmas movie. I swear there’seven a beam of sunshine streaming through the clouds in that singular spot.
“Stop!” I point excitedly. “That’s the one.”
The truck grinds to a halt on the icy back road, and Lucas follows my sightline with a smile. “That’s the one. Let’s go cut it down.”
Once again wearing Lucas’s clothes, I hold one hand on the waist of my pants and trudge through the deep snow behind him, mindful my feet don’t slide right out of the much-too-large winter boots. I feel ridiculous, but he looks at me over his shoulder and holds out a hand with enchantment gleaming in his eyes.
The tree’s farther from the road than I expected, and I’m slightly out of breath when we reach it. But excitement sparks under my skin when I circle the massive fir, envisioning how we’ll decorate it with lights, and garland, and…
“Oh.” Every ounce of Christmas joy hardens and crumbles away like a burnt sugar cookie. “It’s flat on this side. It looked perfect from the truck…”
Lucas shushes me, shaking snow from the branches, clearly disregarding the fact that I just told him this tree isn’t any good.
“Doodlebug, this isn’t a tree farm, so whichever one we pick is bound to have some imperfections. But the best trees have character.” He sweeps a foot along the ground, then squats down with his saw in hand. “Besides, we wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t drawn a picture of me with a super flat ass. I think you have a thing for flat backsides.”
I laugh, scooping a snowball in my gloved hands and hitting him in the back with it.
“Didn’t anybody ever tell you not to get in a fight with a man carrying a saw?” He twists to look at me, slowly straightening back up. There’s something menacing and fiery in his eye. Something that tells me to run.
With my first lumbering steps, he’s lunging in my direction. The saw sinks out of sight in the deep snow, and I nervously laugh while running in the most awkward, inelegant way across the open field.
Lucas’s arm snags around my waist, pulling me to him, and together we topple—a knee-deep snow drift cushioning our fall. Flakes cling to his coat and hair and eyelashes, and he claims me with a kiss. We fight each other for oxygen, with roaming hands and melting snow soaking through our clothes. We’re passionate and impatient, taking everything we can until my heart feels as if it might burst from my chest.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” His lips ghost over mine. “Let’s go get your perfect tree.”
Swallowing hard, I kiss him one last time before letting him pull me to my feet. He meticulously brushes the snow from my clothing, though it’s too late; I’m cold and soaked to the bone, while also the happiest I’ve ever been.
I unwrap the towel from around my chest and pull a pair of leggings over my red-tinted legs. Skipping the bra, I slip into a waffle-knit long sleeve. Lucas demanded I take a hot bath while he ran down to the barn to check on the horses, and I’m never one to turn down a nice soak. But I only stayed in the sudsy water long enough to defrost, wanting the alone time to finish my drawing of Lucas in the stables.
Half-Pint meows a greeting when I enter the living room.
“Hi, little one.” I toss the drawing pad and pencils onto the couch, then peel open a bag of cat treats. Nodding toward the tree propped up in the corner, I add, “If I give you these treats, you have to promise not to ruin the Christmas tree.”
She hisses, and I choose to believe that means she agrees.
I sink into the couch, reaching to scoop up Half-Pint—only receiving one minor scratch this time. She settles easily onto the cushion next to me for a liver treat-induced slumber, and I lose myself in Lucas again. His posture and taut muscles and intense focus as he worked. Never have I dreamt of being a horse-hoof before today, but I’d be okay having him lay me over his thick thigh like that.
Shortly after I’ve completed the finishing touches, the front door swings open, bringing a rush of frigid air alongside a hot-as-sin mountain man.
I meet him in the foyer, stretching to kiss him softly while brushing the snow from his shoulders and unzipping his coat. Stripping the layers and letting them fall in a damp heap on the floor with one hand, I stroke the coarse stubble on his jaw with the other.
“Let’s go decorate that tree before I get too caught up in carrying you off to bed.” He squeezes my ass. “Santa won’t come if we don’t have a tree set up.”
My head tips back to let him drag his tongue over my pulse point. “There’s no way he’s leaving us anything but coal anyway. You’re way too naughty.”
Lucas chuckles. “You’re one to talk, snow angel.”
Arm around my waist, he urges me back into the living room and slides a large tote in my direction. Popping the lid off, I find an assortment of decorations and lights. It seems a lot of them are childhood ornaments, including some handmade pieces labelled with a child’s illegible printing—likely Lucas’s.
“These are incredible.” I pull out a popsicle stick picture frame with a photo of him from the first grade. Then a tiny SpongeBob SquarePants wearing a Santa hat.
“Yeah, my mom bought something to represent each of us to hang on the tree every year. And then gifted us our own boxes ofornaments when my sisters and I moved out.” After ensuring the tree’s snug in its stand, he takes a step back to admire it.
Not wanting to intrude on what I imagine is a special part of his Christmas tradition—the unboxing and placing of thirty-two years’ worth of ornaments—I focus on making sure the red and green lights sit perfectly on the branches. I wince at the sting of needles pricking my skin, suddenly feeling a tiny bit thankful for growing up with a fake, non-stabby tree. But every inhale brings a forest scent, and the crackling fire ambience is so Hallmark it fills my chest with dancing sugarplum fairies.
“There’s one here for you, Doodlebug.” His voice catches me off-guard, and I peek around from the back of the tree to look at him.
