Bob’s been watching me.I catch him doing it out of the corner of my eye—studying me when he thinks I’m not paying attention.His expression is thoughtful, assessing, like he’s trying to figure something out.
“What do you think of that one?”he asks suddenly, pointing to a seven-footer with full branches.
Moving closer, I examine it the way I’ve read about online.“Looks good.Dense branches, even shape, nice color?—”
“Nope.”Bob shakes his head, already moving past it.
I blink.“What’s wrong with it?”
“Not enough gaps in the middle.”He gestures vaguely at the tree.“You want density, sure, but you also need space for the lights to shine through.That one’s too thick.It’ll eat your lights and spit out darkness.”
Filing that away, I follow him deeper into the lot.
“How about this one?”I stop in front of another Fraser fir, this one slightly taller with what looks like perfect symmetry.
Bob circles it slowly, his hands on his hips.Then he grunts.“Trunk’s crooked.See?”He points at the base.“It’ll lean in the stand.You’ll spend Christmas Eve trying to prop it up with books.”
“Right.”Studying the trunk, I see what he means now that he’s pointed it out.
We move through the lot, Bob rejecting every tree I suggest with patient explanations.Too dry.Wrong height.Branches too far apart.Not enough branches at the bottom.
“I told you I’ve never bought a Christmas tree before,” I say finally, a hint of frustration creeping into my voice.
Bob stops walking and turns to face me.“I know.”His expression is serious now, intent.“But I’m trying to teach you.If you want to be in my daughter’s life, that means spending Christmas with family.”He pauses, holding my gaze.“A man should know how to buy a Christmas tree for his family.”
A weight settles in my chest.I go still, processing the weight of what he just said.Myfamily.Bob’s watching me carefully now, and I watch the question form before he asks it.“That is what you’re planning, isn’t it?Or are you just passing time with Olivia?”
His words have me pausing.For a moment, I think about all the reasons I’ve never planned that far ahead with anyone.The complications.The risk.The vulnerability.
Then I think about Olivia in that oversized Christmas sweater, laughing at my attempts to sing carols while we wrapped presents on her bedroom floor last night.The way she fits against my side.How she makes me want things I never thought I’d want.
“Alright,” I say quietly.“Teach me.”
Bob’s face softens, and he nods.“Good man.”
He leads me to a section of Fraser firs, stopping in front of one that looks identical to the dozens we’ve already passed.But when he takes a small step back and gestures at it, I start to see what makes it different.
“See how the branches are evenly spaced?”Bob points up the trunk.“Not too dense, not too sparse.That’s your sweet spot.You want lights to nestle in there, not get lost or look naked.”He moves around it.“Check the trunk—straight as an arrow.That’s non-negotiable.A crooked trunk will make you miserable.”
I nod, absorbing every word like I’m in the most important business meeting of my life.
“Now look at the shape.”He traces the outline with his hand.“You want a natural taper—wide at the bottom, coming to a point at the top.This one’s perfect.Not manufactured-looking, but not wild either.”
“How do you know if it’s fresh?”I ask.
“Good question.”Bob grabs a branch and runs his fingers along it.The needles stay put.“If they fall off easily, it’s already dying.This one’s got good retention.And see the color?That deep green with just a hint of blue?That’s healthy.Yellow or brown means it’s been sitting too long.”
He steps back, gesturing for me to look.“This is the one.”
And suddenly, I see it.All the things he just explained come together into understanding.This tree is perfect—not in a sterile, catalog-photo way, but in the way that matters for a family Christmas.
“How much?”Bob calls to the lot owner, a weathered woman in a thick down jacket who’s been watching us with amusement.
“For you, Bob?Forty-five.”
“Forty-five!”Bob’s outrage is immediate and theatrical.“Jo, that tree’s less than seven inches off the damn ground.I’m not paying more than thirty-five for it.”
“Thirty-five?You trying to bankrupt me?That’s prime Fraser fir.Fresh cut this morning.Forty.”
