“Thank you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my cheek. “For coming with me.”
“Thankyou,” I whisper back, my heart pounding. “For… everything.”
He smiles, that rare, full smile that still makes my breath catch. Then he presses a soft, lingering kiss to my lips. “Big day tomorrow.”
“Big day?” I ask, confused, as he pulls back and shuts my door.
He just winks, rounding the SUV. Big day? What big day? The question buzzes in my head all the way back to the bakery, a pleasant mystery layered over the warm glow of the evening.
He walks me to my door, kisses me goodnight again – slower, deeper this time, leaving me breathless and wanting more – and waits until I’m safely inside before driving away.
The “big day” arrives with a phone call just after noon. I’m elbow-deep in a vat of icing, attempting to pipe delicatesnowflakes onto gingerbread stars, when my phone buzzes. Denton’s name lights up the screen.
“Hey,” I answer, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear, trying not to get blue icing on it.
“Hi.” His voice is warm, laced with an undercurrent of excitement I haven’t heard before. “Are you free this afternoon? Say… around three?”
I glance around the bakery. Charlie is manning the front, handling the post-lunch rush with her usual cheerful efficiency. “I think I can manage to escape. What’s up?”
A low chuckle. “We need your expertise.”
“My expertise? Unless it involves convincing fondant not to crack, I’m not sure…”
“Tree,” he says simply. The word hangs in the air, loaded with meaning. “Tabby says it’s time. And apparently, we require professional guidance to avoid… and I quote… ‘a horrible tree disaster’.”
A Christmas tree. The request, delivered with such matter-of-factness, steals my breath. This isn’t just picking out a tree. This is him opening the door. Letting the holiday – the one he hates, the one steeped in painful memories – back into his life. Intotheirlives. For Tabby, yes. But also… for himself.
“Professional guidance, huh?” I manage, trying to keep my voice steady around the sudden lump in my throat. “Well, Idohave extensive experience in avoiding boring tree disasters. It’s kind of my superpower.”
“Good,” he says, the warmth in his voice deepening. “We’ll pick you up. Three o’clock. Tabby requests that you wear something magical and sparkly.”
He hangs up. I stand there, phone still pressed to my ear.
He’s getting a Christmas tree. And he wants me there. The warmth from last night’s date ignites into a full-blown inferno of joy in my chest. This feels monumental.
At three o’clock sharp, the Range Rover appears. I have on jeans and a sparkly pink sweater, as requested.
Tabby is in her booster seat, her face pressed against the window, beaming. “Holly! Holly! We’re getting a TREE! A BIG one! Daddy said so! And I LOVE that sweater!”
Denton gets out, smiling at her enthusiasm. He’s dressed in jeans and a navy sweater. He looks relaxed. Happy. He opens my door. “Ready for Operation Christmas Tree?”
“Ready,” I grin, climbing in and turning around to face Tabby. “So, Tabby, what’s the plan? Big and fluffy? Tall and skinny?”
“GINORMOUS!” Tabby declares, waving her arms wide. “With lots of branches for ALL the ornaments! Daddy found the sparkly box!”
Denton glances over at me as he pulls away from the curb. “The ‘sparkly box’ has been residing in storage since… well.” He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to.
He’s not just getting a tree; he’s unpacking memories. Letting them back in. My heart squeezes for the courage it must take.
We drive to a bustling Christmas tree lot on the edge of the city. The air is filled with the glorious, unmistakable scent of pine. There are rows and rows of trees to pick from.
Tabby darts between them, a tiny whirlwind in a pink coat, declaring each one “Perfect! No… THIS one! Wait… THAT one!” Denton follows her, a quiet smile playing on his lips as he watches her delight.
He points out different types – Douglas Fir, Fraser Fir, Balsam – explaining their needle retention like he’s studied up. The grumpy hockey player is a surprisingly knowledgeable tree connoisseur. It’s adorable.
Finally, after much deliberation, Tabby zeroes in on a magnificent Fraser Fir. It’s tall, full, and perfectly symmetrical,its branches thick and fragrant. “This one!” she announces. “This is the Holly Tree!”
“The Holly Tree?” Denton raises an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes.
