She beams. “I love decisive men.”
I almost drop the tree.
By the time we strap the tree to the jeep, her cheeks are pink from the cold, and she’s practically glowing with pride. When we start the drive back up the mountain, she twists in her seat to stare at the tree through the rear window like it’s a newborn child.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers.
“It’s a tree,” I say.
She gives me a scandalized look. “How dare you talk about our child that way.”
“I’m just saying?—”
“No. No words. None. Our tree baby deserves reverence.”
I exhale through my nose, fighting a smile. I’ve been doing more and more of that.
It’s annoying as hell.
Halfway up the mountain, she relaxes into her seat again. “You know, this is my favorite part.”
“Buying trees?”
“Not just buying them.” She tucks her blanket around her legs. “Finding the right one. Imagining how it’s going to change the room. Knowing that something ordinary is about to become magical.”
Her voice softens. “It’s one of the few kinds of magic that never goes away. No matter what life throws at you.”
I glance at her. She’s looking out the window, profile warm in the winter light, fingers wrapped around her scarf. Something in my chest shifts irrevocably.
“You’re good at this,” I say.
“At what?”
“Making ordinary things seem magical.”
She looks at me then, really looks, and the air thins in my lungs.
“Calder,” she says quietly, “you have the ability to do that too.”
I grip the wheel tighter.
She turns back to the window, giving me space I didn’t ask for but probably need.
The jeep climbs the last stretch of road toward my cabin. The tree thumps gently against the roof. The snow drifts sparkle in the noon sun.
And somewhere in the quiet between us, something roots deeper.
Something warm and real.
Something that feels like the beginning of a shift I’m not sure I can stop.
And not sure I want to stop.
NINE
NATALIE
By the time we get the tree into the cabin, effervescent and bubbling over. Like a bottle of champagne.
