“Does Atom sell trees?” I ask.
Catfish shakes his head. “No. This is a tradition his grandfather started decades ago. They grow trees just for the club members so we can come out and do this every year.”
“What an amazing commitment to the club. Do most members have that legacy?”
Catfish slows Blaze by the fence line. “It’s about fifty-fifty. I don’t. But Atom’s family goes back three generations. Down you come.”
I swing my leg over, keeping my other foot firmly in the stirrup, like Catfish showed me the first time we rode together. “You know, I always wanted a lot of dogs. But I think future me would also really like a horse.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Catfish says.
“Oh, no. I wasn’t asking you to buy me a horse.”
Catfish winks. “I know.”
We keep our distance as we walk over to the simple folding table that’s been set up to hold drinks and snacks.
“Wren,” Raven shouts. “Come get this.” She offers me a travel mug.
“What’s in it?” I ask.
“Spiked hot chocolate. Club tradition. Trust me, it hits the spot.”
I take a sip and almost gasp as I swallow. The bourbon hits first, then the sweetness of the chocolate. “Damn. That’s good.”
Catfish grabs one and takes a deep swallow. “We don’t do half measures around here.”
“There you go,” Atom says, offering Catfish an axe. “Go find your tree and be ready.”
“Be ready for what?” I ask.
“The ultimate tree chopping competition,” Wraith says, brandishing a newly polished and sharpened axe.
“Oh my God, I want to take part in that,” I say.
Wraith offers me the axe he was holding. “Go fill your boots. Catfish usually takes a tree for his sister, anyway.”
The axe feels solid in my hands.
“Let’s go pick our trees,” Catfish says.
We wander through the trees, inspecting each one. Some have a tag tied onto them where someone has already picked it. Catfish stays close but doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t have to. The stirring looks he gives me when we’re temporarily alone among the trees is enough.
“What about this one?” I say.
Catfish eyes it carefully. “Too scrawny.”
I point to another. “This one?”
He tips his head from side to side. “It’s lopsided.”
I take a second look and realize he’s right. “Who knew you were such a tree perfectionist?”
“More a case of I’ve spent too many years fighting with ones that had a tendency to fall over. What about these two, side-by-side?”
They look like a pair, perfectly symmetrical. “Fine, those two.”
“Alright,” Atom shouts, finally. “You all know the rules. Fastest fall, fewest strokes, and cleanest cut are the winning categories. Crush those, you get bragging rights for the year and a bottle of whiskey.”
