“It’s still early,” Brom said, but his heart wasn’t really in it. We both knew that opening day numbers were usually a pretty good indicator of how the rest of the season would go.
A few hours later, our father made his own trip down to the payment booth. Unlike Brom, he didn’t try to hide his expectations or cushion his disappointment.
“How many?” he asked simply.
“Twelve,” I told him. We’d managed to sell four more trees since Brom’s visit.
Dad nodded grimly. “About what I expected.”
Brom and I exchanged glances, bracing ourselves for whatever was coming next.
“The age of the live Christmas tree is over,” Dad continued, his voice heavy with resignation. “Everyone wants those artificial monstrosities with the built-in lights and no character. No mess, no fuss, no tradition. Just plug it in and you’re done.”
I wanted to argue with him, to point out that we still had customers who valued tradition and authenticity. But twelve trees on opening day was hard to argue with.
“I want you both to make the most of the holidays this year,” he said, looking between Brom and me with an expression that made my chest tight with dread. “Enjoy the traditions, enjoy the family time, enjoy everything that makes this place special.”
He paused, and I could see him steeling himself for what came next.
“Because this is going to be our last Christmas at Northwood Christmas Tree Farm.”
CHAPTER 6
KENT
Ipulled over on the side of the road just around the bend from the tree farm, far enough away that nobody could see me from the property but close enough that I could still feel the Christmas spirit wafting through the air.
The Fraser fir was still strapped to the roof of my rental car, secured with what had to be the most complicated series of knots I had ever encountered. That Ozzo kid might have been built like a linebacker, but apparently he’d learned rope-tying from a fucking sailor. Or a Boy Scout with all his badges.
I was cold, irritated, and rapidly losing what little patience I had started the day with. My fingers were already numb, despite my expensive leather gloves. The wind was cutting through my peacoat like it was made of tissue paper. This whole situation was ridiculous. What kind of grown man bought a Christmas tree he didn’t want and then had to figure out how to dispose of it on the side of a mountain road?
The answer was simple: the kind of grown man who let a beautiful woman’s enthusiasm override his common sense.
I started working on the knots, trying to untangle the mess of rope that was holding the tree in place. But whatever maritime expertise Ozzo had channeled during the loading process, he’dapparently tied these knots to survive a category five hurricane. Every time I thought I was making progress, I would discover another loop or twist that seemed to tighten rather than loosen as I worked on it.
“Come on, you piece of shit,” I muttered. My breath came out in white puffs as I struggled with a particularly stubborn knot near the rear of the car.
There was no way in hell I was driving around this godforsaken place with a fucking tree tied to the roof like a fucking Griswold.
Five minutes in, I was sweating despite the cold. Ten minutes in, I was cursing creatively enough to make a longshoreman blush. Fifteen minutes in, I said fuck it and decided to just drag the tree out from under the rope.
That turned out to be a mistake.
The Fraser fir came free all right, but not without taking its revenge. Branches scraped and squealed against the paint job as I yanked it off the roof, leaving what I was pretty sure were some impressive scratches on the paint. Pine needles scattered everywhere, sticking to my coat and somehow finding their way inside my collar.
Whatever. I could afford to pay for the damage. The rental car company would probably charge me an arm and a leg for the scratches, but that was a problem for future Kent to deal with. I should have gotten the damn insurance.
With a grunt of effort, I hefted the tree and tossed it into the snowy ditch beside the road.
That felt good.
I dusted the snow and pine needles off my hands and coat, shaking my head at the absurdity of the whole situation.
I got back into the car and cranked the heat, grateful for the blast of warm air that immediately started defrosting my frozen extremities. At least now I could get out of this winterwonderland nightmare and find somewhere civilized to stay for the night.
I put the car in drive, pushed the gas pedal, and prepared to speed away. Unfortunately, the car had other ideas. It coughed and then died.
“Oh hell no.”
