Just genuine beauty, framed by copper-red hair that caught what little sunlight managed to filter through the gray sky. But it was the eyes. The most vivid green eyes I had ever seen.
She stopped in front of me and held out her hand in greeting. I noticed she was wearing a pair of fingerless gloves. She worked here.
“Hi there,” she said with a smile that made my cock jump. “I’m Sylvie. Welcome to Northwood Christmas Tree Farm. Are you here to buy a Christmas tree?”
Hell no.The last thing I needed was a dead pine tree cluttering up my penthouse for the next month. But I wasn’t about to tell her that.
“Kent. I’m here to meet with the owner,” I said instead of what was really on my mind.
Her face lit up with a smile that was so genuine it almost made me forget why I was here. “Well, technically, I’m the owner. My brother and I run the farm now. What kind of business brings you out here?”
I stared at her for a moment, trying to reconcile what she had just said with what I was seeing. This doe-eyed girl was supposed to be running this operation? The place had to cover hundreds of acres, with thousands of trees and what looked like multiple outbuildings and facilities.
There was no way someone who looked like she should be serving hot chocolate at a church fundraiser was actually in charge of a business this size.
I didn’t even know they made women like this anymore. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. A few of my sisters-in-law had that girl-next-door thing going for them. I had just never met one in the wild.
Fascinating.
“Are you looking for a large custom order?” she continued, apparently interpreting my silence as consideration rather than disbelief. “We can accommodate pretty much any needs you might have. How many trees were you thinking? At ten, you get a discount.”
She was looking at me with such hopeful enthusiasm that I almost felt bad about what I was really here to do. She had no idea that I was sizing up her property for a hostile takeover that would leave her and everyone else in this Christmas wonderland looking for new places to live.
But maybe she wanted a way out. Maybe her enthusiasm was contrived.ThatI could believe.
Maybe I should invite her out for dinner. I needed someone warm to keep me company during what was looking like it mightbe an extended stay in this frozen wasteland. She was definitely attractive enough to make the time pass more pleasantly. And I was always up for trying new things. She was definitely not like any of the other women I’d taken to my bed.
But there was something about her eagerness to sell me a tree that was almost endearing. The way she was looking at me, like I might be the answer to some prayer she’d been making, made me want to play along for a while longer.
“Sure,” I heard myself saying, surprising myself with the words. “I’ll take a tree.”
Her smile got even brighter, if that was possible. “Just one?”
“Do people usually buy more than one?”
“Well, no,” she admitted. I could see her trying to figure out what she had said wrong. “I just thought?—”
“What do you think I am, a chump?” I asked, letting a little edge creep into my voice. “I look rich so you’re going to foist several dead trees on me?”
“I would never sell anyone a dead tree, and I’ve never foisted anything in my life.” Color rose in her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to make assumptions. It’s just that based on your car, and your suit, I thought maybe you were a business owner looking for something larger scale. Sometimes we do bulk sales for hotels, senior living facilities, churches, that sort of thing.”
Ah. So she’d pegged me as a businessman, which was accurate enough. And she was hoping I might be the kind of customer who could drop some serious cash on multiple trees, which explained the initial enthusiasm.
Maybe the deal wouldn’t be so hard after all. There was blood in the water.
“Just one tree,” I told her.
“Of course,” she said, her professional smile back in place. “Let me show you around the lot and help you find exactly what you’re looking for.”
What followed was probably the most ridiculous twenty minutes of my adult life. Sylvie walked me through row after row of Christmas trees, pointing out her favorites and going into excruciating detail about things I couldn’t have cared less about if my life depended on it.
“This is a beautiful Fraser fir,” she said, stopping next to a tree that looked identical to every other tree we had passed. “Look at that body, that volume. And the curve of the branches is just perfect. The height is ideal for most living rooms, and the needle density is excellent. You won’t have to worry about it dropping needles all over your floor.”
Body. Volume. Curve. She was talking about the tree like it was a model.
“And the branch density is really important if you’re planning to hang heavier ornaments,” she continued, running her hands along the tree’s branches in a way that made me think about her running those same hands along other things. “Plus, look at that color. And the luster—Fraser firs have the most beautiful natural luster.”
Who the hell knew trees had luster? Not me. But watching her talk about these trees with such genuine passion was oddly fascinating. She clearly loved what she did, and there was something almost hypnotic about the way she moved through the lot, pointing out details that I never would have noticed in a million years.
