Our group spreads out among the trees as Drew calls out detailed specifications for height, fullness, and branch spacing.I hang back with Caleb, taking a few photos for the social accounts.
"You're good at that," he says, watching me frame a shot of Gavin measuring a tree against Tyler's height. "The photography, I mean."
"Thanks. Just phone pics, but they work for our socials."
"Still. You have an eye for it."
Even after a couple of months hanging out and now our ‘dating’, I’m surprised by the compliment. I didn’t get them much growing up, and when they did come, it was usually because someone wanted something from me.
Sometimes they wanted something I wasn’t willing to give, and that became a whole other thing. I shake the memories off and try to explain how I learned. "My foster mom in tenth grade was a wedding photographer. She taught me some basics."
Caleb nods, not pushing for more details, which is appreciated. Most people get weird when foster care comes up.
"Want to find the cider?" he asks after finishing a panoramic shot. "Before Drew makes us measure every tree on the property?"
"God, yes."
We slip away from the group, following the scent of cinnamon and cloves to a small cabin with a sign reading "Hot Drinks & Treats." The line is blessedly short.
"Two apple ciders," Caleb orders when we reach the counter. He pays before I can pull my wallet out, waving away the protest. "You can get the next round of holiday drinks that Drew forces upon us."
The server hands us two steaming cups topped with ridiculous amounts of whipped cream and a cinnamon stick.
"This is obscene," I say, stepping aside.
"Agreed. Want to find somewhere to sit?"
We claim a small bench under strings of white lights, far enough from the speakers that "Jingle Bell Rock" is mercifully quiet.
Caleb takes a sip and raises his eyebrows. "Okay, this is good."
Tasting mine, I have to agree. "Definitely alcohol in here."
"It’s a Christmas miracle.”
He takes a sip, and the white lights above us catch in his dark hair. There's a small dot of whipped cream on his upper lip. My hand reaches out without permission.
"You've got—" I touch the corner of his mouth with my thumb, wiping away the cream. The contact sends a jolt through me, and I yank my hand back. "Sorry. Whipped cream."
Caleb looks at me with an unreadable expression. "What are you looking at?" he asks, but his tone lacks its usual edge.
"Nothing," I say too quickly. "You just… You look good today."
His eyes widen slightly, and the urge to sink into the ground is immediate. We're supposed to be pretending to date, not really flirting. But there's something about the way the light catches his face that makes it hard to look away.
The moment hangs between us, filled with something I’d like to avoid thinking about too much.
"JAMES! CALEB!" Gavin's voice shatters the moment as he barrels toward us, nearly colliding with me. "Sorry! But we found it! The perfect tree! Drew's doing a victory dance!"
He grabs my arm, pulling me up. "Come on! We need help carrying it!"
Caleb catches my eye, and he looks like he's trying as hard as me not to laugh as we follow Gavin through the trees. When we reach the others, Drew is indeed circling a massive Fraser fir, looking like he's found the Holy Grail.
"It's perfectly symmetrical," he says when he sees us. "Eleven feet tall, full branches all the way around, and the trunk is straight as an arrow."
"It's a tree, Drew."
"It's THE tree," he corrects solemnly.
