What the heck was that?
I clear my throat. “Let’s get this bad boy loaded up.”
The tree is heavier than it looks, and I’m glad for all those hours in the gym as I hoist it onto my shoulder, carrying it to my truck while the women follow. I position it in the truck bed while instructing them on the best way to secure it.
“Tie it down tight,” I say, demonstrating with the rope the farm provided. “Last thing we need is to lose a Christmas tree on the highway.”
Cheyenne’s face is focused as she ties knots on her side, her tongue poking slightly out of the corner of her mouth. It’s a habit she’s had since we were kids, and I find myself staring at her longer than necessary.
“What?” she asks, catching me in the act.
“You’ve got pine needles in your hair,” I say quickly, reaching out to brush them away. Her hair is soft under my fingers, and I pull my hand away when I realize I’m lingering.
What is wrong with me today?
“Thanks,” she says, looking slightly confused by my abrupt movement.
Once the tree is secured, the girls turn to head back to their car.
Halfway to Genna’s SUV, Cheyenne turns back to face me. “Thanks for coming. The costume was completely ridiculous, but ... I needed the laugh.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” I grin. “Professional hockey player and amateur comedian.”
“Don’t forget professional heartbreaker,” Genna adds from over her shoulder, and I shoot her a look.
The girls hop in the SUV and lead the way back to their townhouse while I follow closely behind. When we arrive, the real challenge begins: getting the tree inside. The narrow doorway is barely wide enough, and we struggle hilariously trying to maneuver it through.
“Push harder!” Cheyenne directs from inside, where she and Genna are pulling on the top of the tree.
“I am pushing!” I grunt, shoving from the bottom. “It’s stuck!”
After several minutes of struggling, accompanied by a shower of pine needles, we finally get the tree inside. I stand back, hands on my hips, surveying our handiwork.
“See? Perfect size,” Cheyenne says smugly.
“It barely fit through the door!”
“But it did fit,” she points out. “Unlike your ego-sized tree that would’ve been left on the curb.”
I roll my eyes, then help them position the tree in the corner of their living room, setting it up in the stand they’ve prepared. Christmas music plays softly from a speaker, and Jhett, Cheyenne’s black lab mix, circles excitedly around our feet.
He’s probably wondering why we’ve brought the outdoors inside.
“String lights next?” I ask, noticing the boxes of decorations they’ve pulled out.
Cheyenne nods, and we work together untangling the strands. Our fingers brush occasionally as we wrap the lights around the tree, and each time I feel that same strange flutter in my chest.
I’ve known this woman forever—why am I suddenly so ...awareof her?
Maybe it’s just my protective instinct after seeing her hurt by Garrett.
That’s gotta be it.
The apartment grows warmer and cozier by the minute. The tree gradually transforms with lights and ornaments. Cheyenne seems genuinely happy for the first time since her breakup, carefully hanging each decoration with deliberate care. I find myself watching her, noticing the way she smiles when she finds a particular ornament she likes.
“Remember this one?” she asks, holding up a small hockey stick ornament. “Your mom gave it to me the year I started coming to your family Christmases.”
“She always treated you like one of her own.” I smile.
