A glance at my phone sends me hurrying back inside, where the party should be getting underway in earnest. Hopefully, I can corner CJ and force her to see reason for once. Forget about me damaging her; I’ll do what it takes to make sure she doesn’t do any major damage to my revenge.
Six
December, Five Years Ago
CJ
* * *
I’m wheezing under the weight of an overstuffed cardboard box and a bulging tote bag as I make my way to my designated spot on the lawn of Beaucoeur City Hall. Peeking around the fluffy garland and massive pink balls spilling out of the top of the box, I glimpse the naked evergreen I’m aiming for and stagger over to it.
“Oh good,” says the woman who steps out from behind the tree. “You made it. I was worried I’d be doing this alone.”
“Hi!” I gasp out, hoping she won’t notice I’m a damp, panting mess who just rolled up late to the city’s tree-decorating event and had to park three blocks away. Even though it’s the first weekend of December, I’m sweating under my coat, sweater, jeans, boots, hat, and mittens. “Looks like we’re the ones prettying up tree number eighteen, huh?”
The woman’s angular face pinches like she hates the very idea of a live Christmas tree, and my hackles go up. Who hates the smell of pine?
“I guess so.” She tucks her hands in the pockets of her pristine black overcoat and frowns at the profusion of branches in front of us. “My boyfriend was supposed to be here too, but apparently he’s stuck at work.”
“Oh, bummer.” Truthfully, I’m glad it’s just the two of us so I can avoid being the fifth wheel, but she’s taking his Saturday afternoon work commitment personally. I set the box on the ground, then groan in relief when I ease the tote bag off my arm. “Well. Hi. I’m CJ Parrish.”
“Hmm?” The blond looks up from where she’s been frowning at her phone. “Oh. Hi, Cece. I’m Reese McKay.”
I open my mouth to correct her, but her face is buried in her phone again. I give a can you believe this glance around, but nobody else is nearby to catch my amused annoyance. When I registered for this tree-decorating event, I was hoping to make a new friend or at least a friendly new work connection in my still-pretty-new-to-me town, but it’s already clear that Reese and I aren’t likely to be a love match (platonic besties edition). Still, I’m determined to make today’s event fun—for me, at least. I’m a joiner; it’s what I do.
“Okay! So!” I speak in exclamation marks, as if it’ll make my assigned tree-decorating partner marginally more enthused, but if anything, the loud holiday cheer sharpens her tight features even more. “I brought a bunch of stuff!”
I gesture like a game show host at the supplies sitting on the ground between us, wincing inwardly at the weird choices I’m making. I don’t do well in the face of icy disdain. Then again, I didn’t spend the past two years starting a life in Beaucoeur and hustling to build a consulting firm from the ground up just to let one lemon-faced joy-hater throw me off course.
“I hope you’re okay with nutcrackers, because that’s what I went with.” I gesture grandly at them, although my mittens hide my nervous jazz hands.
Reese’s chilly blue eyes flick to my waving seal flippers, then down to my chaotic supplies, then up to my face. My dismay at her shitty attitude must show because her pursed lips relax into a hint of a smile. “I wouldn’t have gone pink, but I guess that’s the point of today. I brought”—she gestures behind her—“red and green.”
Instead of asking her “Red and green what?” I clap my mittens together and chirp, “Fabulous! Let’s do it.”
The city’s idea for this year’s Festival of Trees is to pair people at random and not let them coordinate who’d bring what to see what kind of tree we create. It’s supposed to promote cohesion and unity and peace on earth or something, but it all seems way less fun now that I’m paired with this…. Reese.
“So your boyfriend had a work emergency?” I ask as I pull packages of ornaments out of my tote. Maybe not the smartest conversation starter, but that annoyance is the only thing I’ve seen animate her so far.
“I wish. He’s such a workaholic.” Despite her earlier anger, there’s affection in her tone. Apparently, she’s not one of those women who actually hate their partners, which is nice.
“Same,” I say, yanking off my mittens to work on a tangle in the strand of snowflake-shaped lights I pulled from the bag. This is what I get for unpacking them last night to check all the bulbs. Only a sorceress could get them neatly packed up again. “I wouldn’t want to be with someone who didn’t take work as seriously as I do.”
“That makes two of us,” she says. “I just wish he cared a little less about work and a little more about...”
The me is unspoken, and I wince sympathetically. “Sorry about that.”
“Meh. I’m annoyed with him, not you.” Then she shocks me by unbuttoning her beautiful wool coat so she can crouch to start untangling one of the strands I tossed on the ground. “Thankfully, he’s a great partner most of the time.”
“Well that’s good,” I say, pumping my fist when I successfully unsnarl the last knot. “And it can be so hard to find balance. I have clients in all kinds of time zones, so my work hours are nuts. Makes it easy to end up scheduling things when the rest of the world is sleeping or playing.”
I glance up and shoot her a smile, and miracle of miracles, she offers me a small one back.
“What do you do?” she asks as she pulls a carton of star-shaped red and green ornaments out of her shopping bag.
“I’m an independent workplace consultant specializing in companies that embrace sustainable, equitable, and community-focused practices,” I tell her with a glow of pride at Parrish Consulting’s mission statement. Then I twist my mouth into a rueful smile. “Unfortunately, that’s not always the primary goal of the companies I work with. I have bills to pay, so there’s a fair amount of run-of-the-mill organizational efficiency audits in there as well.”
Now Reese is the one wincing.
