Oliver laughs. “I’m not letting you murder a guy who hated himself more than he hated me. Besides, I’m not convinced you’d do a good job getting away with it if you thought I was going to murder you today.”
Well, looks like the guy will live to see another day.
Oliver puts on music after that, some really catchy pop songs.
When the GPS says we’ve arrived, I turn towards a large, iron gate with a keypad.
“What is this place?” I ask.
“Just pull up there.” He points at the right side of the gate.
I do as he says. Oliver rolls down his window and puts in the combination. The doors open slowly.
“Wow, you don’t half-ass anything, do you?” I look at the huge farm in front of us with lush green grass and bushes. I’m assuming trees are at the back. The air smells sharp and green, pine and resin. I can hear kids laughing somewhere in the distance.
Oliver rolls his eyes. “They didn’t have trees left in any of the nearby shops becausesomeoneforgot they were having people over for Christmas Eve!” He side-eyes me. “I asked around and found out about this place. It’s cool, right?”
I stare at him before remembering I’m still driving.
“What?” he asks, looking embarrassed.
I shake my head. “Of course, you did.” Mission Fake Christmas was working too well. Nick can go fuck himself.
I park in front of a small shed.
“I'll go get the tools,” Oliver says, already hopping out of the truck towards a heavyset man. They shake hands, and Oliver points towards me. The guy nods and hands Oliver a big toolbox.
Oliver hops back in. He points to the left, and I start the truck. We drive deep into the property until we come across beautiful Leyland cypress trees scattered about the property.
I drive slowly until Oliver shouts, “That one!”
I slam the brakes and park the truck right beside a twelve or thirteen-foot, dense tree.
“This… this is our tree,” Oliver breathes out.
I nod because yeah, this is our tree. I take out the saw. “I got this,” I assure him.
He stands behind me as I work, sawing the trunk in slow, rough strokes.
Oliver’s breath gets heavier around the time the tree starts to give. I turn to face him, attacking the tree from the other side, mostly to give him a better show.
I’m careful not to exert too much strength, but my wolf wants to show off like never before. So, when the saw gets stuck halfway through, I pull it out, push it back with one hard stroke.
Oliver gasps as the tree falls.
I clean the saw and put it back in the truck, all the while Oliver looks at me, his eyes glazed.
“You can help me carry it to the truck,” I say huskily.
He looks up at me, eyes filled with desire. I want to grab his neck and shove my tongue down his throat.
That sobers my mind pretty quickly, and I turn to focus on the logistics of grabbing the giant tree.
“Take the leafy side,” I tell him.
We lift the tree. I take the weight while Oliver makes sure the needles aren't all falling off. We place the tree on the back of the truck. I tie it up with a rope from the toolbox.
When we get back, I go to the shed guy with him and pay, despite a resistant Oliver. The guy wraps the tree up nicely forus.
