Rolling hills slope toward the sky before dripping down. I don’t know if it’s the cedar trees or the chill in the air, but it smells like the holidays. Despite the fresh pep in the pounding of my pulse, it’s comforting. Grounding.
Marv asks the radio if he’s speaking to the mother ship.
“Close your eyes,” Jay says.
“What?” I respond, incredulous. “No.”
Everything about his presence has my whole body on high alert. Like a schoolgirl with a playground crush.Close my eyes?What could he possibly need me to close my eyes for? And Marv’s back there in the wagon, he coul?—
“Holiday Club rules,” Jay says. “When we turn this corner up here”—he gestures with his chin—“we’ll be there. Close your eyes.”
I look at him.
Swallow.
Feel my chest tighten.
And do as he says.
The first few seconds drag on, every beat of my heart harder than the last, but then I relax. I rock with the movements of the wagon as the chill of the air claws at my skin.
He gives a lowwhoathat stops the horses before taking my hand—briefly—and guiding me out of the wagon.
Standing behind me, mouth close to my ear, he says, “Open.”
I do.
And bring my hands to my mouth with a stunned laugh.
Around us, glowing like conic stars grounded on Earth are at least fifty trees—maybe more—dripping with strands of white lights. Hundreds of tiny bulbs surround each one. On the ground, paper lanterns glow.
“What is this?” I ask, consumed by awe as I take several slow steps.
In the newness of night, the lights are so bright our faces are fully lit.
“Old Christmas tree farm,” Jay explains, grabbing a thermos and three mugs. “Family thing. The parents died and kids didn’t want to run it. Tree business didn’t make much money, but they loved the trees—and Christmas—so they started doing this a few years ago, taking donations for local charities. Do the lights because they love them.” He pours what smells like hot chocolate into the mugs. “Marv,” he hollers over his shoulder. “Drink.”
Jay hands me a mug as Marv walks up, pulls his headphones off, and looks at the trees.
“This many lights confuses the extraterrestrials,” Marv says, matter-of-fact, as he drops a tiny red pepper into his drink before taking a slurpy sip. “Probably why they do it.”
He looks at me, Jay, then wanders into the trees.
“Tell me,” I say, blowing the steam from my cup as Jay and I fall into step together, sauntering through the trees. “What is Marv’s origin story?”
Jay chuckles. “Way he tells it, about ten years ago, he was married and working in some kind of computer tech job when he got abducted by aliens. Nobody believed him. His wife left. He became Marv.”
I pull my chin back. “You don’t care?”
“Care?” he asks with a laugh. “Aliens didn’t take me.” His smile stays as he drinks from his mug, some of it clinging to his mustache. It’s inexplicably cute. “He’s a good guy,” he continues. “Fun to bowl with. Keeps me entertained. Doesn’t care that I’m a forty-year-old unmarried beertender the way some people do,” he teases. “No pressure.”
Every word he says is genuine, refreshing, and completely captivating.
I take my first sip of my drink and it burns my throat; I gag. “This is not hot chocolate.”
“Adult hot chocolate,” he amends with a press of his lips. “I add whiskey.”
I snort a laugh and take another sip, the burn less shocking the second time going down.
