Jeff again. Uh-oh. I nodded with encouragement to coax more words from Tyrone, and to keep my foot out of my mouth.
He swirled the remaining ice cubes in his glass before saying, “My family has a tree farm in North Carolina. We’ve been working on creating a hybrid evergreen that stays fresher for longer: green, fragrant, fewer needles to sweep up, perfect for Christmas.”
“You couldn’t grow them in North Carolina?”
“We could, but Vermont has a better climate for this variety, so I contracted with Jeff’s family to grow some of the trees. A few years later, I ended up buying the farm.” With a ta-da hand gesture to the tavern full of Vermonters, he said, “And here we are.”
I nodded, taking it all in.
“You don’t know any of this?” He drew his eyebrows together.
I shook my head in the negative. “Nope.”
“Huh.” For some reason that seemed to surprise him.
Putting the focus back on him, I said, “So what you’re saying is that you invented the Chrithmas tree?” I couldn’t sayChristmasfor being-a-vampirereasons and no one called themholidaytrees, so I just had to hope he’d find my lisp adorable.
With a laugh he said, “No, I hold the patent, but it’s just a cross between a blue spruce and a white pine with some vampire DNA thrown in, or at least that’s how I like to explain it.”
I could feel my eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. He wasn’t calling me a vampire, but still.
“What’s your tree called?”
“Santa’s Choice.”
I choked on my Macallan and loudly whispered, “That makes it sound like a condom.”
He burst out laughing. It felt good, making someone laugh. I could get used to it.
I wanted to ask more questions that I was probably supposed to know the answers to. Before I gave myself away, I said, “I better be going.”
“What’s your number?” he asked.
I preened and recited the digits. Five seconds later, my phone buzzed. Instead of a flirty text, he had shared the contact information for someone named Eleanor Rosetti.
“Who’s that?” I asked with a frown.
“The therapist. Text her for an appointment.”
At that, I laughed. “And I thought you were going to ask me out on a date.”
“Well, that too. Tomorrow is supposed to be beautiful, sunny, not too cold. I’d love to take you snowshoeing, maybe across Lake Valentine.” He cocked his head, waiting for a reply.
Snowshoeing—he had to be joking. “No, thank you.”
“Cross-country skiing? Ice skating?”
I shook my head no. Was he trying to kill me?
“Snowmobiling?”
“I’d rather go to therapy. In fact, maybe I will.” I quickly texted Dr. Rosetti.
Me:i’m new in town and having trouble fitting in. do you have any late evening appointments?
“The dog park?” Tyrone asked.
“The thing is, since I left Valentine, I developed porphyria, which makes me erupt into blisters in direct sunlight. I can only go out after dark.”
