“Just getting to know you,” I said, leaning into him even more.
With a smile, he said, “It was my grandpa. He planted the first few generations of what would become Santa’s Choice, not because he had some big plan but because they were resistant to root rot. After a while, he noticed that they also last longer than other types of trees after being cut—that’s when he knew he was on to something. With the Christmasseason starting earlier every year, a long-lasting tree is in demand.” He pulled his hat down farther around his ears like it was cold. It probably was. “Grandpa was just a regular farmer.” He gestured to the Christmas magic around him. “This here is a crime of opportunity.”
“I wouldn’t call it a crime,” I began, but then my brain shut down as Tyrone brushed an errant lock of hair from my face. I shut my eyes and savored the feeling of his finger on my probably freezing cheek.
“What else do you want to know?”
“How’d you get involved with Jeff?”
“What?” He gave me a confused look. “Didn’t Jeff tell you?”
“Jeff didn’t tell me as much as you’d think,” I said.
With a knowing look, he said, “That makes two of us.”
Huh. I filed that away for later.
“Jeff’s parents planted a bunch of my trees here on this land.” He gestured to the farm. “After Jeff died, I helped out quite a bit. When Tom got too sick to handle the farming himself, I was here all the time.”
He must have taken my look of confusion for something else—hurt feelings maybe—because he quickly added, “No shade. It wasn’t your job to take care of them.”
“Thank you.” I guess it would have made sense for Jeff’s fiancée to stick around.
“It wasn’t long before I bought the place. If I’m growing Santa’s Choice, I can’t live south of the Mason-Dixon Line.”
Blessedly, a man dressed as an elf interrupted our conversation before I could put my foot in my mouth again. “Hey, boss, wanna jump the line to see Santa?”
“Nah, we’re good.” To me, he said, “Waiting in line with you is half the fun. Unless you’re too cold?”
“I’m fine, but you could warm me up.”
“I got you.” Tyrone side-hugged me and rubbed my shoulder. My spirits set sail with the snowflakes. Tyrone, the snowflakes on my nose and eyelashes, the silver-white winter that melts into spring, plus tinglesof sexual anticipation and the rush of blood under his skin—just a few of my favorite things.
A mom in front of us was trying to rebutton her toddler’s jacket and jam a matching hat on his head. “Stop scratching, John!” The kid was frantically rubbing his belly like the coat was attacking him. To her husband, she said, “These pictures aren’t cheap. We literally can’t afford to have him look bad.”
The husband didn’t look up from his phone.
I could see the big vein in her forehead throbbing. I shut my eyes and counted to five. I couldn’t bite someone in the face while waiting in line for Santa.
To distract myself, I stood on my tiptoes and whispered to Tyrone, “I know what I’m asking Santa for.”
“Tell me what you want,” Tyrone said, his voice low and teasing.
“I think you know what I want,” I said.
“Why don’t you give me a hint?” Tyrone’s heated gaze sent a thrill down my spine, but my stomach gurgled again. This time it didn’t settle, and my mouth began to water. I tried to will the sensation away, but it was no good.
“Shit!” I wrenched away from Tyrone, staggering out of line just in time to vomit the entire can of coconut water into Santa’s bag filled with glossy, wrapped presents.
Just when I thought it was over, I dry heaved a few more times.
“I told you we should have come earlier, Frank,” the mom in front of us complained. “All the drunks come out at night.”
I shot her a look of pure evil between dry heaves. If only I was just a drunk. If she didn’t watch it, she was going to meet the sharp end of my fangs.
A hand offered me a handkerchief. “Are you okay?” Tyrone rubbed my back lightly.
“I think I accidentally inhaled one of those chunks of coconut.” I smiled at him weakly. “This is so embarrassing.”
