The chalkboard sign out front listed the prices of each type and height with an additional note that there were no more trees available for customers to cut themselves. That was probably for the best. Two nepo babies and a chainsaw might be a recipe for a Christmas bloodbath. Though that might finallycutthe tension—ha...
Isaac followed a step or two behind me as I sniffed trees and rubbed needles between my fingers to see which were already dried out. Our family had always been a live Christmas tree family, but I had never smelled any Christmas trees this fresh. These beauties were so fragrant, I had to wonder if they’d been cut this morning.
One of the display trees, a perfectly shaped Douglas fir that would have been ideal for my house in LA, stood on a platform in a bright red tree stand. It was dreamy enough to be in a Hope Channel movie. I lingered, wishing I had a reason to take her home and string her with lights.
The young wiry kid at the counter with floppy curls wore a tan canvas apron and a red Santa hat. He sat on a metal stool, and looked up from his phone to see me drooling over my dream tree. “Can I help you find anything?”
I pranced up to the counter. “Hi, I need your tallest tree, please.”
The kid squinted out at the tent of trees. “Best I can do is a ten footer, ma’am.”
I shook my head. “Ten feet is child’s play.”
“Maybe we can stack two on top of each other,” Isaac said. “We could add a trench coat for fun.”
The kid snorted. “Good one, sir.”
Isaac’s brow furrowed at the wordsir.
I waved him up to the counter with ahelp mefrown. We’d barely spoken the whole way here and I wondered if he was regretting his decision to leave the safety of home.
He stepped forward with a sigh.
I tried again with a bigger smile. “I’m Sunny and this is Isaac. What’s your name?”
“Uh, Clayton,” the kid said hesitantly, like he was nervous that our next question would be to speak with the manager.
Isaac leaned on the counter with one elbow. “Clayton, we need a tree big enough to fill the old mansion just outside of town.”
Clayton let out a giddy gasp. “Shut up. You live inthemansion? Is that place really haunted?”
“Come and find out for yourself,” Isaac told him.
“No way. Really? That is so dope of you to invite me. Can I bring my girlfriend? She’s got this, like, witchy intuition and can totally commune with the other side.”
Isaac shrugged. “If you can deliver a twenty-foot or taller tree to my house in the next twenty-four hours, you can have the drawing room to yourself for the night for a séance date with your girlfriend.” Isaac opened his wallet. “And, obviously, I’ll pay you.”
I could see the wheels in Clayton’s head spinning as Isaac wrote down his phone number. “Throw in a pizza and a bottle of wine. The good stuff.”
“Are you even old enough to drink?” Isaac asked without missing a beat.
“Twenty-one thirteen days ago.”
“Deal,” Isaac told him. “And ring us up for that Douglas fir.”
I shook my head. “You’re not buying me a Christmas tree.”
“Roommates buy Christmas trees,” Isaac said. “Besides, maybe Mr.Tumnus will destroy this one and not the big one.”
“Or maybe both.”
Clayton—bless him—struggled to carry the tree, including the stand, which Isaac also bought, out to the truck for us. As hetried for the second time to toss it in the back of the truck, my phone rang.
“Teddy!” I said. “Just the man I needed to talk to.”
“Where are you?” Teddy asked, his voice riddled with panic.
“I’m at a Christmas tree farm, watching a twenty-one-year-and-thirteen-day-old boy wrestle a Christmas tree into the back of the truck.”
