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The thoughts he was having about Nicole Peterson were complicating his day, that was for sure. So Henry did his best to push them away.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The sharp scent of pine needles and the earthy smell of fresh evergreen boughs filled George’s small office at the tree farm, but Mabel was having difficulty finding it as comforting as she usually did. She sat hunched over the workbench, mechanically weaving red ribbon through the wire frame of what would become another wreath for the holiday market, but her movements were sharp and irritable.

Every few minutes, she found herself glancing toward the door, waiting for George to appear with that warm smile that she loved, ready to help her get the wreaths prepped for the holiday market booth. But the door remained stubbornly closed, and with each passing moment, the tight knot of jealousy in her chest seemed to grow a little larger, a little more impossible to ignore.

She’d barely seen George since their lunch at the B&B, when that infuriating widow Eda Leopold had made such a spectacle of herself in the bed and breakfast’s lobby. The weekend had been consumed by the rush of customers picking out Christmas trees, families wandering through the lot with children in tow, couples debating the merits of which height of tree to pick while George patiently answered the same questions he’d been fielding for decades.

All that was fine. This was the busiest time of year, just as it was for Mabel. She didn’t begrudge him the fact that they didn’t have as much time for one another as they typically did, when it wasn’t the middle of the holidays. It was just that she couldn’t seem to push away the images that kept playing in her mind.

George’s courteous smile as he’d shaken Eda Leopold’s hand.

The way the widow had looked at him like he was a particularly appetizing item on a menu she intended to sample.

She’d been so out of sorts that she’d even considered calling this morning to tell George she couldn’t make it to help with the wreaths, claiming Vanessa needed her help at the store or something equally pressing. But she’d only toyed with the idea briefly before realizing that wasn’t fair at all, since she hadn’t voiced that she was upset.

He’d even asked if she was all right at lunch, and she’d said she was fine. So she couldn’t exactly leave him in the lurch because of her own jealousy over what was, she could admit, probably nothing. And she knew the better thing to do would be to just talk about it, like the adults that they were.

The problem was, she wasn’t entirely sure how to put her feelings into words without sounding ridiculous. What was she supposed to say? “George, I’m jealous of a stranger who fluttered her eyelashes at you for thirty seconds in a hotel lobby”? The very thought made her cringe with embarrassment.

Mabel secured another loop of ribbon and reached for the next wreath frame, every movement of her hands becoming more aggressive as her frustration grew. She’d been looking forward to this, to working on the wreaths for George’s booth, being partners this year, and perhaps even making it a new tradition that they could both share every Christmas. Instead, she felt like an anxious teenager, fretting over another girl flirting with her boyfriend. It was absolutely ridiculous, just ridiculous, she fumed over and over as she yanked the boughs through the wooden framing.

She glanced at her watch and felt her irritation spike. Two-fifteen, and still no sign of George. He’d promised to be back by two o’clock at the latest from working on the electrical issues at the bed and breakfast. That had been nearly thirty minutes ago.

The bed and breakfast where the widow was staying. The thought didn’t merit lingering on, but she couldn’t help it, visions of the widow Leopold chatting up George in her room, asking about her fireplace ventilation, filling Mabel’s head.

“Of course he’s late,” Mabel muttered under her breath, yanking a piece of ribbon with unnecessary force. “Probably got stuck talking to her again. I’m sure she’s found some excuse to visit the tree lot. Probably needs help selecting the perfect tree to make her imperfect room better. Or maybe she wants him to pick out a tree for her, since she couldn’t possibly get her expensive heels dirty coming out to a tree farm. Or break a nail out here.”

The bitter edge in her own voice surprised her. She’d never been a jealous, catty kind of woman, but something about Eda Leopold brought out a side of her personality she didn’t particularly like. The woman’s obvious wealth and sophistication made Mabel feel frumpy, like an old lady who wore red and green all holiday season long and jeans that were soft and worn-in to work. An old lady who mostly only owned snow boots and work boots now, whose closet was more practical than stylish these days.

Her jewelry was typically limited to a pair of small gold hoops with a few inset, tiny diamonds that Vanessa had bought her for Christmas last year, and sometimes a bangle bracelet or two. Eda had practically been dripping in elegant, classy, understated jewelry by comparison.

She couldn’t compare to Eda at all. Before the woman had flirted with George, she would have said that she didn’t want to. But now she felt inadequate, a feeling she hadn’t had in decades, and she didn’t like it.

The sound of the office door opening made her jump, and she heard George’s familiar throat-clearing as he called out “Hey there, sweetheart. I’m sorry I’m late⁠—”

“Where have you been?” she bit out, her voice sharper than she could recall ever having spoken to him before, not looking up as she yanked another piece of ribbon through the fir bough. Her mouth opened to accuse him of staying late to chat with Eda at the bed and breakfast, when George’s boots stopped in front of her and she smelled a whiff of peppermint and chocolate.

She looked up to see him holding out a steaming cup from the coffee shop. “Sorry,” he said wryly. “One of the rooms is having consistent issues with the lights flickering, and I can’t figure out exactly why. If I don’t parse it out soon, I’ll have to ask Henry, and I really don’t want to have to bother the poor man. And then I felt bad that you’ve been here working all alone, so I thought I’d stop and grab you a coffee on the way. Just a quick detour.”

Guilt filled Mabel’s chest, and she took the coffee with a forced smile, feeling immediately foolish for being so jealous.

George sat down on the bench next to her, leaning over to give her a kiss on the cheek. “I remembered you mentioning that you hadn’t had one yet this season, and since we’re going to be here for a while, I thought you might appreciate some caffeine and seasonal cheer.”

The gesture was so thoughtful that Mabel felt tears threaten behind her eyes. Here she’d been, working herself into a jealous frenzy over imagined slights and invented scenarios, while he’d been thinking about small ways to make her afternoon more pleasant.

“Thank you,” she managed, wrapping her hands around the warm cup and inhaling the comforting scent of coffee, chocolate, and mint. “That’s very sweet of you.”

George settled onto the stool across from her and picked up a wreath frame, fingers moving deftly as he started to wind the pine boughs around the wooden base. “How many have you finished?” he asked, glancing at the neat row of completed wreaths she’d assembled during his absence.

“Six,” Mabel replied, her voice sounding strained even to her own ears. The fact that he’d thought to bring her coffee only made her feel worse about her jealous thoughts, and it didn’t help that she still couldn’t shake them loose. Maybe he hadn’t been chatting with the widow today, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t flirting with him the other days that he was at the bed and breakfast⁠—

“Six?” George’s eyebrows rose with genuine admiration. “That’s great. We’ll have this knocked out in no time. Thanks for helping with all of this,” he added.

“Well,” Mabel said, unable to keep a slight edge from creeping into her tone, “I had plenty of time to work while I was waiting.”

Something in her voice must have alerted George to her mood, because he paused, setting the wreath down on his lap to study her face for a moment.