Second Chance Holiday (Spruce Crossing Christmas Book 2)

5. Ava

The upside to all the cancelations is that I can focus on the upcoming competition and day-to-day sales at Sweet Treats. Things aren’t exactly dire, but I would prefer the books further in the black than they are. Winning the competition will surely put me on the map. Or at least, that’s my hope.

Christian texts me every morning, but I keep my messages to him short and polite. The call I overheard at my place is a warning, an early red flag to keep him at a distance. He’s on his way out, and I can’t get attached. Even if he is making it incredibly difficult with his ridiculously charming smile and sweet texts. I can’t help but scroll through our brief messages at the end of the night before I try to sleep and feel my insides warm.

Three nights after Christian came to my place, he shows up at Sweet Treats just as I’m closing up for the afternoon.

“You’re avoiding me,” he declares. “But too bad for you, this town is too small for that.”

He grins as he says this, even if I balk. “I’m not avoiding you—” I start to say, but he waves a giant hand and reaches for my arm to steer me out the front door.

“I know. I’m being dramatic. We’re going Christmas tree shopping,” he announces. “I noticed you don’t have one at your house.”

“I don’t—” I almost tell him I don’t want one, that I’m not feeling particularly festive this year, but the look on his face is so excited, I can’t resist going with him. It doesn’t help that he smells so good, the combination of spice and his shampoo teasing my nose. I deserve a break after all the hours I’ve put in.

“Oh, and you’ll need one for in here, too,” he goes on, causing me to shake my head. “It’s weird not seeing all the Christmas décor out already.” He stops in his tracks. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive. You’ve got a lot on your plate right now.”

“No, you’re probably right,” I sigh. “It’s on the list, getting into the basement and digging out the box of decorations I know Mom has stashed there somewhere.”

He pauses and eyes me speculatively. “Have you at least spoken to her since she went to Florida?”

I gnaw on the insides of my cheeks and look down at the salty sidewalk, shaking my head. “We’ve talked a couple times, but she won’t talk about the bakery,” I reply slowly. “I feel like she’s just waiting for me to fail.”

Christian’s face turns serious. “I can’t believe Amanda would do that, Ava. I mean, she’s a bit of a control freak, sure, but she loves you—and Sweet Treats. Doing that harms both of you.”

I shrug and lift my head. “Do you have another explanation?” I counter. He doesn’t answer, but like a switch has been flipped, his gorgeous smile returns, and he changes the subject.

“I could be game for getting some cobwebs in my hair tonight,” he suggests, and I’m overcome with the urge to hug him. “Let’s go Christmas tree hunting first and then find those decorations when we get back.”

I lock up the bakery, the last of the afternoon sun lingering behind the spectacular mountain view in the distance as Christian escorts me down the street toward Bennet’s Hardware.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Bennet’s is pretty much the only place around here to get a tree unless we go chop one down ourselves… and that might be our only option, anyway. If we find anything, it’s going to look like…” He stops in front of the hardware store and points at the few remaining trees sitting out front, none of which look very healthy. They’re the last of what was probably a robust bunch.

“Maybe this is a sign, Christian,” I sigh, and he nods in agreement.

“Yep,” he concedes. “A sign to go cut down our own. I’ll drive.”

It’s beenyears since I’ve taken the back roads, and nostalgic memories float through me as we climb higher through the mountains. Christian finally stops as darkness embraces us fully.

“We should work quickly. We don’t have any light left,” he comments, hopping out of the SUV as I remain, watching warily. But he comes around the other side and opens the door to help me out before retrieving an ax from his trunk, along with a hardhat with a flashlight attached. I laugh at the sight of it. Then, he grabs a second flashlight that he gives to me.

“Do you just keep all of this in your trunk?” I tease, and he shrugs, nodding.

“Sometimes, I have to help fish a stranded animal out of a dark place when it’s hurt. I have a bunch of tools for rescue back here.”

My heart swells more, and I peer at him in the fading light, trying to remember how things went so wrong between us in high school.

It wasn’t us that was the problem. It was Mom.

“Keep an eye out for critters and the cops,” he half-jokes, and I shiver.

“Cops?”

“Well, technically, we can’t just chop down trees here,” he informs me. “But I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

I laugh. “Whose property is this? Are we doing something illegal?”

“What’s wrong? You’re not willing to risk jail time for a little Christmas cheer?” he asks.

“Wait… are you serious?” I start to turn around, because, no, I am not willing to risk getting in trouble for a little Christmas cheer.

Christian laughs heartily and grabs my arm. “I’m kidding. This is my uncle’s property. I texted him earlier, and he said it was fine.”

“Fine. But you keep an eye out for critters!” I shoot back playfully. “You speak their language!”

Christian leads me deeper into the thick of pines, where the snow isn’t so obvious. I take charge of the flashlight, lighting our path.

“Pick one,” he urges me.

Randomly, I point the flashlight at a smaller sized coniferous, and Christian wastes no time getting to work. Even through the lumps of his thick jacket, I’m sure I can see his muscles, and I have to turn away, my cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

“Timber! One down!” he announces proudly. “Next!”

I pivot back around, his handsome face beams in the glow from the light on his hardhat.

“Your choice,” I tell him. “I trust you.” The words slip out before I think about them, but even in the dark, under the quarter moon, I can see how much they please him.

“This one here looks like it would meet Rupert’s standards,” he says, pointing at a larger one than the one I selected. In my mind’s eye, I see my mom’s glass angel sitting at the top, her dozens of sparkling ornaments gracing the tree.

“It’s perfect!” I agree. “Thank you.”

He gets to work tackling the second tree as a smidgeon of loneliness encompasses me. It will just be me and Rupert this year, I guess.

I tip my head back to look at him, grateful that he’s there with me. “Are you glad you came back to Spruce Crossing?” I ask.

He grimaces lightly. “It wasn’t part of the plan. I wanted to start a life in a new city, like you did. I was only a vet in Bozeman for a year before my dad died.”

I blink. “My plan wasn’t to start a life in a new city,” I confess. “I kind of took off. Mom and I had a huge blow-out about where I was going to college, and she basically told me not to come back after I finished if I went to Boise. She wanted me to stay close.”

His breath escapes in a cloud of disbelieving steam. “Wow. Amanda was really tough on you.”

“I think single motherhood got to her after a while. When I chose Boise, she realized I was my own person and not an extension of her.”

I start to bow my head, but he captures my chin between his thumb and index finger, the scent of wood and pine rushing through my nose as snow falls around us. His breath is warm on my face, but despite the Montana cold, all I can feel is waves of heat permeating my body.

“I can’t speak to what’s going on in your mother’s head,” he says. “But know that you have friends who care about you here. I won’t let you fail.”

His lips brush against mine, and my eyes close. Christian cups my face as his kiss deepens. My pulse quickens, and I feel a familiar warmth spreading through my body. Being with him again feels right, like no time has passed at all since we were last together.

He was my first love, and all of those old feelings come rushing back in a torrent. But these feelings aren’t puppy love; they’re deeper and more intense.

He stares into my eyes for a second before stepping back, a grin plastered on his face.

“I really should finish chopping down this tree before a bear eats us,” he jokes, turning around as I stare after him wistfully. I wouldn’t care if I’m eaten by three bears.

Christian Hargrove just kissed me. But he also called me his friend.

The proverbial record scratches in my head, and the blissfulness fades with the swing of his ax against the second tree trunk. Didn’t I promise myself to stay away from him until he made his choice about his job offer in San Francisco?

“Hey, Christian?”

It’s hard to see if he looks at me, but another crack of the ax tells me he’s still working. “Hm?”

“Did you get back to those headhunters in California?”

The silence is too long, answering my question without words, and I feel stupid.

“Not yet,” he finally says as I swallow my disappointment.

Why are you kissing me then? I want to demand, but I hold in my indignation as the tree falls. We’re quiet as I lug the smaller one toward the car a few dozen feet away. He carries the bigger one over his shoulder.

Silently, we secure the pines with string to the ski racks at the top of his SUV.

“We’ll bring these back to your place, and I’ll help you find those decorations,” he suggests brightly as we climb into his vehicle.

“No,” I blurt. “Tonight’s not a good night for that. I really need to work on the desserts for the baking competition.”

“I can help you with that, too,” he offers, but I shake my head firmly.

“No. You’ve done enough for me, Christian. Thanks for being such a good friend these past few days, but I think I can handle things from here.”

He drives off the back road, his jaw twitching slightly as he studies me in his peripheral vision. “What are you saying?”

I look out the passenger side window and make my decision before I can change my mind. “I’m saying that I really need to focus on the bakery and competition right now. Winning is the only way I’m going to win the respect of the people in this town. Showing them I’m just as capable as my mom at running Sweet Treats is important. I really need this.”

“I don’t think that’s true!” he protests. “You’ll prove yourself with or without some random people judging your talent. I’ve heard from others already how amazing your baked goods are.” His compliment makes my heart sing.

“I can’t afford any distractions right now,” I tell him firmly, clearly, so that there aren’t any misunderstandings. “And you have things of your own going on, too.”

The hurt on his face is obvious, but he nods stiffly.

“If that’s what you want, I will respect it,” he tells me sadly. “But it’s not what I want.”

I swallow the words bubbling to the surface in my mouth, the ones that want to take back my earlier statement. But I have to be sensible.

“Should I take you back to your car or home?” he asks as we near the center of Spruce Crossing. I’d forgotten about my car, parked in front of the bakery.

“Home, please,” I answer. “Rupert needs to go out. I’ll just walk to work in the morning. It’s not too far.”

He helps me bring the trees inside, offering to take the smaller one to Sweet Treats, but I refuse as Rupert jumps all over him.

“I’ll bring it tomorrow after I grab my car,” I tell him. “Thank you again for all you’ve done. It’s been great catching up with you.”

Christian lingers in the doorway like he wants to say something else, but abruptly turns to leave. “Goodnight, Ava. I’ll see you around town, I guess.”

“Of course you will,” I promise, but a dark thought trickles into the back of my mind.

Not if you take that job in San Francisco, I almost say.

He’s not my boyfriend. Christian is my friend. He said it himself, even if his kiss still buzzes on my lips as I watch him walk away. The embrace was an act of kindness or pity in the moment. It meant nothing.

Rupert whines to see him go, and I hold tighter to my dog’s collar, exhaling with regret. “I know, buddy,” I mutter. “I know exactly how you feel.”