Chapter 2
LUCAS
The first day of tree season is always hectic as hell.
By noon, the parking lot is packed with families, kids running between the rows of trees, and parents arguing over which one is perfect.
The sound of chain saws fills the air, mixed with Christmas music blasting from speakers mounted around the property.
This year, the snack stand started serving extra-large funnel cakes and large hot cocoas in red cups.
I’m in the back field with Jake, both of us cutting down precut stock to refill the tents up front. The physical work helps keep my mind busy. I love the sound of the saw roaring while wood chips fly. Sweat drips down my back, despite the fifty-degree weather.
But even this doesn’t drown out my thoughts completely.
Holiday sold out this morning. Five hundred cookies in an hour. I heard my cousin Matteo mention it to one of the guys and noted the awe in his voice like she’d done something incredible. That’s how everyone in Merryville has always treated Holiday, like she’s special.
She’s already making people remember why they love her so much. Reminding people why they want things they shouldn’t have. Making them forget she’s the kind of person who makes promises she doesn’t keep.
“You good?” Jake asks during a water break, eyeing me like he knows something’s up.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Because you’ve cut down ten trees in the time it took me to do five.” He wipes his forehead with his sleeve. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Just want to stay ahead of the rush.”
“Right.” He doesn’t believe me. “This have anything to do with Holiday working at the cookie shop?”
I grip the chain saw tighter. “Absolutely not.”
“Lucas—”
“Drop it, Jake.”
He holds up his hands. “Okay. But you’ve been in a shit mood and it’s pretty obvious why.”
I don’t respond. I just crank the chain saw again and get back to work.
But he’s right. I am in a shit mood because she’s here. She’s running my sister-in-law’s bakery, making cookies, smiling at customers, and acting like she belongs.
She doesn’t belong anywhere close to me.
She left. She chose to leave. And now she’s back like she didn’t burn everything down on her way out.
“You wanna talk about it?” Jake asks when we load another batch of trees onto the trailer.
“Nothing to talk about. I’m fine.”
“You’re really not.” Jake leans against the trailer. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two back in the day, but—”
“Then don’t ask.”
“Fair enough.” He grabs his water bottle. “But whatever it is, you gotta find another way to deal with it. She’s working here all season. You can’t avoid her forever.”
“Watch me.”
Jake just shakes his head. “Claire and I are grabbing dinner tonight to chat about wedding stuff, if you want to join.”
“Can’t. Meeting Sammy for a drink.”
“At Moonshiners?”
“Yeah.”
“All right. Don’t do anything stupid.”
I flip him off, and he laughs before heading toward the main lot.
I stay in the back field until the sun starts to set, cutting trees until my arms ache and my head’s finally quiet. By the time I head home to shower and change, I’m exhausted.
But it’s the good kind. The kind that comes from honest work.
The kind that makes me forget, for a few hours, that Holiday Patterson exists and she’s back in Merryville.
At eight, I drive to town to meet Sammy at Moonshiners.
The bar is packed, but I expected that. It’s Friday night, the first weekend of tree season, and everyone in town is celebrating.
Moonshiners is the only real bar in downtown Merryville, and it shows.
The place is all dark wood, and Christmas lights are strung along the walls year-round.
Garland wraps around the bar, wreaths hang in the windows, and there’s a massive tree in the corner decorated with ornaments from local businesses.
A neon sign behind the bar reads “Shine Bright” in red and green.
The live band is set up on a small stage in the back, playing covers of country songs. The dance floor is full of couples, and every table is occupied. The energy is high, and loud conversations mix with music and laughter. I find two empty stools at the end of the bar and order a Shiner.
“Long day?” the bartender asks. His name’s Mike and he’s been working here since I was old enough to drink.
“You have no idea,” I tell him.
“First day was good?”
“Great. Busy as hell,” I say, already feeling sore from the manual labor.
“That’s what I like to hear.” He slides my beer across the bar. “This one’s on the house.”
“Appreciate it,” I say.
Sammy shows up twenty minutes later, grinning. “There’s my favorite lumberjack.”
“Shut the hell up,” I say, finishing my first beer.
He slides onto the stool next to me and orders us a round.
The bottles are set in front of us.
“How was day one?” he asks.
“Exhausting, but we broke last year’s first day record. I couldn’t believe it.”
“I heard about the bakery selling out, too.”
I take a long pull of my beer. “Yeah. Don’t care about that.”
Sammy laughs, but there’s an edge to it. “Lucas. Come on. You both need to get over this thing between you two.”
I signal Mike for another beer. “Nope. Don’t have to tolerate her anymore.”
“I’m still trying to figure out what the hell happened between you two.” He leans forward. “I know something went down that Christmas when she came home from culinary school.”
“Told you. She’s a bitch. Don’t want to be friends with liars. Your twin sister is a piece of shit. Glad you’re not.”
He studies me for a long moment, then sighs. “I wish we could go back to how things were when we were kids.”
“Oh, that will never happen again,” I say. “Don’t count on it.”
We drink in silence for a few minutes, watching the band. They’re doing a decent cover of a George Strait song. My eyes scan across the room, and then I freeze.
Holiday’s in a corner booth toward the back. And she’s not alone.
Theo Williams is sitting across from her, leaning in close, saying something that makes her laugh.
Theo Williams was the star quarterback in high school and class president.
The guy every girl wanted, including Holiday.
I remember her talking about him back when we were teenagers.
How excited she was when he asked her to prom.
She went with him instead of me.
And now, fifteen years later, here they are again.
She’s wearing a black dress that shows cleavage. Her light brown hair is down, falling in soft waves over her shoulders. There’s a gold necklace around her throat that catches the light every time she moves. She looks polished and expensive and like she doesn’t belong in a small-town bar.
She looks like Paris. Like the life she chose over me.
And it makes me want to break something.
“Is that—” Sammy starts.
“Speak of the devil,” I mutter, trying to ignore this.
“Wow. Didn’t know they kept in touch,” he says in a hushed tone. “Fuck that guy.”
“She probably will.”
Sammy gives me a look but doesn’t comment. We both know Holiday’s never single for long. She jumps from one relationship to the next, always looking for something better, never satisfied with what she has.
I try to focus on my drink, on the band, on anything but the corner booth and the way she laughs. But I can’t.
Because she’s home. In Merryville. Taking up space at my hangouts.
“Two shots of tequila,” I tell Mike.
He pours them, and I slide one toward Sammy.
“Don’t you gotta get up early?” Sammy asks.
“Yeah,” I say, lifting the shot to my lips.
That’s when Holiday’s eyes finally find mine across the bar.
Our gazes lock. The music fades. The noise dims. It’s just her looking at me and me looking at her.
That pretty smile on her face fades and her whole body tenses.
Good. I hope I ruin her entire night.
I take the shot, never breaking eye contact, making sure she knows exactly how I feel about her being here.
She is unwelcome and unwanted. A problem I want gone.
“You okay, man?” Sammy asks.
“Perfect.”
I’m not. I’m a few beers and a shot in and watching Holiday squirm under my microscope.
A blonde appears at the bar next to me, flagging down Mike.
She’s pretty, in her midtwenties, and dressed like she’s not from around here because she’s not.
As soon as the calendar flips to November, tourists come to Merryville.
It’s a magical holiday experience that a person can’t get anywhere else in the world.
She glances over at me and smiles. “Oh, aren’t you that guy from the tree farm?”
“Sure am,” I say.
“I remember you.” She orders a drink and turns to face me fully. “I’m Becca.”
“Lucas Jolly.” I shake her hand, but my eyes drift back to Holiday’s booth.
“Jolly? Your family owns the farm?” Becca asks, scooting closer to me.
Holiday’s zeroed in on me now, trying to pretend she’s not, but I know better.
I give Becca my full attention. “What brings you to Merryville?”
“My sister used to follow Emma Manchester, well, Jolly now, on Instagram. The farm was on her bucket list.” She takes a sip of her drink. “I think I just added something to mine.”
“Mm,” I say, holding back a smile.
I can practically feel the heat of Holiday’s stare from across the bar.
“So, do you always hang out here on Friday nights?” Becca asks, playing with her hair.
“Sometimes.” I smile at her.
Sammy clears his throat next to me. I ignore him.
Becca finishes her drink and glances toward the dance floor where couples are swaying to the band. “You want to dance?”
“You know how to two-step? This is Texas, darlin’.”
“I’m a fast learner.” Becca blushes as I stand, taking her hand and pulling her to the dance floor with me.
I can see Holiday in my peripheral vision. She’s gripping her drink so tight her knuckles are white. She’s not even pretending to listen to Theo anymore.
The band plays something slow. I put my hand on Becca’s waist, and she moves closer, her arms looping around my neck. But I’m not looking at her.