Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
OLIVE
A pparently, we start immediately.
As in this exact moment. Jo is brimming with ideas and she wants me to jump in, but I do my best creative work when I’m alone. Which is why, after two pumpkin bars, I stand and say, “I’ll take everything you guys said and work out some ideas that will engage the community and appeal to as many people as possible.”
Jo pulls me into a tight hug. “I knew you’d be perfect at this.”
I smile. “Thanks, Jo. I won’t lie, your vote of confidence is appreciated.”
I keep my chin up and stay positive and sunny, but when I get really honest with myself, it’s been a long time since I believed I could do anything other than mess up.
Maybe that’s why I’ve settled into low stakes jobs. If you mess up a coffee order, it’s not a big deal. You punch the clock and you still get paid. Messing up a business? That’s bigger than messing up a latte.
I feel stupid even now just thinking about it.
“Give me the morning to pull some ideas together.” My head spins with ideas, determined to make Jo proud. “I’ll come back after lunch, if that’s okay?”
“Even though it’s Sunday?”
“I think we need to get started, don’t you?” I ask. “We’re on a tight timeline.”
“Agreed,” she says, handing me my coat. She pauses, sincere. “Thank you, Olive. This is a really special place, and I know you’re going to add so much to this season.”
I smile. “I hope so.” I slip my coat on, pushing my hat out of the sleeve and pulling it on my head. Jo opens the front door, ushering me out into the crisp late-November weather.
“See you tomorrow,” she says as she closes the door behind me.
I stand there for a moment, only the faint glow of a single bulb overhead lighting my path. I stare out into the darkness, inhaling the chilly, pine-tinged air.
“This is crazy, you know.”
“What the—?” I gasp, hand to heart, and turn in the direction of the voice. Liam is sitting in a chair at the corner of the wraparound porch, Hank at his feet. “You scared me to death, you psycho!”
He doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t even respond.
“Fine. I’ll bite, Mr. Chatty,” I say. “Why is this crazy?”
He ponders for a moment, and I think he isn’t going to answer. But then he leans forward and spews, “She wants to cram a bunch of events into the next four weeks when she should just be enjoying what we have around here right now. Say goodbye quietly. Everything doesn’t have to be a big production.”
I pull my stocking cap down a bit further and walk over to the seating area. There’s a handmade bench across from Liam’s chair, and I sit facing him.
“Maybe she wants it to feel like it did back in the day,” I say, knowing the tree farm must feel the pinch of commercialized Christmas. It takes effort now to do anything in a traditional way, and I feel for parents who are desperate to pull kids out of the constant spin of flashy screens and loud toys.
Everything is bigger, but not necessarily better.
And nothing lasts anymore. It’s like things are manufactured to break down, forcing people to buy things again.
Good grief, what’s next? Yelling at people to get off my lawn?
I turn the thought around in my mind . . . Christmas like it used to be . . . An old-fashioned Christmas . . . there’s an idea in there somewhere.
He shakes his head.
“Are you upset they’re selling?” I ask.
“Nope.”
He answered that quickly.
I study him. He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, which is why I should leave him alone, and also why I don’t. He doesn’t scare me.
I draw in a breath. “I’d be upset. It’s such a special, magical place.”
At that, he scoffs.
I frown. “What?”
“You sound just like them.” He shifts in his chair.
“I don’t understand,” I say. “You lived here. It’s like Winter Wonderland in a movie during the holidays. You must know how much it means to people. It doesn’t mean ten times more to you?”
He stands and Hank lifts his head.
“Well? Doesn’t it?” I repeat, standing.
“No,” he says, flatly. “This place is a business. And if you let it, it’ll bleed you dry.”
I cross my arms and let out a slow breath. “So, to you, the farm is . . .? ”
“. . . Thankfully soon to be history.” He crosses his arms, mirroring my stance.
“Wow. Okay. That’s . . . sad.” I study him. “You really have no idea how amazing it all is.”
“I hate to tell you this, Liv, but it wasn’t amazing for me.”
I freeze. He called me “Liv.” Just like when we were kids. It throws me. And maybe it throws him too because I get the sense that familiarity wasn’t his intention.
Still, he’s the only person who ever called me that.
He looks away.
I press my lips together and force his gaze. “Come on, there must be something about this place that you like.”
He pushes a hand through his hair, turning toward the darkness beyond the porch. “I spent most of my time wrapping trees, weeding, planting, and mucking around through mud taking orders from. . .” He looks away, stopping from finishing the thought. “My experience was maybe different from everyone else’s. It’s just a farm.”
“Just a farm?”
He frowns, annoyed.
I had no idea. I thought he saw this place like I saw this place.
Like everyone did. Like everyone still does.
And a thought shoots across my mind like Santa’s sleigh across the sky.
“It’s okay—” I say, grinning. “No, this is good.”
He looks at me. “What?”
I grin.
“Your face looks weird,” he says. “Stop looking at me like that.”
I grin wider. “I’m going to show you.”
He grimaces. “Show me what?”
I take a few steps back, shaking my finger at him like I’ve got a point to prove. “Liam Fisher, I’m going to make this the best, last Pine Creek Christmas you’ve ever had.”
I step off the porch, propelled by delusion and pumpkin bars, suddenly certain that Jo is right.
I’m the perfect person for this job.