Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
LIAM
O h, how I love being summoned.
The following afternoon, I’m pulling up to the Pine Creek office located in one of the barns on the business side of the property.
Acres of trees separate this side from the side where the house and family barn are positioned, higher up the hill.
I park the red Pine Creek pickup truck next to a small powder blue VW bug that I’m certain belongs to Olive. If people could be cars, she would be a VW bug.
Hank trots over, mildly interested as I get out of the truck. I bend down to give him an appropriate amount of attention and also to prolong going to this meeting.
Maybe I should feel comforted that Olive is still as determined as she always was, but knowing she’s turned her attention toward proving a point to me has me a little on edge.
I really don’t want her to waste her time trying to convince me this tree farm is anything other than what it is—an overly romanticized money pit.
I rub Hank’s ears, and he steps closer, burrowing his face between my knees. “I’ve got this, right, Hank? ”
He pants and pulls back, lifting his front paws, hitting my forearms in what I can only assume is an effort to get me to pet him for the next eight hours. I give him one last rub, then stand.
Time to get this over with.
I walk into the barn and look around. This outbuilding is less barn and more office space. It’s still wide open in the center, a bit barn-like, all high ceilings and rafters that creak when the wind blows too hard, but along the perimeter there are smaller offices and rooms, with one functioning as a conference room.
When my parents gather the entire staff, they assemble in the big open space, but smaller groups can meet around the handmade table in the conference room, which is where I find Olive sitting. Alone.
Before she looks up, I’m weirdly struck with a twinge of nerves and consider leaving. Why am I nervous?
She glances up. “Your mom had to take a call.”
I nod and take a breath, making it semi-clear I’m not happy to be here. I sit down at the rough-edge table at the center of the room. My mom’s version of a conference table—hewn wood from the farm and mismatched chairs. We aren’t fancy people, that’s for sure.
I think of the conference room at Arcadia, with embedded tilt up screens, all modern lines and white space. There’s a single piece of abstract art on the wall behind the head of the table where Aaron sits. I’ve discovered that if you sit in the fourth chair on the right side, the art behind him makes it look like he has horns.
I try to sit there a lot.
The whole place is like that. Where you sit reveals the true nature of things.
It’s all abstract and clean and modern and boring, and now that I think about it, not suited for creative work at all.
Olive is clutching a small stack in front of her—a notebook, a smaller notebook, her iPad, and a phone. She’s not looking at me.
“What’s all that?” I nod to her things.
Her eyes flick to mine. “My presentation.”
I lean back in the chair. “You’re giving a presentation?”
“Well,” she says, “kind of. It’s not formal or anything.”
I nod, slowly.
Another pause.
“Liam, what is . . .” She stops and takes a breath.
I stare.
She looks right at me. “You don’t like me, do you?” she blurts out, as if the words have been wanting to escape for a while now.
I wet my lips, then press them together. “I . . .” I shake my head, as if that’s going to help me form words and actually speak. I say the one thing that is true, but hopefully not offensive.
“I guess I don’t really know you anymore.”
I do know that ever since I saw her in that coconut sweater, I’ve been replaying memories that I thought I buried a long time ago.
I also know that she has the potential to get in my head in ways other people can’t.
She and I had something special. Or at least, I thought we did.
I’ve also spent an ungodly amount of time trying not to think about her bright blue eyes or how soft and smooth her skin appears. When I’m around her, sometimes I have to put my hands in my pockets just to make sure I don’t do something stupid, like reach out and touch her.
She narrows her eyes, like she’s putting me in the center of her crosshairs. “So, is this just your personality now?”
“Is what my personality?” I ask, emotionless .
“This sort of—” she waves a hand in my general direction— “salty, cranky thing you’ve got going on.”
Since when does not having anything to say make you cranky? I think, wondering how she expected me to act around her. “I’m not cranky.”
She scoffs, eyes wide as if to say, “Yeah, okay.”
“Sorry about that!” My mother walks into the office, tucking her phone into her pocket. “Little crisis in the Christmas shop.” She scans the room. “Where’s Lacey?”
As if the question summons her, Lacey rushes in. “I’m here! I was filming content for social.”
I frown. Filming content? For social ?
Olive brightens. “Oh, good! I was going to ask about that. I noticed our social media presence is a little on the quiet side.”
Our ?
My mom loves when farm employees take ownership of their work, when they put themselves on the team. But is Olive serious? She knows this place most likely won’t even exist in a month, right?
Mom smiles and pulls out a chair for Lacey. “Sit.”
I glance at my sister as she takes a seat, hoping she’s started to accept the fact that this is all happening—this is our last Christmas at Pine Creek, regardless of how we feel about it. Maybe our mom got her on board with this plan to cram the month full of things to get people out here one last time.
“Okay, Olive,” my mom says. “The floor is yours. We can’t wait to hear your ideas.”
Olive fidgets with the corner of her iPad. “Right, okay—” She stares at the stack of things in front of her, and for a second I wonder if she’s decided she doesn’t want to pitch these ideas after all. She looks—conflicted.
And vulnerable.
It’s a different side than the blunt, call-me-out-on-my-crap side she’s been showing .
How can those two things coexist in a single person? It’s a mystery. One I’d like to solve.
Olive looks up, courage summoned, and paints a bright smile on her face. It’s the same smile she often had when we were kids. Like when she picked up that frog that somehow got stuck in the bird bath and tormented me with it all afternoon because she knew it grossed me out.
“I was thinking about what makes this place so special.” She opens her iPad, flipping the cover around so it becomes a stand and sets it on the table facing us. “In addition to the ongoing activities you already have here—” She touches the iPad and an image pops up. A hand-drawn pink and red and green image that says The Last, Best Pine Creek Christmas .
Her eyes lock onto mine, and she straightens.
Bring on the convincing, I guess.
“I propose—” she pauses, staring straight at me— “the Last, Best Pine Creek Christmas.” Her lips twitch into a slight smile and she looks away. “A full month of activities celebrating the holidays the Pine Creek way. We will put the emphasis on the joy of being together with family, at this place, during this very festive season.” She swipes the iPad. “‘Together at Christmas’ would be the theme, and we would center all activities around making memories together, with friends, with family, with anyone we love.”
My mom is eating this up. Lacey has her phone out, and when she starts typing on it, she lifts a finger and says, “I promise I’m not being rude, just getting some of these ideas down for social media.”
I frown. The change in my sister is a little suspicious.
Olive goes on. “I was thinking we could share about what we already have going on here on all social media channels. Maybe focus on the hot chocolate shed and bring back the carriage rides because everyone loves those. And I think it would be fun to do featured treats every week in the café. ”
“On it,” Lacey says, furiously typing ideas into her phone.
“Those are things we can do immediately, but some things will take longer to plan. Like—” Olive swipes to a new page on the iPad to reveal another image, clearly hand-drawn. At the center of it are the words “Pine Creek Christmas Market” layered over a hand-drawn image of an old red Ford truck with a vintage Pine Creek logo on the door—my truck. The one I drove all through high school. And when that one died, somehow, my parents found another identical one.
Not sure why I’ve been driving it while my Altima sits parked in my parents’ garage, but I’m sure Olive would turn that into something sentimental when really, I just love a vintage truck.
“I thought the venue would be perfect for a makers’ market.” Olive looks away from the iPad.
“Olive. I love this idea,” Mom says. “Unique, handmade Christmas gifts?—”
“Locally made,” Lacey says. “We lean into that and put ‘shop local’ on all our advertising.”
Olive beams, and I start to see the ripple of excitement make its way around the table until it reaches me, the lone speed bump slowing it down.
“I know a lot of people in this community from doing so many markets myself,” Olive says. “And if I pitch this to them, tell them we want the farm to go out with a bang, I think they’ll come?—”
“Even though it’s such short notice?” I ask, skeptical.
“I have a call in to a friend who’s planned them before,” Olive continues, undeterred. “I’ll get her to talk me through the details, but I think we can do it. I mean, we already have the venue, and that’s usually the hardest part. We just need to figure out where on the property to set up and how to manage the flow of traffic. ”
“Oh, Liam can help with that,” my mom says. “He knows this place better than anyone.”
Olive seems unfazed. “Perfect.” She grins at me, half can you? and half gotcha . I hear what she’s not saying—this is a perfect way for her to try and brainwash me into changing my feelings about this place.
Sorry, Liv. It won’t work.
“So you want to have an arts and crafts show,” I deadpan. “Before Christmas.”
Olive’s shoulders drop.
“Good grief, Liam,” Lacey says. “Why don’t you just take her balloon and pop it right in front of her?”
I’m not trying to do that, I’m just ? —
She dismisses me before I can finish my thought, which is a good thing because I have no idea what I would’ve said.
“This is a great idea. You’re obviously not the target audience for this.” She looks at Olive. “He’s not the target audience.”
Her face is flushed, but she still manages to dig, “You mean cranky, unhelpful people?”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
I’m not cranky.
“Is this going to be expensive?” I ask, because honestly, I have no idea. I only know my parents don’t have extra money to throw at these whimsical ideas.
“Actually, we should make money . . . if we’re smart about it. Vendors would pay to be a part of it, and I thought we could also set up a booth for all of the Pine Creek merchandise.”
“But we don’t have any. . .” Mom begins.
Olive swipes to the next page on the iPad. “I think we use your vintage logo—put it on shirts, mugs, things like that.”
I shift in my seat. “Sounds expensive.”
Lacey smacks me across the arm.
“The upfront costs are going to be high,” I say. “Someone has to be the voice of reason, here. ”
“Yeah well, that someone doesn’t have to be a buzzkill about it.” Lacey rolls her eyes at me, then turns back to Olive as my mother shoots me a look of warning.
Olive clears her throat and continues, focusing on my mom. “I was also thinking you could host a wreath-making class. Remember those big, beautiful wreaths you used to make? People went crazy for them.”
My mom’s face lights up. “Really? You think people would like that?”
“Uh, yeah. They’re amazing. I’m sure they would,” Olive says. “And people are always looking for fun things to do with family during the Christmas season that aren’t just shopping or fighting crowds.” She smiles, and my mom smiles right back. “Something that you can make with your own hands, with your family, and have as a gift? It’s a no-brainer.”
Mom’s smile takes up her whole face. “Well, then it’s a done deal!”
“And also—I’m guessing the community will want to support you all.” Olive says this so earnestly, even I believe her.
She taps the screen and reveals another image that says: Pine Creek Kids .
“We can have more fun activities for the kids, maybe tours around the property or hayrides?” She looks at me. “You could pull a trailer with your truck, right?”
I make a face. If I’m honest, it looks amazing. These ideas of hers, back in the day, would’ve partnered perfectly with what I suggested?—
No. My dad shot those ideas down. And I hate that I’m now slipping into his role, sitting here at this table.
Seeing ways that this won’t work.
Still, there’s no way I’m not getting suckered into this. “Look, I’m not saying this can’t work . . . but do you really think you can pull this all together before Christmas?” I watch her and see her confidence falter slightly .
“Liam,” Lacey snaps.
I look away. I know she’s right. What is my problem?
“Not by herself.” My mom turns to Olive. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that people need people.” She covers Olive’s hand with her own. “And we’ve got plenty of those. Lots of volunteers are ready to get to work, and our staff is completely on board.”
Olive nods. “I would focus the bigger events mostly on the weekends, and I think we can also open the lake for weeknight ice skating when it gets colder and bonfires—” her eyes are back on me— “and maybe bring back Family Day?”
A memory resurfaces.
Every year before we moved to Pine Creek, my parents and Olive’s parents would pile us all into their minivans and drive us out here for Family Day, something my great-grandparents started ages ago.
Pine Creek closes for one peak season afternoon, and friends and family are invited to explore all it has to offer. Bonfires and hayrides and ice skating and hot chocolate—was all fair game. We had a big dinner in the main barn and a scavenger hunt that took you through the whole property.
Olive and Benji and Lacey and I were always a team, pitted against our parents who I’m pretty sure always let us win. Every time we’d come back, victorious, and we’d find them all sitting around a table on the patio, drinking wine and laughing.
We’d run all over the property, looking for clues that would lead us to the big prize—a giant chocolate Santa. We’d all get sick eating it, but it didn’t matter.
We didn’t live here then. We were visitors, and this place did hold a strange magic, like it was begging to be explored, like there were secrets waiting to be uncovered. It was a massive, secure, personal outdoor playground. As a kid I couldn’t think of anything better .
But, like pretty much everything, that changed after we moved.
Olive and her family came that first year, but the following year, they were out of town, and then the drift happened. Her parents showed up a few more times, but Olive and Benji usually had other things going on.
“I was thinking it would be amazing to do a candlelight walk, maybe on Christmas Eve?” Olive is saying when I tune back into the conversation. “We could talk to one of the high schools or churches to see if we could get some carolers to come out and sing at specific spots along the path to fill the property with music.”
Olive is so smitten with these ideas. I can see her passion for them bursting through. Every idea she pitches has a corresponding slide on her iPad, and at the end, she lands on a hand-drawn map of the property and a calendar of events.
My mother gasps. “You did all of this today?”
“Eh . . . last night.” Olive fidgets. “I didn’t really sleep.”
“You’re incredible.” Lacey turns to me. “Isn’t she incredible?”
Olive doesn’t meet my eyes, but I can sense her wanting my approval. “It’s . . . ambitious.”
“You mean awesome !” Lacey grins. “Seriously, I’m going to promote all of this. Are you cool if I start a promo plan, Mom?”
My mother is visibly as confused as I am. Lacey seems to have made her peace with the sale of the farm overnight, and even seems excited to celebrate our last season here.
It’s weird.
“Of course, Lacey, if you’re sure,” Mom says.
Lacey reaches over and squeezes Mom’s hand. “I’m sure. I love all of these ideas.” Then, to me, “What are you going to do to help? I mean, aside from scoping out spots for the market.”
I bite back “Nothing” because I don’t want to be a part of any of this, but instead I say, “Oh, I’m sure Dad will put me to work. ”
“No.” Mom shakes her head. “He’s covered. You’re free to spend the holidays however you want.”
“Great. So Liam, you can help Olive,” Lacey says. “Be her point person. You’re already giving her a tour, so just, you know, do whatever she says.” I don’t miss her conspiratorial wink at Olive or Olive’s amused reaction.
I really don’t have time for this.
“Good idea.” Mom looks at me. “I’ll also need you to hang the mistletoe.” She walks over to a little table in the corner and returns with a tray of small bunches of greenery, tied with ribbons.
“Oh, and Liam, could you trim the big Christmas tree?” Lacey is smiling now.
Not missing a beat, Mom jumps right back in. “And Liam, if you could, maybe wash the windows outside?”
“And make me a ham sandwich?” Lacey is full on giggling now.
Olive presses her lips together, doing a terrible job of holding in a smile.
“Yeah, you three are a riot.”
“Oh, sweetie. Just pretend you’re having a good time, okay?” My mother slides the cardboard tray toward me. She insists on hanging mistletoe all over the property— “to open the door for romance.” It’s one of her many traditions, and this is where I’d be smart to shut my mouth and do as I’m told.
At least it’ll give me some time alone.
But then Mom says, “Olive, do you mind helping him? It really is a two person job, and Liam, you can show Olive the grounds at the same time. Two birds . . .” She smiles sweetly, and I see right through her.
Olive doesn’t seem to. Instead, she stands and smiles. “I’d love to!”
So much for alone time.
“Once you’re done, come back here, and we’ll get you all set up as a contractor so you can get paid.” She opens her arms to Olive, who hesitates a moment before stepping into one of my mother’s hugs. “Welcome to the family.”
The words catch me off guard. They shouldn’t, but they do.
Lacey gives me a pointed look. “Have fun, you two,” she sing-songs.
I look at her, then at Olive and my mom, and then down at my hands.
I’m holding a sprig of mistletoe.
Great.
Before anyone else can make some kind of comment, I gather up the tray, give a sarcastic smile to Lacey, and make my way out of the room.