Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
OLIVE
H e’s going to help me.
A crack in the wall. A chink in the armor. A laugh that sent my senses reeling.
There’s something wildly appealing about Liam, and it kept me a little on edge the entire time we hung mistletoe all over the property. While we walked around, I got the idea to create a sign for the front entrance telling people to “Watch Out for Mistletoe!” with a pair of lips underneath.
Most people probably don’t look up enough to notice the little clusters of greenery, and it’s such a fun tradition that I want to draw some attention to it. In fact, a whole Mistletoe Walk could be so charming . . . my brain spun with ideas I couldn’t wait to flesh out.
Not then though, not while I was walking around with Oscar the Grouch.
Despite my many—many—failed attempts to spark a conversation, Liam remained quiet and stone-faced.
And maddening.
But I’m not deterred.
He always had a melancholy side. He’s a creative like me, and we can be a finicky bunch. I learned early on that he has a tender heart and big feelings.
Other people didn’t always know what to do with those, but I can speak Liam. Or at least I could back in the day. I remember his mom told me once I was the only one who seemed to know exactly what to say or do to cheer him up.
So, that’s what I’m going to do.
Even if he really doesn’t want me to.
Too bad, sucker.
I guess somewhere along the way, his melancholic mood became his whole personality. He needs some Christmas cheer. He needs some holly and some jolly. He needs a tinsel intervention.
A tinselvention?
Liam dropped me off at the main barn to get all my paperwork sorted, but before I got out of the car, I gave him the address of my little bungalow three blocks away from downtown and made him promise to pick me up to cut down my tree.
He grunted his first response, so I told him to use his words.
He sighed, exasperated, then said, “Fine.” And now, I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, trying to decide if the red turtleneck and jeans will be warm enough for a night outside.
I’m also replaying the tour of the Pine Creek property in my mind because I never did land on where to set up the market.
I spent the day working on the big event, and I’ve already gotten three confirmed vendors along with a long list of positive replies. I set the date with Jo, and I have a good feeling about the whole thing. A really good feeling. It’s so euphoric, it makes me think, who cares if we only have three weeks to pull it all together?
Or, to quote Elle Woods: “What, like it’s hard? ”
I’m deep in thought when I hear the sound of a vehicle in the driveway.
Operation Last, Best Christmas is underway. And for me, it’s about more than a tree farm. It’s about Mr. Moody, who has clearly forgotten how to have fun.
I give myself one last once-over in the mirror, then head downstairs as I see a dark figure walk up onto my porch. I’m instantly nervous, which is stupid.
It’s not like this is a date or anything.
According to the town gossip, i.e. my mom, he doesn’t even do relationships. Which means he’s all wrong for me anyway.
Not that I’m interested.
I pull the front door open before Liam rings the bell. He looks caught, and his eyes widen slightly as they take me in.
Weird.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey.” He gives a nod, then looks away.
“I gotta grab my coat,” I say, deciding it is definitely not warm enough for just a turtleneck, no matter how cozy it is. “Do you want to come in?”
He meets my eyes for a split second, then says, “I’ll, uh, just wait for you in the truck.”
I frown. “Okay, I’ll?—”
But he’s already walking away.
“—hurry, I guess, just need my coat, won’t be but a minute, nice talking to ya,” I mumble to myself. I grab my things and walk outside, closing the door behind me. I feel like Liam missed the lesson on manners in middle school.
I get into the truck and force myself not to linger on the scent of it, the scent of him. Instead, I glare at the side of his face, willing him to look at me.
He doesn’t.
It’s actually kind of impressive. I mean, I wouldn’t be able to do it. I’d start laughing or at least glance over or something .
He puts the truck in reverse and backs out of my driveway. He doesn’t look at the house, at me, or at anything other than the road in front of him, and I decide two can play this game of silence.
I’m a rock.
I’m immoveable.
I will not lose this test of willpower.
Grr.
Fifty-three seconds later, I say, “I never really found a spot for the market,” even though I know he’s not interested. “I have three vendors already confirmed and paid.”
“You do?” He glances over, and for a second, I think maybe he’s impressed.
“Yes,” I say. “It’s a word of mouth kind of thing at the moment. If I had more time, there would be a website and online registration and swag, but since we’re in a hurry, I’m relying on email and social media. I’m hoping we can get a lot more vendors to sign up. Big markets are so fun.”
I don’t expect him to reply, so I’m surprised when he asks, “Are you going to have a booth?”
“Oh! Um . . .” I frown. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.” I haven’t done a market in a long time. Not since before my business tanked. Wouldn’t it just be a bitter reminder that I’m in a booth and not in the beautiful brick and mortar store that’s since been turned into an insurance agency?
He stares at the road. “You should do it.”
“Aww,” I lay it on thick. “You think I should?”
He side-eyes me with the hint of a smirk. “Not anymore.”
I chuckle.
It’s a start.
That’s all he says about it, but somehow it’s enough.
The days are short now, and it’s already getting dark even though it’s barely 5:00 p.m. But as I dare a glance in his direction, I can still make out his features. The clenched jaw. The hand, tightly wrapped around the steering wheel. The stony expression on his face.
A thought hits me.
“What do you do for fun?” I ask.
He frowns but doesn’t look at me.
“I mean, do you chase kids away after you ask them your riddles three from under your bridge or . . .?” I crack a smile.
“Are you going to tell me again how cranky I am?” he asks.
“Nope,” I say. “You won’t be able to stay cranky with me around.” I say this with far more confidence than I feel.
“Really?” he asks. “Is that a challenge?”
I shake my head. “Just spitting facts, Scrooge. I hope you’re ready for some Christmas cheer!” I reach into my bag and pull out two Santa hats.
He tosses me a wary look. “Not a chance.”
I narrow my eyes. “I think red is your color.”
He doesn’t respond.
I lean forward and flip the radio on to the station that plays Christmas music twenty-four hours a day. The unmistakable tune of “Sleigh Ride” by the Ronettes sounds through the speakers.
“Oh, I love this one!” I start singing along—badly—bouncing to the beat of the music. To his credit, Liam maintains his sulkiness, not showing even a hint of amusement.
When the song ends, I click the radio off. “Wow. You’re good. That would’ve gotten at least third place at karaoke night.” I say this like I’m diagnosing him, not as a person who just made a complete fool of herself.
After all, he saw my coconuts. We’re well beyond humiliation here.
We’re about to hit the bend in the road just before the main gates of Pine Creek when I remember the real reason we’re doing this: to make Liam remember what it feels like to go tree hunting on his family’s property .
The tree hunt isn’t new to either of us. Our families used to go every year. We’d bundle up and pile into the cars and drive out together and make a whole night of it. Our fathers insisted there were only two perfect trees on the entire lot, and we had to find them. And we believed it.
And when one of us found it—the perfect enchanted tree—it was like we had unearthed a buried treasure.
Once Liam and his parents started working out here, which meant we’d go hunting without his family and if we were lucky, he might be the one to wrap and load our tree.
I’d see him for about five minutes, always working, busy with other families.
It’s strange how adolescent awkwardness plus distance plus time apart can result in a weird un knowing. It didn’t happen often, but the few times I ran into Liam after they moved were always the same. Forced and awkward. It felt wrong because we used to be so close.
Is it naive to think we could be again? Especially when neither of us is the same person we were? Is it silly to treat him like that time and distance were never an issue? Like we never lost touch?
Signs point to yes. He’s just not the same.
“Do you want to take the back way in?” His question interrupts my nostalgia. “We can park by the house and go up into the back lots?”
“No.” I pull my Santa hat on. “We’re doing this like we used to.”
I don’t even have to look over to know he’s shaking his head at me.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t have fun,” I say.
“I never said I didn’t have fun.”
“Then what?”
He makes the turn into Pine Creek and parks the truck outside the Christmas shop. “You can’t just pretend everything is still like . . . that.”
“Like what?”
“Like how it was.” He turns the engine off and looks at me. “A lot has happened since we were twelve.”
“Okay, so tell me,” I say, genuinely curious.
He sits. I can tell he wants to say something—he just doesn’t.
“Liam. It’s me. You can tell m?—”
“I can’t talk to you when you’re wearing that hat.”
I slowly pick the other one up and hold it out in his direction. “You can if you put yours on,” I whisper.
He laughs to himself and looks away. “I get what you’re trying to do, Olive. And it’s, you know, annoying . . . but nice. Your heart is in the right place. It’s just . . .” he sighs. “Don’t get your hopes up that a trip down memory lane is going to make any kind of difference.” And then, he meets my eyes and adds, “You don’t really know me anymore.”
The words are true, of course, but they make me feel like I just slipped on ice. “Right, I know.”
Because I do know.
He lets out a heavy sigh. I wonder if he notices that he does that all the time. I don’t know why he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. I only know that I’m going to take his mind off of whatever is bothering him, just like I used to.
“We’ll start with hot chocolate,” I say, intentionally brightening my voice. “How does adult Liam feel about marshmallows?” I open the door of the truck and step outside, inhaling the crisp air.
Fishing my gloves from the pockets of my coat, I pull them on as I walk to the back of the truck. Liam’s door opens and he meets me in the parking lot. Maybe I’m supposed to feel put off by his crankiness, but it’s only making me want to try harder.
“Personally, I don’t think hot chocolate can have too many marshmallows,” I say, walking toward the hot chocolate shed that’s a Pine Creek staple.
To my surprise, he actually follows. For a second, I thought he might refuse the same way he rejected the Santa hat.
We make our way over to the little shed where Lacey is filming one of the workers handing a cup out the window to a small child. The little boy beams as he takes a sip, and Lacey nods at his mom, who is standing off to the side.
Lacey spots us, and her smile widens. “Well, look at you two, out after hours.”
Liam stuffs his hands in his pockets. I can’t be sure, but I think he might’ve groaned.
“I suckered him into coming with me to cut down a tree,” I say.
“Oh my gosh, it’s been ages since we’ve done that.” Lacey looks at me. “After we moved here, we were lucky if we ever had a tree of our own on Christmas morning.”
I frown. “Really?”
She shrugs. “There really wasn’t time. Everyone was so busy—” she stops abruptly. “Ooh. Cute old couple at ten o’clock. I need to film them going on a carriage ride. Have fun you guys!” She rushes off.
I meet Liam’s eyes. “Are you ready?” He starts walking. “The best trees are in the back lot.”
“Wait.” I reach for his arm.
When he stops moving, he looks at me, concern on his face.
“I don’t want to rush.” I rub my hands together. “I’m here for the experience.”
Liam closes his eyes and inhales, almost like he’s trying for deep, calming breaths. “Seriously?”
I level with him. “Liam, come on. I’m not asking you to dance under the Christmas lights or sing a carol outside someone’s door. I just want you to see this place the way I see it. Just for a minute.” I pat his arm. “I’m just asking you to be open to the idea of—” I pause for effect— “fun.”
“Fun,” he repeats dryly.
I grin.
He doesn’t respond.
I raise my eyebrows. Then lower them, then raise them.
He shakes his head and tries to hide a smile.
I point at him. “Ah ha!”
He clears his throat. “Whatever.”
I turn and start walking.
“Okay. Pretend you don’t know anything about this place. You’re coming here for the first time. You get out of your deliciously smelling truck and look around, your dear, sweet, delightful, old friend in tow?—”
“You forgot annoying.”
I shoot him a look. “Fine. I’ll own that. Dear, sweet, delightful, annoying old friend in tow. You look around at this place, all lit up with white twinkle lights and Christmas spirit, and you start to feel it—” I put a little bounce in my shoulders.
He looks at me like I have an arm growing out of my forehead.
“Do you feel it, Liam?” I whisper.
I think I see a sliver of amusement behind the look of abject horror.
Maybe it’s just wishful thinking.
I plow ahead like a runaway tractor tire rolling down a hill.
“It’s joy .” I drag the word out, like I’m a presenter on a game show. “Joy, Liam!” I move like something’s taking hold of me. “It’s there, just waiting for you.” My grin widens, and my shimmy grows. “You feel that?”
Still no reaction, other than a slight twitch. I’ve seen that twitch before, in animals that are about pick flight over fight.
I’ve gone too far now, may as well keep going.
“You see this festive little shed advertising hot chocolate, and you think, ‘My favorite person in the world, Olive Witherby, loves hot chocolate. We should get some before we head out to hunt for her perfect, enchanted tree.’” I hold his gaze.
He purses his lips . . . then finally breaks. He shakes his head and lets out a small laugh. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
“Finally!” I mock that I’m out of breath, hands on knees. “Good grief, that took for ever !”
“Liv, seriously, you’re?—”
I hold up a finger at him, still feigning like I just ran a 400 meter Olympic trial, telling him, “You gotta let me get my bearings here, that was rough.”
I glance up, panting, and he folds his arms across his chest, like one might do waiting for a toddler who’s explaining that she wasn’t the one who broke the vase.
“Oh, come on,” I say, standing up straight and arching my back, stretching it out. “Admit it. This is what makes me so lovable.”
He looks likes he’s going to argue, then glances over to his left.
The hot chocolate line.
He bobs his head toward it, indicating that we should move over there.
“Yes!” I exclaim, thrusting my hands up in the air, but then he stops me with a finger of his own.
“Don’t push it.”
“Okay, okay.”
But then, just for a second, I look at him and he looks at me, and for the tiniest of moments, we connect like we did as kids.
It’s there. A flicker.
And then, just as quickly as it came, it disappears.
We step into the hot chocolate line. The girl working doesn’t recognize him, and I watch as he says, “Two hot chocolates—” he tosses me a look and adds, “extra marshmallows on both.” I turn away to conceal my smile .
Point for Olive.
I move next to him as he gives her cash, which is hilarious since his family owns this place. I know I’ve got a smug look on my face.
“Extra marshmallows don’t mean anything,” he says.
I press my lips together, but choose not to respond. Because it does mean something.
The girl hands us our drinks out, and as we walk away, I say, “Thanks, buddy.”
“You’re welcome, chief—” he answers, almost like muscle memory, but stops before he can finish. He looks at me and shakes his head.
It’s something we used to do, as kids, going back and forth, thanking each other with more and more ridiculous names.
Thanks, friend into No problem, boss, then onto My pleasure, doc , to You got it, mi amigo , until we ran out of names and breath from laughing.
“We’re not kids anymore,” he says, voice flat.
“Well, thank goodness for that.” I muse. “We both drive cars.”
We walk in silence for a bit, and I realize that I might’ve been a bit much in the last ten minutes. I let the moment breathe, hoping that he’s enjoying the atmosphere—and the company—as much as I am.
After a while, I gently ask, “Do you remember how much fun we had out here?” We angle in the direction of the carriage rides.
“Blocked it out,” he says dryly.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I keep telling people this place wasn’t magic for me.” His tone is blunt. “It was a job. A prison camp, more like.”
I scrunch up my face at him. “Don’t you think that’s a bit of an exaggeration?”
He glances over, a serious look in his eyes.
“No. Not for me. ”
I wish I knew the rest of the story behind those beautiful eyes.
We reach the line, and he looks at me. “We’re not doing this.”
I shrug. “Why not? We used to love it.”
He squints off at something in the distance.
“You’re not really into nostalgia, are you?” I tease. Then, because I really want to know, I ask, “Is there anything you like about being back?”
He waits for a moment before answering, pausing so long I don’t think he’s going to say anything at all.
“I like the parts that are away from all of this.” He sighs, leaning against a wooden fence.
I go quiet.
I take another sip, considering how different his experience here was after they became the caretakers of Pine Creek.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask.
“As if I could stop you,” he says quietly, but not unkindly.
I chuckle. “Fair. But in my defense, my back hurts from carrying both sides of this conversation.”
He glowers.
“Did your parents ever think about expanding?”
He shakes his head and sharply says, “Nope,” then takes a drink. I get the sense he’s avoiding the question.
“I just think there’s a lot of potential here. You know, for growth,” I tell him. “When I was researching ideas, I looked up a ton of other tree farms, apple orchards, barn markets, and I noticed most of them do way more than just sell trees or apples or homemade jelly.”
He looks uncomfortable. I’m not sure why.
“It got me thinking, I guess, about all the things you could do out here,” I say. “It’s such a big space, and so much of it isn’t being used to its full potential.” I look away.
“Yeah,” he scoffs, “tell my dad that, see how that goes over.” He doesn’t look at me, but it’s obvious there’s more there. I want to press, but the carriage returns. I’m grateful because I wasn’t sure what to say.
There’s a young couple inside, hunkered together under a red plaid blanket. They’re cozy, holding hands and smitten with each other. As the horses come to a stop, I pull out my phone and snap a quick photo just as they gaze at one another, all big eyes and glinty smiles.
Good for social media. Bad for me.
All this does is highlight what I don’t have this holiday season, and maybe—I glance over at Liam?—
No. Liam isn’t the only chronic first-dater between us. I’ve had my fair share of first date horrors, so much so it’d fill a nice montage in a rom-com.
Never mind that for me it’s unintentional. A lack of options. Poor choices.
I’m better off focusing on myself. Oh, and the whole getting out of debt thing.
The young couple steps down from the carriage, and as the older couple moves forward in the line, moving us closer to the front, I notice that Liam looks uncomfortable. He pushes a hand through his hair and looks like a cornered kid talking with the aunt with the mustache.
“Hey, uh, can we—” He looks at me.
“Yeah. Totally. Let’s—” I pull him out of the line. “I wouldn’t want someone else to get to the one perfect tree before I do.” I also wouldn’t want anyone—namely, me—to get the wrong impression about what this is.
A romantic carriage ride would be a very bad idea.
“Right,” he says.
I force a smile. “Do you have an axe or a chainsaw or a trained beaver, or something?”
“In the barn.” He starts walking, and I have no choice but to follow, and five minutes later, we’re trudging into the barely lit field, in search of the perfect tree .
To me, there are a lot of perfect trees. Tall and full and beautiful. The kind most people would want.
I start to think we should’ve done this in daylight. I can’t get a read on Liam if I can’t see his face. Right now, he just feels like a man on a mission. It’s less “enjoy the ride” and more “get this over with.”
I worry my plan is failing.
We’re at the back of the property when he veers away from the rows of trees. For a second, I assume he’s lost his patience—we’ve been out here about fifteen minutes already—but then he turns back and says, “I want to show you something.”
“You’re holding an axe,” I say. “Should I be worried?”
He doesn’t stop moving, but I hear him laugh to himself. The sound of it cuts through the darkness, a small sliver of light.
We walk for a few more minutes, and it’s dark enough now that I can’t make out where we are. “These trees are too big,” I say. “My house is really small.”
He keeps walking.
“Seriously, this is not the typical Pine Creek experience.” I say this to the back of his head because he’s walking faster than me, and he’s making no attempt to slow down.
He turns off the path. “Trust me.”
I freeze, fishing for my phone so at least I’ll have a little bit of light. “Liam, is this like a practical joke where you’re going to jump out and scare me or someth?—”
But I’m rendered mute when the area around me suddenly lights up.
I’m standing in a wide clearing, and all around us are trees, twinkling brightly in the darkness. The strands of lights are hung in swaths, connected from one side of the clearing to another, creating a ceiling of shimmering starlight over a pathway of grass.
“What is this place?” I ask in wonder, because in all my years of coming to the farm, I’ve never seen it .
“My mom calls it ‘Christmas Tree Row,’” Liam says, then points down the path. “There’s a separate entrance to the farm beyond that grouping of trees.”
“It’s amazing,” I say, truly struck by it. “Has anyone ever had a wedding out here?” I spin in a circle, taking it all in, picturing rows of wooden chairs set up to face a small stage at the opposite end of the space with a wooden backdrop decorated with flowers. It would be perfect. Imagine the photos. They could book this place out for?—
“I. . .uh. . .” He stops.
I wait.
And then, a glimpse of the boy I knew in the face of the man I see before me makes an appearance.
“I thought it might work for your market,” Liam says, shyly shrugging, looking at the ground.
I watch him for several long seconds, willing him to turn my way, but he doesn’t. Almost like something about this embarrasses him.
Finally, he glances at me, and I can’t do a thing to conceal my smile.
He rolls his eyes. “Oh, great.”
I open my mouth wide.
“Nope. Forget it, just forget it, forget I even said anything,” he holds up his hands.
I point at him.
“Don’t make a thing of it.”
“You were listening to my presentation!”
“Like I had a choice.”
“Admit it. You think it’s a brilliant idea.”
“I think you’re all going to freeze, I think it’s a ton of work, and I think it’s not going to make a difference at all.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel there, big guy.”
He shakes his head and walks past me in the open space. “ Since nobody can speak actual logic to you, I figured you can line the booths on either side of the path—” He motions over to the other side, gesturing to make the idea clearer. “I don’t know how many people you expect, and it might get crowded, but we can figure out a way to wind it around—” he points off in the direction of darkness— “back there.”
“Liam. You’ve actually thought about this,” I say. “Like, you spent time thinking about it.”
“Like, five minutes.”
“And you think it might get crowded!”
He groans.
“You like my idea, you sucker,” I tease.
“I know you and Lacey are going to rope me into it, so I might as well make it easier on myself.”
“Uh-huh,” I say. “Whatever. Keep telling yourself that’s what this is.”
He levels my gaze. “Seriously. Will it work?”
I grin. “It’ll work.”
“Great.” He walks back over toward a small shed and unceremoniously flips a switch.
The world, like Liam, goes dark all over again.