Chapter Nine
Nate
The moment Jo straightened up after dropping the last tangled string of lights inside the coffee shop, the air shifted.
It was a tangible thing. That silence after the door swung shut, leaving us standing on the newly snow-dusted sidewalk.
The air felt heavy with the scent of pine and something far more complex. Her.
I was still reeling from the spontaneous, raw emotion she’d let slip when I hugged her. “I’m not asking you to.” The way she’d hissed that out when I offered to carry the ladder and the pain that followed. She was a fortress, and I’d rattled the gate.
“Okay,” I said, clearing my throat and shoving my hands in my pockets, forcing my gaze away from her face and down the street. “Now that we’ve done our holiday duty, what’s next?”
She lifted one shoulder. “Hardware store.”
“If you’re picking up something for the farm, I’ll get it,” I offered immediately.
She froze and shook her head. “No need.”
“I don’t mind. The farm is technically my problem now.”
“Problem,” she repeated softly, and I wished I’d chosen a better word for how I felt about the farm. I didn’t want it, but I didn’t resent it either.
Before I could clarify my stance, a female voice cut through the quiet.
“Well now, look at our little Jo. And you said she wouldn’t be interested in a city boy.”
Jo and I turned. Two older women stood on the sidewalk a few feet from us. They were both in quilted parkas, one wearing a shade of lipstick that could stop traffic, the other in a more natural tone, both staring at us with unrepentant curiosity. They looked like two tiny, wild grandmothers.
“Bibi, I said no such thing,” the taller one with the neutral lip color shot back. “But even if I did, I said it before I got a good look at him. Silas should have told us his nephew was a hottie. I would have had Karen come home this weekend.”
The shorter one rolled her eyes and gave a dramatic sigh. “I’m surprised you don’t think he’s too young for her.”
Fire shot from the first woman’s eyes. “Karen is thirty-five. And she’s beautiful. He’d be lucky to land her.”
“I never said he wouldn’t.”
“You implied it.”
“Libby, I certainly did not. I was referring to how you’re obsessed with age.”
“Me? Obsessed? Just because I don’t run around town like a college student on summer break . . .”
“I’ll forgive that, only because I know you’re still not yourself.
” Bibi smoothed down the front of her parka.
“But just so we’re clear, you might have cobwebs in those granny panties you wear, but I’m rocking a thong and not only are my bits and pieces all fully functional, better than they were in college, they’re also more selective than yours were back then. ”
Jo clapped her hands together, a flash of genuine, unburdened laughter in her eyes. “Libby and Bibi, what are you two doing in town?”
I watched as the humor drained the tension from Jo’s shoulders. This was a side of her I hadn’t seen yet. Easy, unreserved, and clearly adored by the locals.
Bibi stopped her anatomical discussion mid-sentence. “Mr. Carlisle was supposed to help us pick up something from the hardware store, but . . .”
Libby finished with a smirk. “He threw out his back last night, so we were hoping there’d be someone around who could help us.”
Jo leaned toward me, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that tickled my ear. “Mr. Carlisle is in his seventies.”
Bibi, apparently capable of hearing a whisper across a street and through two parkas, batted her fake lashes at me. “He’s a young seventy. Now, Jo, aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”
I found my gentleman side surfacing, the one usually reserved for investors and elderly relatives. I gave them both a polite nod. “Nate Keaton. It’s a pleasure to meet both of you.”
I saw the flutter in Libby’s eyes, and I made a snap decision. My life was too often about taking people down a notch. These women were harmless and clearly entertaining. Why not build them up a little? I focused on Libby, giving her a genuine, albeit practiced, wink.
Libby blushed. She straightened, preened, and patted her perfectly coiffed gray hair. Jo looked on, a small, approving smile playing on her lips, and I instantly felt ten feet tall.
“Well, Mr. Keaton,” Libby said, suddenly formal. “Do you think you could help us get our package back to the house?”
“Please, call me Nate.”
“Nate,” they said in adoring unison.
Jo jostled my arm. “They’re smooth.”
I grinned. “If a seventy-year-old man could help, I’m sure I can manage.”
Bibi put a hand on her hip, looking genuinely offended. “You’ve obviously never seen Mr. Carlisle. The man is carved from granite.”
Jo agreed and did an exaggerated bodybuilder pose that had my laughter rumbling out.
I shook my head with a smile. “I’ll do my best,” I promised, laying on the charm, “but I’d really appreciate it if Jo came along—you know, to help out in case I need it.”
Jo’s amusement faded, as mine increased. The quick, forced agreement was gone. How could she refuse?
And she didn’t.
“What are you having delivered?” she asked, a familiar edge of suspicion back in her voice.
Libby rolled her eyes dramatically. “A fake Christmas tree. Pre-lit. Don’t look at me. I think it’s a bad choice. Like giving up. But Bibi says a fresh-cut one is too expensive and now that Silas is . . .” She trailed off respectfully.
Jo nodded, turning back to me to explain. “Silas planted rows of quick-growing White Pine so local people could cut their own instead of buying them. It was his way of saying thank you to them for welcoming him. There’re acres of them, planted in stages. Every year he’d add a new section.”
I frowned. A tradition. Giving back. My father had told me Silas was a bitter recluse. What else had my father lied about? “I don’t want to be the reason no one has a Christmas tree this year. I’ll look into this.”
Bibi’s chin rose. “You don’t owe us anything.”
In a softer tone, Libby said, “In small towns we tend to do for each other rather than exchange money. Silas knew nothing about managing a farm or stocking up for the winter. He looked a lot like you when he first arrived.”
That didn’t sound like a compliment, but I kept that thought to myself.
Bibi chimed in. “We were just glad a person had bought the property and not a corporation.”
Libby continued, “So we taught him how to can fruits and vegetables, how to rotate his crops, and when he didn’t excel at either, we fed him.”
I doubted my uncle, despite having walked away from his inheritance, had needed their charity. The whole situation sounded strange to me. “I didn’t realize the farm produced anything.”
“It doesn’t,” Bibi said. “Not food, anyway. Just Christmas trees.”
“If you haven’t gone down the road beside the house yet, you should. It’s beautiful back there. Magical,” Libby said, before clearing her throat. “I hope you maintain it.”
I looked from one older woman to the other, making a decision that felt impulsive and right. “Whatever happens with the farm, you can tell everyone I’ll make sure they get their tree this year.”
“Whatever happens?” Bibi asked, seizing the opening like a shark spotting blood. “What does that mean?”
Libby elbowed her. “Bibi, that’s none of our business.”
“He just made it our business by telling us to tell everyone something for him! You know the first thing everyone will ask is if he’s staying or selling. Why guess when he’s right here able to tell us?”
All eyes turned to me, demanding an answer. The local committee was in session. I shifted uncomfortably, feeling the pressure, even though the answer was obvious.
“I’m letting it go to auction,” I admitted, the words flat and certain. “For sure. But I’m in no rush. I’ll make sure everything is settled here before I do.”
“To auction?” Bibi let out a massive, disgusted sigh. “We’re keeping the pre-lit. Prices only go up and by next year the farm will probably be a solar field.”
Libby, in a pragmatic tone, gave her sister’s arm a pat. “Let’s not worry about that. We could be dead by then. Let’s focus on this year and the fact that Cutting Day will still happen.”
“Cutting Day?” Jo asked, her voice laced with curiosity.
“That’s right, you’ve never been here for one.
” Libby beamed a smile before exchanging a knowing look with her sister.
“It’s a whole event. The entire town attends.
There’s an outdoor potluck and bonfire. Children everywhere.
Hot chocolate. Christmas music. Lightning and Thunder give sleigh rides through the decorations Silas always turns on in December .
. .” Her voice trailed away before she corrected herself. “Turned on.”
A heavy silence followed.
I spoke first, “I’ll make sure the trees are cut down and distributed, but no events will be happening at the farm.”
The faces of the women fell in unison, their expressive disappointment somehow more crushing than anger. Bibi hugged Libby, a gesture of shared sorrow.
“I’m not staying long enough for anything like that,” I explained, softening my tone.
Neither older lady responded.
Jo murmured, “People will understand.”
I raised my hands and did something completely foreign to me. I began to defend myself. “I’m leaving on Sunday.”
Libby offered a saccharine-sweet defense. “Of course you are. Someone like you must be so busy. Have a million things to do.”
Bibi finished the thought, equally saccharine. “Too important to be able to worry about the traditions of one silly little town.”
Feeling cornered, I said, “Even if I could carve out the time to do it, I’d have no idea how to.”
Libby and Bibi exchanged a look that screamed gotcha. “We’d love to help you organize it.”
Bibi said, “What better tribute to Silas than to host a final Cutting Day?”
Jo attempted to save me. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on someone who—”
I cut her off, partly because I didn’t want to hear the label she might use to excuse me . . . Didn’t even deserve to be here? Someone Silas hadn’t considered important enough to see before he died? Someone who had to hear about Silas’s funeral from a lawyer?
Was that all I was?
How hard could it be to open the farm for one day to people who’d been important enough to Silas that he’d planted rows of trees for them?
“I’ll do it,” I announced, feeling utterly defeated, but with a flicker of excitement. “I’ll host Cutting Day.”
Bibi rushed over to hug me, practically launching herself into my arms. I caught her because. Don’t old ladies break hips?
“Thank you, dear! Thank you!” she exclaimed.
I put her down gently.
Libby’s hug was more reserved and ended with her wiping the corners of her eyes.
“You hugged him too!” Bibi accused, beaming.
Libby deadpanned. “Appropriately. Notice how I didn’t wrap my legs around him like a horny octopus.”
“Only because you’re stiff. I told you to come to yoga with me. You’ve got to stay flexible for when opportunities like this pop up.”
Jo burst out laughing, a genuine, joyful sound that made the entire street feel warmer. I put an arm around her because . . . because it felt right to. She leaned into me, smiling. “Ladies, I want to be you when I grow up.”
Bibi preened.
Libby asked, “Which one of us?”
“Both of you,” Jo asserted. “You’re both perfect.”
Bibi clapped her hands, looking pleased, then said, “So, could the two of you still help us get our package back to our place?”
I glanced down at Jo, who was smiling, and marveled at how she became more beautiful every time I looked at her. “I have a feeling no isn’t an option.”
Bibi chortled, delighted. “He has Silas’s sense of humor!”
Without waiting for a response from either of us, the Winston sisters hurried across the road toward the post office. Jo whispered, “How much of the tree planting and Cutting Day do you think was actually Silas’s idea?”
My mind attempted to conjure an image of anyone in my family hosting such an event, but I couldn’t. I bent and whispered, “Never underestimate what a man will do if he has the right motivation.”
She blinked, then blushed. “I’m not asking you for anything, Nate.”
“I know.” I tightened my arm around her waist. She stiffened for a second, then relaxed into the curve of my body, close and warm against the cold. It felt right. Right in a way nothing else had in as long as I could remember.