Chapter 13
Oliver
“What did you get for Mom again?” Blythe digs through the eight different shopping bags in her hand. “It was that new mixer, right?” The rustling of tissue paper mixes with holiday jingles playing overhead.
With only a couple of shopping bags in my own hands, I guide my sister through the bustling department store.
Our annual shopping trip the weekend before Christmas is one of my favorite traditions, even if I always end up cursing us for not making it earlier in the month thanks to the added crowds and stress. “Yeah, the red one.”
Flinging her hand free from the bag, my sister manages to barely miss smacking some guy square in the face. “Okay, cool. The knife block I got her will match perfectly, then.”
“Do you need any help?” I ask, watching her resituate the bags for the fourteenth time in ten minutes.
Blythe pretends not to be sidetracked by a high-end yoga mat bag on display. “Nope.” Performing a quick drool check, she looks back my way. “Excited to go pick out the Rhodes family Christmas tree tomorrow?”
“Always.” I grin. “Even if no one will be there to use it for long.”
“Mom and Dad aren’t leaving until you do. The day before Christmas Eve. What’s that, Wednesday?”
I nod. “True, but you’re all leaving the day before that. So really, there will only be a few full days for people to enjoy it.”
“Hm,” Blythe grimaces, “maybe we should convince Mom and Dad it’s nicer to the tree if we just enjoy it at the farm, instead. We could go and see the lights, drink hot chocolate. You know, that kind of thing.”
A certain beautiful hot cocoa connoisseur graces the forefront of my mind. Not that she’s ever very far from it anymore, anyway.
“Is Callie coming?”
Silently cursing the yoga mat bag for not holding my sister’s attention longer, I do my best to ignore the rising temperature in the room. “No.” Maybe I should take off my coat. No, wait, it already is. I wonder if management would be opposed to my sweater being removed if I keep on the undershirt.
Blythe frowns up at me, challenging me about as well as a chihuahua. “And why not?”
“Because I’m sure she’s busy,” I shrug. We head toward the men’s department in search of new work gloves for Dad.
“How do you know? Have you asked her?”
“No, but she’s been a little preoccupied. What with the school program last night and the last day of school for the year today, I didn’t want to bother her.”
My sister rolls unamused eyes, motioning toward my pocket as best she can. “You’re an idiot. Text her and invite her.”
“Are you inviting Ian?” I lift a brow, tossing a knowing look her way.
Blushing, she presses her lips together. “He and I are just friends. And neighbors. Friendly neighbors. Unlike you and Callie, who like to make out in her classroom.”
Recoiling, wide eyes find my sister. “Who told you about that?”
Grinning, she shrugs. “Connie texted me.”
“Since when are you friends with Connie?” My face scrunches in confusion as I nearly run into a family with three little kids.
“Callie brought her to pilates earlier this week. Besides, we’ve all been hanging out at Ian’s place.”
Smirking, I slide my gaze back to her. “Speaking of … ”
“Who? Ian?” Those baby blues that have gotten her out of so much trouble over the years widen, innocence radiating from them.
“You bought him a gift.” I nod toward her purchases.
“You got John a gift,” she shoots back.
“Sure,” I nod again, “but I’m just friends with John.”
My petite sister sighs. “Yep, just like Ian and I.” Blythe cranes her neck around the immediate area pretending to look for something. Anything to get her out of this conversation.
“Whenever you want to be honest about that, let me know.”
“Text your girlfriend,” she finally says.
Deciding picking out a Christmas tree with my family should absolutely include Callie, I mind my sister and pull out my phone.
Our text thread isn’t difficult to find—I starred it last night when I got home.
Once my invite is out in the ether, I only have to wait all of thirty seconds before receiving an enthusiastic acceptance, complete with heart eye emojis and everything.
“Let me guess, she said yes?” Blythe asks dryly, nodding to my phone.
“What makes you think that?”
“Because you’re grinning like a fool in love.”
Shoving my phone back in my pocket, I try to remember what we’re even doing in this store.
“Speaking of Callie, have you gotten her gift yet?”
My feet stop in the middle of the aisle.
I’m celebrating a gift-giving holiday with Callie—of course I need to get her a gift.
But what if she doesn’t get me anything?
I don’t want to make it awkward and have her feel pressured.
Maybe I shouldn’t get her anything. Unless we do some kind of gift exchange in front of the entire family.
If I’m the only one empty-handed, it would make us both look bad.
Blythe laughs. “I’ll take that as a no. Here,” she grabs my arm, pulling me into the closest department.
Jewelry.
“Uh, do you know the last time I bought jewelry for a woman that wasn’t Mom?”
Her light blonde brow furrows. “When have you ever bought Mom jewelry?”
“Never, but that’s kinda the point,” I say, panic rising in my throat. “This is so far out of my wheelhouse, it’s not even funny. Besides, Callie doesn’t even wear much jewelry.”
My sister giggles, shaking her head. “Then it’s a good thing I’m with you, oh brother of mine.” Looping her arm through mine, she drags me from case to case. Watches. Earrings. Engagement rings. Each display only leads to more confusion.
What kind of jewelry do you buy your fake girlfriend that you don’t really want to admit you wish was your real girlfriend?
Wave after wave of confusion hits with each new stone that comes across my field of vision.
Then, I see it.
Blythe gives me an approving smile, so I call over the nearest available sales associate. Pointing at the case, I say with full confidence, “That one.”
Callie throws open the passenger door before I can even send a text that I've arrived. The woman may be covered with fleece, fur, and any other fabric to help keep her warm, but she looks stunning. Minimal makeup and hair thrown up into a wild messy bun completes the look that says she’s comfortable in her own skin.
Her bright eyes find mine, a full grin on display.
The tension in my body dissipates the moment her sweet smell fills my car. “Hello, beautiful,” I say.
She blinks rapidly, blushing as I lean across the console to press a kiss on her cheek. “Oh, um, hi.” Flicking her eyes back toward the building, she nods. “Good thinking. Mrs. Martinez was watching. Now, she can corroborate our story, if asked.”
My smile drops before I can stop myself, but I manage to replace it almost as quickly while pulling out of the parking spot. “Yep, that was my plan. How was the last day of school?”
The Christmas tree farm isn’t far from Callie’s apartment, which is nestled on the north side of town.
The drive goes by quickly while she tells me all about how a little boy named Alex tried to stuff a red bead up his nose instead of doing the craft project, how Emily tried to make a run for it with a handful of candy canes, and how a boy named Jack incorporated several boogers into his art project, which his parents are bound to love and cherish forever.
But when we make the final turn into the farm, the woman in my passenger seat goes silent.
Being careful not to run over anyone trying to find some holiday joy, I risk a glance her way.
Eyes wide and lips parted, Callie leans forward as far as the seatbelt will allow.
“Oliver,” she breathes, “this is amazing.” Her gaze follows every family we pass, toting their chosen tree to the main area where it will be shaken and baled, ready to have plenty of holiday memories made in its presence.
Spanning over ten acres, coming to Benedict Family Farms has been a tradition for our family ever since I’ve had a Serenvale Springs address.
The various sections are home to different types of trees, whether it be Douglas firs, white pines, or blue spruces.
At the center of the entire operation are pony rides, face painting, a little cobblestone restaurant and a barn gift shop to round out the holiday experience.
Finding a spot near my parents’ car is pure luck, but I’ll take what I can get.
“Need me to carry anything?” Callie looks over eagerly from the passenger seat. Her grin is infectious.
“Nope.” Reaching into the back seat, I grab an extra scarf and hold it out, my cheeks warming. “I, uh, stashed this for you. Just in case.”
Callie takes the offering, turning it over in her hands once, then twice.
Tilting my head, my lips tip down in confusion. “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to,” I offer.
“It’s not that,” she says, securing it around her neck and inhaling deeply.
After which she undoes the scarf she’s already wearing and holds it out to me.
“It’s not fair for me to wear something of yours that smells so good.
So here, this will make us even.” When I hesitate, she leans forward and ties it around my neck. “There,” she says, satisfied.
A hint of chocolate invades my senses, mixing with the cold air and smell of pine as we climb out from the car.
Traveling down the walkway and into the section housing the blue spruces, Callie looks this way and that, not wanting to miss a single thing.
In a moment of bravery, my hand swings through the air and catches hers on its pendulum motion.
Her hand immediately squeezes mine in return, sending electric currents straight to my chest.
The dazzling woman beside me beams as the Edison bulbs strung up flicker to life in the late afternoon hour.
Falling snowflakes appear iridescent as they trickle to the ground around us.
Couples, families, and determined singles pass us by, all too busy creating their own holiday memories to notice us.