Chapter 8
Eight
I expect Noah to lead me to his truck, but it turns out the perfect Christmas tree is within walking distance of the farmhouse.
We take a slight detour past a toolshed for Noah to retrieve a wide-tooth saw, then we walk to a hillside maybe fifty yards behind the house.
We stop in front of an enormous fir tree, its wide green arms stretching toward the sky.
I don’t know a ton about fir trees. We always used a fake tree growing up because it was what we had, but this one looks like it came out of a children’s picture book.
Perfect Christmas tree shape. Perfect deep green needles.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I say as we approach the tree. “This is just…growing out here? Right beside the house?”
Noah clears his throat. “It isn’t here by accident.”
I look around the hillside and notice that there is only one tree like this one. “No?”
He walks to the tree and circles it, then leans in and pushes on the trunk like he’s testing its sturdiness.
“I was maybe eight or nine,” he eventually says, “and my family came to the farm just like we always do. Uncle Ray took me and Flint up to Thomson’s to pick out a tree.
They had a giant tent up with dozens of trees inside, but this one was in a planter near the entrance.
It was only a couple feet tall, and it wasn’t for sale—it was just there for decoration—but I got it in my head that I wanted to buy it.
” He shakes his head and breathes out a little chuckle.
“Flint and I argued about it. He wanted the tallest tree he could find and didn’t understand why I was so hung up on this one. ”
“Why were you?” I ask, and Noah shrugs.
“Who knows? Maybe I just liked being contrary. But I think a part of me liked that it was still alive. It had roots, dirt. It could keep on living even after the holiday was over.”
“That’s a nice thought,” I say. “So they let you buy it?”
“Eventually,” Noah says. “I don’t know what Uncle Ray said or if they tried to refuse.
I just know we brought this tiny two-foot tree home right beside the big one we bought to go inside the house.
It sat on the front porch, and I tended it the whole time we were here like it was my pet.
Flint thought I was ridiculous, but after New Years, Uncle Ray brought me out here, and we planted it together. ”
“And you think I’m going to let you cut it down now?” I ask, because honestly, has he lost his mind? The tree has to be ten feet tall at this point. With a history like that, he can’t really want to cut it down.
“I wouldn’t,” Noah says as he steps closer to the tree.
“Except, it’s not thriving anymore.” He motions me forward and points toward the base of the tree, bending down to push the branches aside.
“Down there close to the root, there are a couple of soft spots on the trunk. I had an arborist come out and look at it last week. It’s not a good sign. ”
“There isn’t anything you can do?”
Noah shakes his head. “Unfortunately, no. It hasn’t gotten any taller the past few years. Apparently, we aren’t at a high enough elevation for it to thrive. The ground is too wet. The air is too humid. It’s probably lucky to have lived this long.”
“So you’re saying it’s dying?” I ask, and the thought makes me sad.
“Something like that,” Noah says. “It might hang on a few more years. But I don’t think it’s happy here.”
I rub my hand across one of the branches, finally noticing the dry, brown needles clinging to the tips of several boughs. There aren’t many, but for a tree that’s still in the ground, I’m guessing there shouldn’t be any.
“Noah, I don’t need a Christmas tree today. Or even one at all. If the weather doesn’t clear, the Peterson family might not even come for a reunion. I don’t want to cut down your tree for nothing.”
He looks up at the tree, one leg propped onto a rock, the saw hanging loosely from his fingers. Out here on the hillside, with his canvas jacket and his beard and a freaking saw in his hand, his already very masculine vibe has practically doubled.
I’ve been in the city the past three years, so I haven’t seen this level of rugged in too long. Overall, it is really working for me.
“It wouldn’t be for nothing,” Noah finally says. “Even if the Petersons don’t come, it’s still Christmas. I’ll still be here.” He holds my gaze and lifts his shoulders in a tiny shrug like it almost pains him to admit the next part. “And you will too.”
The words make me surer than ever that somewhere beneath Noah’s broody exterior, there’s a man who doesn’t want to be alone for the holidays after all, no matter what he told his family.
Feeling empowered by his admission, I cross the distance between us and push up on my toes, my hands curling around his forearm as I press a kiss to his cheek.
The skin above his beard is warm, despite the chill in the air, and I find myself lingering, my nose brushing against him as I breathe him in.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “This really means a lot.”
As I lower back onto my heels, the loose snow shifts under my feet and I lose my balance, but I only wobble a moment before Noah steadies me, hooking his arm around my waist and tugging me against him.
My hands lift reflexively, and I press them against his chest.
“Careful,” he says, his voice low and a little raspy.
I tilt my head upward, and his face is right there, his blue eyes intense and focused wholly on me.
Just like it did the other morning in the kitchen, Noah’s gaze wraps around me, making my skin heat and my face flush. I bite my bottom lip even as my gaze drops to his lips. They’re so close—close enough for me to see the flecks of amber in his beard and notice the tiny freckle just below his lip.
Noah’s hand tightens against my back, his fingertips pressing against my skin with new intention, and for a split second, I think he might lean down and kiss me. He licks his lips, his head shifting forward until his nose touches mine, but then he clears his throat and shifts away.
His hand slips from my back and grips my elbow, like he wants to make sure I won’t topple over before he lets me go completely.
I drop my hands from his chest and step back, willing the heat in my cheeks to dissipate. Maybe he’ll think I’m just flushed because of the cold. In truth, it’s taking all my willpower to stand here normally and not melt into a puddle of embarrassment.
Except—I’m not sure I should be embarrassed. He clearly wanted to kiss me. All the signs were there. He even leaned close enough for our noses to touch.
So why did he back away?
Disappointment pricks painfully as I step away and force myself to look anywhere but at Noah.
Over the past few days, Noah has annoyed me and frustrated me and confounded me. But he has also intrigued me and puzzled me and left me wanting more. A lot more, apparently. Because I’ve never been so disappointed to not be kissed.
“I should…” Noah motions to the tree with a slight tilt of his head and lifts the saw.
“Right. Good,” I say. “Thanks for…” I wave my hand up and down my body as if that’s explanation enough for why I couldn’t seem to stay on my feet. “Catching me.”
Noah offers me a wry grin. “Is that what happened?”
I lift my eyebrows playfully, at least appreciating he isn’t going to pretend like nothing happened. “Unfortunately, it’s all that happened.”
At first, I’m not sure Noah hears me, but as he leans down and positions the saw on the trunk of the tree, I catch a glimpse of a smirk that makes me think he absolutely did.