Chapter 8
Angel
“They’re too much hassle, that’s why.”
“That’s not a good explanation, Angel. That sounds like the sorriest excuse I’ve ever heard.”
“Well, how about the fact that our trees were always artificial? If they were good enough for my mommy and grandma, then they’re good enough for Belle and me.”
“Where’s your fun? Where’s your spirit of the season? Part of the magic of the season is getting deeply involved in every aspect of it.”
“And you don’t think I am, by decorating an artificial tree?” I demanded with my hands planted on my hips.
“No, I don’t. You’re missing out on the best parts of it, Angel, and robbing Belle of the chance to have those same memories.”
“I’m not robbing her of anything, Chris. She’s six months old. Do you honestly believe that she’ll recall that we were out here chopping trees for Christmas when she was a baby?”
“I do. It’ll be imprinted in the recesses of her brain. As she grows older, there will be things that happen in life that trigger a certain nostalgia for her. While she may not associate it with this particular tradition, she’ll have it, and it will feel good to her.”
“She can have nostalgia over a fake tree,” I declared, laughing at how serious Christian was growing.
“Fine. If you want your baby to have a fake Christmas with fake memories, be my guest,” he replied as he started the engine of his car again.
I laughed and shook my head. “Are you serious right now?”
“Dead ass.”
“Fine. We can chop down the tree that you want to chop down. But if I don’t like it, and it creates a mess in my home, I’m tossing it and getting a new artificial tree. You’ll be responsible for getting rid of the mess and cleaning it too.”
He turned the engine off again. “Thought you said you were tossing it.”
“Well, you know what I meant.”
He tossed a smirk my way and climbed out of the car. I waited while he removed Belle from her car seat. I loved watching Christian interact with my baby, but a part of me kept warning myself not to get too attached and definitely not to let her become too attached.
One day, Christian might walk away, and I wasn’t sure if I could handle the emotions that would come with that.
“Look at all of these people out here. There’s a certain camaraderie and competitive spirit that hangs in the air, while still being festive,” he stated as he strapped Belle in her stroller.
“Whatever you say.”
I followed him to a tiny cottage at the front of the tree farm.
We stepped inside, and it smelled like pine, sap, cinnamon, vanilla, and ginger.
I noticed a gingerbread house on a table in the corner to my right.
Across from me was a fireplace decorated with a bough of holly and tiny red bows affixed to it.
Underneath the holly hung six royal-blue stockings trimmed in white fur.
On each stocking, in silver glitter were the names: Alex, Brendan, Felix, Carmen, Maria, and José.
Tchaikovsky’s “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” from the Nutcracker Suite poured from overhead speakers. A beautiful green pine was decorated and trimmed in royal blue, silver, and white décor in another corner. To my left was a long table where people lined up to receive treats.
“What’s all that?” I asked Christian.
“That is where we’ll get our apple cider, hot chocolate with marshmallows, and peppermint bark. It’s just a part of the experience.”
I giggled at him wiggling his eyebrows. When he spent the night last night, he slept on the couch. I woke up around five this morning with my head on his lap, and he was snoring. I hadn’t wanted to bother him, so I moved quietly in the dark, grabbed Belle, and headed to bed.
When I woke again around eight, he was cooking breakfast in my kitchen.
Having him around had become comfortable and desirable.
Over bacon, eggs, and toast, I suggested he go Christmas tree shopping with us, and he readily accepted.
Our only dispute was where to get a tree from: the mall or a tree farm.
I grew up with artificial trees, and he grew up with real ones.
Since I had fallen asleep during This Christmas, we watched it again.
We both showered and dressed before we headed to the mall to do some more shopping, and then went looking for a tree.
When I didn’t find one I liked, he suggested we head to the tree farm.
We moved through the line, and Christian got apple cider while I had the hot chocolate. The peppermint bark was perfect, and we slowly sipped our drinks and ate the treat while we walked around the tree farm.
Christian pushed Belle in her stroller, where she had a couple of layers of blankets covering her snowsuit. It was unseasonably cold out this morning, and I wanted to make sure that she didn’t get cold or sick.
“These are the photos you need to be taking for your page,” Christian suggested when I stopped to check out the needles of one tree.
I struck a pose and smiled. “I’m always picture-ready.”
He tilted his head, and his chestnut-brown eyes caressed me as he extended his hand for my phone.
I passed it to him, and he held my hand a moment too long.
The warmth that flowed through me from the touch excited me.
I couldn’t even feel his fingers because of our gloves, but that lingering touch and desirable look excited me and made me wish we were more than flirting friends.
Christian took several pictures of me for the next half an hour and then returned my phone before I was ready to call it a day. I was tired, but after walking another few minutes, we both shouted, “I found the perfect tree!”
I turned to where he stood a few feet away and frowned. “How is that the perfect tree for my living room? It’s too little.”
“But it’s the perfect size for Belle.” I waited while he kneeled and unstrapped Belle from her stroller.
He posed Belle beside the miniature tree, and I pulled out my phone and snapped photo after photo of him and Belle with the tree.
My heart throbbed looking at the two of them together. These photos were for me alone.
“You look so adorable with your daughter.” An elderly lady cooed at Christian and Belle as she and her male companion walked by.
“She looks just like you,” the man declared as Christian placed Belle back in her stroller.
I opened my mouth to dispute it, but Christian replied, “Thank you, ma’am and sir.”
His eyes twinkled merrily as he watched me rush toward him as the couple passed.
“Why did you do that?”
Shrugging, he replied, “It’s easier than trying to explain that I’m not her father, though I wish I were, and that she’s the daughter of my good friend who I wish wasn’t just a friend.”
I sucked my bottom lip inside my mouth as my heart swelled at his words. I wanted to tell him that I wanted the same thing, but I couldn’t find the words to speak.
Christian used his thumb to pull my bottom lip free. “Cat got your tongue?” he asked in a dangerously low voice.
“I don’t know what to say,” I whispered.
“You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to know that I want you badly, Angel,” he replied before he lowered his head and pressed his lips to mine.
The soft stroke of his thumb on the apple of my cheekbone, and his arm wrapped around my back and pulling me closer, stirred a hum of excitement within me. His lips were soft, cool, and moist as he brushed them against mine.
We shared several small pecks before he pressed firmly into my lips. I gripped the soft wool of his scarf and opened my mouth to him. Christian’s tongue was warm and tasted like apples, cinnamon, and nutmeg as he swept it through my mouth.
When he pulled back, it was to suck on my bottom lip as he stared into my eyes.
His forehead rested gently against mine, and our chests heaved as we were both out of breath with excitement and anticipation.
He gently pecked my lips again and whispered against them, “In case you didn’t realize, now you do. ”
Belle piped up with a little cry, pulling us apart. I bit my lip and then sucked it to savor the taste of him as he turned around to attend to her. I stared at his broad, powerful shoulders and back.
“Let’s get these trees cut,” he stated, standing up with the saw we had been given to chop the trees.
I stood back, pushing Belle’s stroller back and forth as I watched him cut the little tree and then the big tree. “I want you too,” I whispered, allowing it to be carried away on the wind.