Chapter 7
Toby
What the hell was I thinking?
Waxing poetic about a tree and a tale of love and loss. It was as if I were the same kid from ten years ago, the one with a gullible heart and stars in his eyes.
But I wasn’t. I couldn’t be. Not when I spent the last decade avoiding Christmas in Winterbury and everything it entailed. Ten years of telling myself the story was just a gimmick. Ten years of trying to forget.
But the closer we got to the living legend, the more I felt its pull. Until everything I forced myself to forget came spilling out as though it had been there all along.
The mistletoe that grew here was not magic. The oak tree itself was just bark and leaves.
Yet as I stood beneath its imposing structure, staring up into the twisted, barren branches, it seemed like so much more.
As if the very oxygen it produced was laced with something that had the ability to rewire your brain.
Or maybe your heart. Because even with the temperature dropping faster than the sun and the promise of snow heavy in the atmosphere, there was also warmth.
Not the kind that thawed the stinging of your fingertips or the frozen tip of your nose.
But the kind of warmth you felt inside you, a whisper of a promise and the possibility of being part of something so much bigger than I could ever be alone.
I guess I had forgotten after all.
I’d forgotten the power of this oak and the place in which it grew.
How had I managed this when I was barely eighteen?
You didn’t. You ran. You ran and never came back.
“Wait,” Mayor Schroder hollered, thankfully breaking the spell holding me hostage.
I turned as Archer paused, boots planted and shotgun raised. The sight he made standing there with flannel molded to his upper body and dirt staining his jeans was a jolt to the nervous system. Archer had always been good-looking, but, oh, the years had been kind to him.
It was almost unfair to compare the boy I remembered to the man who stood in front of me now because they seemed so different.
Strange how both seemed to forever have me in a chokehold.
Long gone was the boisterous athlete with a ready-made smile.
In its place was a man I could only describe as rugged.
His broad frame was no longer carved from football and the gym but from years of outdoor labor.
His once polished features were now slightly weathered from the sun, and the trimmed beard covering his jaw seemed more out of necessity than choice.
I might have once described him as pretentious, but now I only noted quiet confidence that rang with strength and capability to handle whatever came his way.
“How about you let Brett do the honors?” The mayor went on, gesturing to his son.
“No.” Archer’s reply was succinct and direct but not necessarily unkind.
“Well, why not?” Paul wanted to know.
Archer heaved a sigh and lowered the gun, twisting around to face us. “Has he ever shot a gun?”
“No,” Brett was quick to reply.
“Be a good time to learn,” Paul suggested.
“You already pointed out that it’s nearly dark, and we need to get this done quickly,” Archer said. “Besides, this gun is older than me and more temperamental than a cat giving birth.”
“You should go ahead,” Brett said. “I’m sure you have a lot to do for the bonfire tonight.”
“Well, at least get over there and catch it once it falls,” Paul directed his son.
Brett looked at me in alarm.
“Actually, Brett, if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll do that,” I said. “You know, for old times’ sake.”
Archer made a rude sound, and I looked at him, but he ignored me.
Relieved, Brett nodded.
“Which one you going for?” I asked, moving closer to Archer, gazing up at the dark clusters in the branches.
“The one in the middle,” he answered, raising the gun once more.
The one in the middle was the biggest and what I would have chosen too.
For the second time that day, I was reminded of the time he’d hugged me.
“Step back so it doesn’t hit you in the head again.”
I let out a rude sound. “I’m an adult now. I know how to catch,” I retorted, ignoring the way my stomach dipped.
I’d been mortified when Mom brought it up, but hearing him recall it hit a lot differently.
Does he wonder what it would be like to put his arms around me now?
“If you get hurt, it’s on you,” he warned and took aim.
Okay, clearly, he doesn’t.
A few feet away, Mayor Schroder and Brett pressed their palms over their ears and looked up. Made me wonder why they lifted their heads like they were gonna watch if they were just gonna squeeze their eyes shut like that.
Booom!
The blast of the shotgun caught me off guard, and I stumbled as if I’d been the one holding it and the recoil had sent me flying. I landed on my back, breath punched out of my lungs as my ears rang from the deafening sound. I did not remember it being that intense.
Automatically, my eyes flew to Archer as I pushed up onto my palms. He turned just enough to look at me over his shoulder, a knowing smirk on his stupidly handsome face.
“You did that on purpose!” I accused, scrambling up.
“City boy,” he quipped.
I yelled, but the sound was muffled by another sudden loud blast of the gun.
I fell back, heart slamming into my ribs as I hit the ground again. Only this time, when I looked up, it was at a large ball of twigs and berries hurtling toward me from the sky.
This is exactly why I don’t come home for Christmas.
Flinching, I threw up my hands to protect my face and braced for the assault.
But it never came.
Peeling my eyes open, I peeked through my arms, sight filling with the back of one large hand.
Between the thick fingers poked glossy, almost leatherlike green leaves that were oval in shape.
The white berries were small in diameter and easily noticed against the backdrop of the evergreen leaves and dark sky.
It was mere inches from me, mere seconds from poking out my eyes. As I stared, the hand holding the massive cluster pulled back, replacing itself with Archer’s face.
“Thought you were a grown adult now.” The words and tone were mocking.
“I am,” I insisted, surging to my feet. “But clearly, I’m the only one.”
His blue eyes flashed. “I’m not the one who fell on my behind when the gun went off.”
I stepped forward, jabbing my finger into his chest. “You could have told me you were firing.”
“Could have,” he allowed, words rumbly and low because I was crowding his personal space.
He wasn’t even wearing a coat. Why the hell was the air around him so warm?
Irritation zapped through me, making my hands ball at my sides. “I can’t believe I came out here because y—”
“Well, look at that.” Paul interrupted before I could make an utter fool of myself. “She’s a beaut. It’s perfect for tomorrow night’s raising.”
I forced my attention to the large bundle, noting that it was beautiful in shape and color. But it was hard to concentrate because I could feel Archer’s attention. Unable to resist, I peeked up to see that, yes, he was staring with the curiosity of an unanswered question in those baby blues.
Quickly, I averted my attention. “See, not much to getting it down,” I said to Brett.
He nodded. “Archer makes it look easy.”
“Well, he’s been doing it practically his whole life.” Paul confirmed.
“We should go,” Archer said. “The bonfire will be starting soon.”
“Of course.” Paul agreed, but Brett hesitated, looking back at the oak.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, turning fully to face him.
“Was hoping to get a look at the initials carved in the tree,” he said.
I pulled my phone from the pocket of my coat and switched on the flashlight. “This way.”
“We need to head back,” Archer said, impatience deepening his voice.
“It will only take a minute,” I chided. “We’ll meet you at the truck.”
Even in the dark, I could see his face screw up. He clearly was used to people doing what they were told. But I wasn’t most people, and squeezing into the too-small cab of that truck with him seemed like torture right about now.
I started forward, and Brett fell into step behind me. As we walked, our shoulders bumped, and the flashlight created a halo on the ground in front of us.
“Have you not been out here before?” I asked as we walked around the back of the tree.
“Once, a few years ago. But I didn’t look for the initials.”
“They’re right around here,” I said, stepping close to the massive trunk and shining the light onto the rough bark. After a moment of searching, the light caught on a patch that was free of bark, and right in the center was the carving. “Ah, here,” I said, steadying the light and stepping closer.
It had been a long time since I’d seen them, but they looked about the way I remembered. Maybe a little smaller in reality versus my memory, but judging by how important this legend was to our town, that wasn’t surprising.
Of course, I was bigger now too. No longer a starry-eyed teen.
“H and B,” Brett murmured, brushing against me as he leaned in and laid a finger on the carving in the wood. “I guess it really is true.”
“Part of Winterbury’s history.” I confirmed.
Brett tipped his chin to gaze into the branches above that dripped with mistletoe. “I’ve heard the story a hundred times,” he said. “But it’s a little different to see it.” Pulling his chin down, he sought me. “You know?”
One side of his face was illuminated by the beam of the flashlight, but the other was hidden in shadows. We were standing close, closer than normal, like two moths drawn to the small offering of light. It created a weird sort of intimacy as we stood there discussing the tragedy of two lovers.
“Yeah.” I agreed. “It’s different when you’re here. Like this tree really does have some sort of magic.”
He nodded, not scoffing at the notion of magic. “I’m glad you came.”
My lips parted so I could agree, but another voice stopped me. “If you want to flirt, do it on someone else’s time.”
I jolted backward, the beam of light falling to the ground. “We were not flirting.”