Chapter 6
Remy
My brother Finn’s truck pulls up just before sunrise, and he strides into the barn like he’s on a mission.
He claps me on the shoulder, steals my wrench, and starts inspecting the tree shaker like he’s the supervisor and I’m his employee.
“You look less feral today,” he says, eying me.
“Did you finally sleep over four hours, or is it because of your new nanny everyone’s talking about? ”
“Be quiet and help me fix this.”
I grumble with frustration at the machine that stopped working. I can fix most things, but Finn can fix anything. He builds what he cannot buy and turns rough boards into furniture that belongs in a magazine.
He laughs, works in silence for a minute, then glances toward the main house and asks more seriously, “How is Ivy doing with Junie?”
“Fine.” I ignore what he’s implying and check the order board. We are behind, but not in the weeds, thanks to my getting a head start today with Ivy here, who helped Junie get on the bus this morning.
Finn’s mouth tips into a smirk. “Saw she turned your house into a literal Christmas snow globe last night. Junie sent me and Mom pictures from her tablet.”
“I noticed,” I say, pretending to be chill. But I more than noticed; I freaking loved it. Coming home to a home-cooked meal and a house that looks and smells great is a dream come true.
The tree farm was our uncle Carl’s, and a place that I’ve always loved.
As a kid, I came here as often as I could and worked alongside my uncle until I went off to college.
And on every break, I was back here helping him.
I loved being around him. He was pretty exceptional.
He got sick and died a few years ago and left the farm to Finn and me.
Finn had no interest, so I bought him out, and now it’s all mine.
Finn’s out here all the time using the back barn to work on his woodworking projects, and I love having him around.
Working on the farm here reminds me of our uncle and brings back good memories.
It feels like he’s still here sometimes.
“How's the new house?” I ask, trying to change the subject, because I know he is itching to give me even more crap about Ivy and get under my skin, as brothers do. He recently purchased our friend Tate’s childhood home and has been slowly renovating it.
Tate took a job out here as the tree farm manager and moved into a cabin on the back of the farm with his girlfriend, Willa, Ivy's sister.
“It’s going. Not as fast as I’d like—been busy with Rowan's new shop,” he says, and then catches himself and gives me a sideways look because he knows I could give him crap about Rowan. But I won’t. I've got too much on my mind to give him crap and shoot the shit.
Rowan is Ivy’s sister and is opening a new apothecary shop next to Willa’s bookstore, Wisteria Books & Brew.
“It’ll get there,” I tell him. “I’m heading out to help Tate with today’s load. Appreciate your help."
"I'll come down and help. I got a little bit of time this morning before I meet with the painters and Rowan," he grunts as he twists some bolts into place.
I nod and zip up my coat and head out into the cold, Finn following me to the truck.
The tree lot stretches in rows of green, neat and waiting.
It should make me feel calm. It usually does.
Today, though, my thoughts keep going back to Ivy.
I wonder what she’s doing and what they have planned for after school.
What dinner she’s going to make. I shake myself out of it and remind myself that this is temporary.
I shouldn't get used to it or get too excited.
Luckily, we have enough work to keep busy.
Tate, Finn, and I load two fresh pallets onto the flatbed for Tate to deliver to a store in a nearby town.
By the time we’re finished and heading to the farm store, Junie is on the bus and on her way to school, and the sun is fully up, casting a clear, pale light across the porch of the small farm stand building from which we sell just about every tree farm souvenir you can think of.
I hit the brakes and back up. There are bins of vintage ornaments I don’t remember setting out or owning. The chalkboard sign is neat, as if someone took the time to hand-letter it perfectly. What the hell?
The door to the farm stand swings open, and Ivy steps out, a bright green scarf looped twice around her neck, hair in a messy knot. I catch myself wanting to reach over and release it and run my fingers through that dark red hair that catches my breath every time I look at her.
What is she doing here at the farm store?
She’s dragging a display table by herself, and it’s heavy. She braces her boots and nudges it an inch at a time.
Finn jumps out to help her. He turns and yells with a smirk, “You gonna help or keep admiring the view?”
I shake my head and glare at him as I climb out of my truck. “What are you doing?” I clip as I watch her make herself at home, decorating the farm store.
She looks up, her bright green eyes catching me off guard. “Rearranging. Your flow is weird. Customers bottleneck at the candle shelf and never make it to the hot drinks, which is now cocoa since the cider urn was on life support. Finn’s going to fix it.”
“My flow is what?” I ask, confused. And we don't have a candle shelf. What is she talking about?
“Come see.” She waves us in as if we work for her. And I follow because, honestly, I’d follow Ivy anywhere. She could rearrange my trees out in the grove, and I’d probably let her. But I’d definitely gripe and complain and not admit that I really like it to anyone.
Inside the farm stand, the air smells like oranges and chocolate.
She has pulled the old wire racks into a long loop that actually makes sense.
Small items like stuffed reindeer and Santas are displayed near the register in woven baskets, which makes me even feel more inclined to buy them with the heavier things against the walls.
Someone cleared the counter. The ancient tip jar has a ribbon tied around it and a small sign that says ‘Thank you’ in Junie’s handwriting, accompanied by a snowman doodle.
A big circular candle display is in the middle, with candles in boxes around it. Where the hell did those all come from?
I hate that I dropped the ball in not making this look better.
I have two high schoolers from town who help part-time, but they just run the cash register and keep the drink station filled.
I haven't been able to really make this space look better, but Ivy did this in one morning. And I’m not a bit surprised.
She’s the most efficient person I think I’ve ever met, and I didn’t expect this from her.
Finn whistles, impressed. “How did you know to do all of this?”
“I learned it from working retail,” she says, straightening a row of mugs that say Tree Hugger. “And common sense. I like to shop, so I organized it based on how I would want to shop.”
I pause at the far end of the counter. The cider counter isn’t there anymore.
It is an actual station set up in the corner now.
She found the good carafes, and they’re shiny and clean.
There’s a stack of paper cups and a jar of candy canes.
The electric kettle is set on a wooden board, not teetering on a milk crate, which before was probably a safety violation.
Handwritten labels sit in clear frames. Classic cocoa.
Peppermint. There is even a bin of mini marshmallows beside a bowl of the fancy homemade ones, in bags labeled with flavors and ingredients.
The old outlet along the wall that wasn’t working is now open, and a fresh plate lies next to it ready to be fixed.
“Did you mess with that outlet?” I ask, alarmed.
“I texted Finn to check the connection and replace it. It wasn’t working.”
I look at Finn. He shrugs and gives me a grin, baiting me. “She was persuasive with homemade marshmallows and dinner.”
She is not making him dinner.
Heat fills my cheeks. I don’t like her asking Finn to help. I want her to ask me, dammit.
“You could have asked me,” I say. It comes out sharper than I intended.
Her smile falters for a fraction of a second. “You were up hauling trees at dawn or whatever else you do. I didn't think it was worth bothering you over a minor issue. Plus, Finn wanted homemade marshmallows and a casserole.”
Of course, she thinks I don’t like her. I have given her every reason not to.
It is not that I don’t like her. That is the problem.
I like her too much. And instead of saying something halfway decent, something that might make her feel welcome or seen, what comes out is the same defensive garbage I always fall back on.
My jaw locks. The words snap before I can soften them.
“This is not what we agreed on,” I say, sharper than I mean to be.
“You are the nanny. You are not supposed to help with the business.” Her face flickers.
I hate that I did that. I hate that I know why.
If I let her get any closer to the parts of my life that keep me upright, I am not sure I will know how to keep my hands off her.
So I push. I make it cold. I watch it land and pretend it is necessary.
Finn coughs into his fist. “Asshole.”
Ivy studies me as if she is deciding which version of me is standing here. The cooperative one. Or the asshole one. And I hate that I’m being an asshole right now. The place looks freaking great. And I’m grateful. I’m just surprised, and I don’t like that she talks to everyone but me.
“I am not trying to step on your toes,” she says.
“I’m trying to keep customers from tripping over everything in here.
Plus, I’ve done everything I need to do at the house, and I’m bored until Junie comes home from school.
I like doing this. Please let me help,” she pleads, with stormy green eyes that do things to me.