Chapter 9
NOEL
“Are these all the baked goods you’ve got this year?”
A middle-aged mom with dishwater-blond hair cut in a bob frowned at the table of Christmas goodies. It was a bit lacking. Mom used to bake pies, cinnamon rolls, and Christmas cookies for weeks leading up to Black Friday.
Dad’s recovery had prevented that, and I hadn’t once thought to ask if she wanted me to do anything. I was out of touch with just how much work went into this place.
“We’ve just sold out of so much!” I fibbed. “We’ll have more in later this week if you want to come back by.”
“Noel,” Mom chastised after the customer left with one small bag of premade peanut brittle. “Why did you lie to that woman? We haven’t sold out of anything, and we’re not getting anything more later this week.”
“Sure we will,” I said brightly. “I’ll whip something up.”
She frowned. “But you’re not a baker.”
I shrugged. “I know the principles well enough to whip up some Christmas goodies. Sorry, Mom. I should have asked sooner if you needed any help with that. I forgot how much you do in the days leading up to Black Friday.”
She smiled, eyes looking tired. “I’ve had my hands full this year.”
I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”
She sighed. “It’s sure been nice having you here. But you’ll be heading home soon, won’t you?”
“My schedule is flexible. Maybe I’ll extend my stay a little. Get you through the start of the season, at least.”
She looked shocked. “Really? But Noel, what about your job?”
“It’ll keep for a while. I haven’t taken a vacation in years.”
“Well, that’s true,” she said, eyes worried. “If you’re sure you won’t be in trouble.”
I grinned. “Mom, I’m a head chef. I make my own rules.”
She chuckled. “You must like that. You always were a bossy little thing.”
“Hey! It’s a useful quality in a chef, you know.”
She patted my back. “It’s pretty useful around here, too. I think I’ll take a break and let you run things.”
She winked and slipped away. Oooh, she was tricky.
I covered the rest of the shift, getting run off my feet as I tried to keep up with the flow of traffic on our busiest shopping day.
I climbed the ladder to fetch elf statues from the top shelves and rang up Christmas ornaments, candles, and too many bags of peanut brittle to even count.
We would have to make more of that, along with the cinnamon rolls, raspberry-chocolate brownies, and cranberry bread that had been requested by disappointed customers all day.
On top of that, I’d promised to host a wreath-making workshop, an evening of cocoa and hayrack rides, and set up a kids holiday movie night.
The farm used to host events like this regularly, but my parents had fallen behind. Now that I was here, I could help get them back on track—but could they keep up with the work once I was gone? Even with Hopper’s help, things had obviously fallen through the cracks.
We left the barn door open to customers—portable heaters keeping the shop from getting too cold—and a gorgeous man had come inside when I wasn’t looking. He had dark hair, short on the sides and longer on the top, delicious stubble over a perfectly cut jaw, and jeans that he filled out just right.
He also looked like he could break a little gay man like me in half, so I quickly averted my gaze.
“Hey, hon,” he called, “come look at these cute gnomes. They are so you.”
A delighted laugh filled the shop a few seconds later, and I jerked my head up in surprise. That laugh had been too low to be a woman’s. Sure enough, a cute twink with highlighted hair was smiling up at the hot man.
“Buy me one, Lyle,” he said. “NOW. I must have it!”
Lyle laughed and bent to kiss his…boyfriend?…on the nose. “Anything for you, babe.”
Wait. What was happening?
Wasn’t I still in the heart of the Bible Belt? I saw queer couples in Chicago all the time, and I knew well enough that big, masculine dudes could be as gay as cute, sassy twinks and everything in between.
But no one had been openly gay in this area when I lived here. In fact, it’d been really damn hard to be an obviously gay kid in high school.
I stared at them so hard they exchanged an uncomfortable look.
The cute twink raised an eyebrow. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” I said quickly. “You want me to fetch the gnome for you?”
“Oh.” He relaxed, lips quirking. “Actually, Lyle can climb the ladder and get it for me. We can enjoy the view from down here.”
He winked at me, and I laughed. Totally busted on drooling over his boyfriend, then.
“Sorry for staring. It’s just that I’m not used to seeing queer couples be so open in this neck of the woods.”
“Well, then you’ve been living under a rock,” he said while Lyle climbed the ladder. “They make jokes about there being something in the water in Granville. We’ve got queer couples coming out of our asses.” He chuckled. “Sometimes literally.”
I cackled, already delighted. “I’ve been away in Chicago, actually. But you need to be my best friend, like right now.”
“Sorry. Taken.” He waved to Lyle. “Lifelong besties.”
“No kidding? That’s awesome.”
“Yeah.” He smiled and held out a hand. “I’m Truman Scott. So, you’re from Chicago?”
“Uh, no. My parents run this farm. I went to Riverton High.”
“Ah, no wonder we haven’t met. Rival schools and all.”
Lyle climbed down the ladder and handed the gnome to Truman. “Anything else you want me to fetch?”
“Just the tree.” He glanced at me. “We’d like to go out and pick a fresh one to cut.”
“Okay, let me see where Hopper is. He can take you out.”
I found Hopper trudging in with a large family, two trees bound and balanced on a sled that he pulled. I waved my arm to get his attention.
He came over, face red with cold above his beard. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, got another couple who want to go out.”
He sighed and tugged at his beard. “All right. Let’s get them checked out first.”
He followed me inside, then brightened. “Lyle? Hey, man!”
He and Lyle embraced with a very dude-bro-type hug that involved more back smacking than affection.
“You still keeping him in line, Tru?”
Truman grinned. “When don’t I?”
“It’s keeping Truman in line that’s the problem,” Lyle grumbled.
They all laughed together like old friends. A pang of envy sliced through my heart. I wasn’t jealous, exactly. More like wistful. I wished I could have formed those kinds of friendships when I lived here.
Hopper seemed totally comfortable with a queer couple, too. That was reassuring.
“You should come out with us next weekend,” Truman said. “We need to get you a man.”
“Or woman,” Lyle put in. “Not everyone is gay, hon. Some of us are bi or pan.”
“Yeah, whatever. Men are hotter, but you do you, boo.”
Wait. What now? Was Lyle saying that Hopper was… I cast a look his way, and was it me, or were his cheeks even redder than when he’d been outside?
“Hopper’s not straight?” I asked in shock. “What the hell?”
Hopper coughed. “Uh, well, yeah, I took a little longer to figure things out than you did.” He bit his bottom lip. “You haven’t been around in a while, so…”
“Ohhh.” Truman looked between us. “Is this going to be a thing? Maybe you don’t need to come out with us.”
“What? No,” Hopper said. “There’s no thing.”
I laughed, my tone brittle. “Of course not.”
“Noel is just visiting. He can’t stay here forever.”
“No, I won’t,” I said quietly.
“He’s a chef,” Hopper continued. “He runs a restaurant in Chicago.”
“Wow,” Truman said, sounding suitably impressed. “That’s amazing.”
“Yeah.” I used to think it was amazing. It hadn’t gone so amazing, though. And now I was here, heart aching, because Hopper Kelly—who I didn’t even like very much—wasn’t interested in hooking up with me.
True, I’d misjudged him initially. He didn’t appear to be taking advantage of my parents or worming himself into position to be handed their farm when they decided to retire.
He was lonely, in need of a family, and a damn hard worker.
I’d seen him take out a dozen families today, cutting down trees, weathering the cold, and doing it all with the smiles he never seemed to have for me.
My parents might have retired by now if not for him. Or lost the farm. They couldn’t afford to hire a full staff, and Hopper did the work of at least three men.
Still, as much as he tried to fill the gaps, he couldn’t do everything by himself. I had to help get the farm back to its former glory.
If Dad recovered enough to work again, I wanted the farm to be on track for a great season. And if he didn’t, well…I wanted my parents to be in the position to get a good price when they sold.
Either way, that was a tall enough order without trying to add Hopper to my plate.
It was good he wasn’t interested. For the best.
I had more important things to do than get hot and sweaty with my very own lumberjack fantasy.