Chapter 29 KELSEY HANDLES THE BALLS
Chapter 29
K ELSEY H ANDLES THE B ALLS
I definitely never wanted to meet my future husband in a ten-year-old gray sweater and saggy PJs.
But here we are.
When Randy heads outside again, I race up to my room, taking the stairs two at a time.
I have to shower, dress, and fix whatever first impression he just got!
The water doesn’t want to heat, but I’m in a hurry, so I rapidly wash my hair in the bracing cold spray. I can’t handle a shave in that, so I do it afterward, managing to nick my shin in a way I haven’t done since I was fifteen.
Are these signs? Signs of what? Warning? Humility? To literally take a cold shower and chill the hell out?
I don’t even know anymore, and I don’t have time to pull a tarot card. I yank a brush through my wet hair hard enough to make myself yelp. Calm down, Kelsey!
I choose a soft green dress with a white belt and white tennis shoes. I go for classic with my hair, blow-drying it straight and pulling it back with a white headband.
Barely there makeup. Minimal jewelry.
Randy looks like a no-fuss, no-muss type.
I turn in front of a full-length oval mirror on a stand. For a moment, I wonder which ancestors of Randy’s family might have looked at their reflection in this very glass.
I like it. All of it. The history. The land. I’m not even bothered that the tree farm needs saving. I have every confidence that the summer event will be wildly successful, and the family won’t have to worry about financial solvency.
If you’re going to buy into the romantic storyline, you have to go all in.
I hurry for the stairs, well aware that I took the better part of an hour to get ready and Randy might be gone.
But halfway down, the movie starts rolling like any climactic scene when the heroine descends from an upper floor to capture the hero’s heart.
INT. A brICK WYOMING HOMESTEAD—DAY
KELSEY, 25, in a demure pale-green dress with white accessories, walks down a curved staircase.
Below, RANDY, 28, and his brother, JACK, 30, stand on either side of a fireplace, the metal wood stand filled with freshly cut logs. They have a bin of holiday decorations at their feet, an artificial garland sticking out over the edge.
It’s happening. It’s happening!
Randy’s eyes take me in. I think he might remark upon my change in appearance, but he simply grins.
“We should ask a woman’s opinion,” he says, lifting the end of a fake garland. “We don’t know what we’re doing.”
“I’m happy to help,” I say.
Randy tugs on the greenery, which drops dozens of plastic bits as it unfurls. “I say the fake stuff is garbage, and we should cut a fresh pine bough.”
I turn to Jack. “What’s the downside?”
“It’s summer. A real pine bough will wilt into a sad, brown pile of needles in this heat. In winter, they last a couple of weeks.”
“I see.” I pick up the other end of the garland. “You don’t use fake ones?”
“Not since I can remember,” Randy says.
“We can cover it in balls and ribbon and nobody will notice,” Jack says. “We have too much to do to cut boughs that might look bad by the time the week is over.”
“We don’t have fresh pine where I come from,” I tell the men. “Fake garland is the only kind I know. We can make this work.” I realize I’ve taken the wrong side when Randy frowns. I quickly add, “And if it fails, then we cut boughs closer to the day.”
“All right,” Randy says. “But it won’t be half as nice.”
Now it’s on the line. “I can make it nice.”
“Give her a chance,” Jack says.
I can practically see the script writer congratulating herself on the double meaning of the line. Yes, Randy, give the girl a chance. Well played, madam.
I take the garland and tug at the individual wires that hold the molting branches together. “These have to be fluffed or they look terrible.” I twist the wiring, and a shower of plastic needles falls to the floor.
“This does not look promising,” Randy says.
“Maybe it’s like Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree,” Jack says.
I’m determined to make this work. “It’ll be all right. These were good-quality garlands. They just need some love.”
“See,” Jack says. “All you need is love.”
The script writer for this scene is on fire .
Randy socks his brother’s shoulder. “Fine. We should find the ribbon and balls.”
I almost make a joke about balls, but think better of it. It doesn’t match my wholesome look. I’ll tell it to Zachery later. He’ll find it hilarious, even if it is out of context by then.
The garland starts to take shape as I work on the wires holding the plastic branches. Jack takes off for another part of the house, leaving me with Randy.
“That is looking better,” he says. “It’s nice of you to help. You’re a guest.”
“I like decorating for the holidays.” I come to the halfway point, my fingers already sore from the rough wire. It’s a small price to pay. “Does your family go all out?”
“That’s putting it mildly,” he says, searching through the box. “Between this old homestead that we rent out, our parents’ house, Jack and Mindy’s place, and Grandmama’s cottage, it’s a lot of lighting, trees, and pine boughs.”
“Plus the tree farm. I guess it’s busy at Christmas?”
“Insanely.” Randy retrieves a bag of tiny gold packages glued to green wire. “I think these go on that.”
“Christmas picks,” I say. “I used to shop for those with my mom. She liked adding things like this to the garlands.”
“It fills them out,” he says. “Doesn’t work so well with fresh boughs, though. We just use ribbons on those.”
I finish fluffing the end of the garland and hold it out. “Will it do?”
Randy takes the length of plastic pine and stretches it out. “That looks good. By the time we add the rest, it’ll be all right.”
“It won’t ever look like authentic pine, but it’ll be pretty. It’s probably easier to work with for decorating since you can bend the wire into place.”
“Yeah, the boughs are tricky.”
We both sit on the floor, twisting the tiny gold boxes into the branches.
“Where does your mom live?” Randy asks.
The question stabs me, but it’s a pain I’m used to. “She died when I was twelve.”
“Oh, damn. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. It’s been thirteen years.”
“So you did this with her?”
“I did. She liked to have coordinating decorations on the garland and the tree. And never multicolored lights. White only.”
Randy laughs. “Grandmama is a white lighter. Mom likes colors. Dad stays out of the fight.”
“Is Grandmama your dad’s mother or your mother’s?”
“Dad’s. Every Christmas, there’s a battle between his mom and his wife when it comes to lighting the retail section of the farm.”
“I think I’d stay out of that one, too.”
We work a few more moments until we get to the last gold gift.
Randy watches me place it. “It looks great.”
Jack returns with another plastic bin.
“I found red ribbon and gold ribbon,” he says. “But only red balls.” He sets a box on the floor by us.
“We put the Christmas picks in the garland,” Randy says. “Kelsey fluffed it.”
“I knew it would look good,” Jack says. “I have to run. You got this?”
“We do,” Randy says, and something about the way he says “we” makes my heart speed up.
Jack gives us a nod and heads out the front door.
I take the spools of red and gold ribbon and hold them both up to the bough. “What do you think?”
“You’re the expert. We’re lucky you checked in.”
I set the gold ribbon aside and begin weaving the red into the wired branches. “It’s fun.”
“Do you have a lot of work to do during your stay?”
Right, this is a work trip. “Our boss is at Cannes, so we aren’t too busy.”
“Cannes?”
Dang. I don’t want to tip him off to our Hollywood connection too soon. “The city in France.” Still true.
“And you decided to do your work in Glass because ...”
“The summer events. I wanted to learn more about them.”
“Is that part of your work? Are you a newspaper reporter or something?”
If only. Then I’d be living out the Hallmark dream. “No. I just do a lot of research for my job.”
“The first event is Wednesday night. It’s a hayride through the tree farm.”
“That sounds delightful.” Now invite me!
“Jack and I have to get the lights strung before then, as that’s the whole point of the ride. But we get to go on it. One of us will be on each wagon, telling the history of the farm.”
“I definitely can’t miss that.” I can picture it, the lights weaving through the trees, the night sky, and Randy talking to a group of people about his family history.
It’s too perfect.
If he’s going to ask me to come.
But he only holds up the garland. “You think it needs balls?”
No, but he does, and to use them to ask me out! Maybe he has a girlfriend. Or he likes men. I start to deflate. “Maybe a few.” We pull a half dozen from the bin and tie them into the branches.
“Those look good,” he says, standing effortlessly from the floor, holding the garland. “Let’s see how it fits.” While he stretches it across the wood mantel, I awkwardly pull myself to standing. If he isn’t going to ask to see me again, this is not the moment I was hoping for.
“Mom will love it.” Randy takes a step back to admire our handiwork. “And she’ll appreciate that we have less to do on Saturday. You’ll be here for the Christmas tea?”
“I will,” I say. “I should study the schedule of events. I want to do as much as I can.”
“It’s spread out,” Randy says. “There’s no reason you can’t do them all.”
Here we go. “Do you do them all?”
His eyes take in my face. “I better. It’s our tree farm on the line.”
I should probably not be forward, but I’m tired of all the failed meet-cutes so far, and this one looks promising if he’s available. “Are you planning to take anyone with you?”
“I was thinking about it.”
I can practically see the camera angle. His face, slowly growing into a grin.
I see where this is headed, but I play along as if a director and a script supervisor hang on my every word. “Anyone in particular?”
Now the close-up, his eyes sparkling. “There might be a new girl in town.”
“Oh, really? You’d take a chance on a stranger?”
“She seems like a good bet. She’s got a good eye for decorating. I could use her tomorrow at the retail tent on the farm.”
Finally!
“I think she might be able to help out with that,” I say.
“Excellent. You think she’ll meet me on the porch tomorrow morning around nine?”
“I bet she can make that happen.”
His grin somehow gets bigger. It’s too soon in this love story for him to lean in for a kiss, but man, it sure feels possible.
This part of my road trip is looking up.