Chapter 9 Allergic to Pine
Allergic to Pine
Isank into my dining chair, dragging the plate of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets closer like it might be stolen if I didn’t maintain constant contact.
The French fries were crinkle-cut, extra crispy, and positively drowning in ketchup.
They formed a comforting moat around my protein—the pinnacle of adult dining.
This was what my life had come to. Hiding in my house, eating like a toddler, and avoiding the two reindeer men who’d finally left me alone after I’d practically shoved them out the door. My lips still tingled from where Dash’s thumb had brushed them.
I dunked a T-Rex head into ketchup with unnecessary force.
The doorbell rang, a jarring Christmas tune that made me drop my nugget. How had they changed the ring?
“Nope. Not tonight, Satan.” I shoved another fry into my mouth. If I ignored it, whoever it was would eventually go away.
The doorbell rang again, and I groaned, pushing back from the table. If it were Dane and Dash returning with more Christmas torture, I was going to set my house on fire.
I yanked open the door, prepared to unleash my frosty wrath, and froze.
Pierce and Vix stood on my doorstep. Pierce, all rigid posture and perfect hair, had his finger poised over the doorbell for another assault. Vix leaned casually against the wall, a sharp contrast to Pierce’s military stance.
Both wore matching green T-shirts with Nice-ish emblazoned across their chests in candy-cane stripes.
My brain hit the emergency brake and skidded sideways.
“May we come in?” Pierce lowered his hand, his eyes immediately taking inventory of my house behind me.
“Are you really asking, or is that just a formality before you barge in anyway?” I stepped into their path, as if I might actually be able to stop them.
Vix’s mouth quirked up at one corner. “You’ve got ketchup on your face.”
I swiped at my cheek, feeling heat creep up my neck. “What do you want?” I stepped to the side, letting them in. They clearly weren’t going to leave anyway.
Once they were inside, I double-checked that there weren’t any more wayward reindeer waiting to barge in before shutting the door. Vix was already making a beeline for my kitchen.
“Your dinner looks sad,” Vix commented as he took in my abandoned meal. “Are those... dinosaur nuggets?”
“They’re a culinary delight.” I looked between the two of them, getting a better look at their T-shirts. “Nice shirts. Did you coordinate, or was it a happy accident?”
Pierce glanced down at his chest, then at Vix’s, as if just noticing they matched. “Christmas-themed clothing encourages participation in seasonal activities.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
“A sweater would be impractical in this climate.” Pierce’s eyes remained utterly serious. “You’ve chosen to live in a location with suboptimal winter weather.”
I stared at him, waiting for the punchline. None came.
“Sadly chosen?” I waved a hand toward my kitchen window. “It’s in the seventies during the day. It hardly ever rains, and there is absolutely no snow. That’s not sad, that’s paradise.”
Vix snorted, dropping onto my couch without invitation. “It’s not paradise if it smells like sunscreen instead of pine.”
“What are you doing here?” I returned to my plate, grabbing a fry and biting it like it were one of their heads.
Pierce set a glossy red gift bag on my counter. “You need fresh air.”
“I have windows.”
“Put that on.” He nodded toward the bag. “We’re leaving in five minutes.”
I set down my fry, spine straightening. “I’m not going anywhere. I just escaped Tweedledee and Tweedledum’s Christmas cookie bonanza.”
Vix leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You can’t stay in here forever, avoiding what’s happening.”
“Watch me.”
“Five minutes.” Pierce checked his watch. “Or we carry you out as is.”
My gaze darted between Vix’s challenging smirk and Pierce’s immovable stance. They weren’t bluffing.
“Fine.” I snatched the bag off the counter. “But I’m lodging a formal protest.”
Pierce’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “Noted.”
In my bedroom, I dumped the contents of the bag onto my bed. A folded T-shirt in deep crimson fell out. I held it up, groaning at the white letters that said Very Naughty across the chest, with Naughty crossed out and Nice written above it.
I glared at my reflection as I pulled it on. With my roots growing more obvious by the hour, I looked like a walking Christmas advertisement.
When I emerged, Vix let out a low whistle. “Now that’s festive.”
“I hate all of you.” I grabbed my purse and phone from the counter. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.” Pierce opened the door, gesturing for me to exit first.
The vehicle parked in my driveway was not what I expected. A massive red electric pickup truck gleamed under the streetlights, its chrome accents catching the glow.
“Subtle.” I climbed into the backseat, already regretting agreeing to this field trip. Where the hell were they even taking me?
Vix slid into the driver’s seat while Pierce took shotgun. “Subtlety is overrated.”
“Where are we going?” I buckled my seatbelt as Vix backed out.
“East.” Pierce didn’t even turn around.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s directionally accurate.”
I slumped against the window, watching as we drove through town. “Is kidnapping part of the standard Christmas spirit restoration?”
Vix adjusted the rearview mirror, catching my eye in it. “Only for the particularly stubborn cases.”
I maintained a steady stream of complaints for the entire fifteen-minute drive. The shirt was itchy. The AC was too cold. The Christmas music playing softly from the speakers was giving me hives.
Neither man seemed bothered by my griping.
I pressed my face against the window as Vix pulled into a lot illuminated by strands of multicolored lights crisscrossing overhead like a drunken spider had been tasked with decorating.
The sharp, unmistakable scent of pine hit me as soon as the truck door opened, making me freeze halfway out of the vehicle.
“Welcome to Evergreen Wonderland.” Vix spread his arms wide, like he was presenting me with my own personal nightmare.
“A Christmas tree lot?” I stepped out onto the gravel, my stomach tightening. “You brought me to get a Christmas tree?”
Pierce closed the passenger door. “Palm Springs has a disappointing lack of natural Christmas tree options. We would have preferred to cut one down, but this will have to do.”
The lot was nearly deserted, with only a few other customers wandering between rows of pre-cut pines. Somewhere in the distance, Michael Bublé crooned a jazzy rendition of a song that made my teeth ache. I wrapped my arms around myself, cold despite the mild evening temperature.
“Think of this as exposure therapy.” Vix bumped my shoulder with his, gesturing toward the fragrant prison of holiday cheer.
I took two steps away from him. “I don’t need therapy. I need immunity from holiday harassment.”
Pierce’s eyes tracked a young couple as they struggled with a tree, his expression calculating. “The lot closes in forty-five minutes. We have sufficient time.”
“Time for what?” My voice went up an octave.
“To find your perfect tree, obviously.” Vix’s grin was infectious if you were the type to catch Christmas fever, which I emphatically was not.
I backed up even more, hands raised. “I’m allergic to pine.”
“You are not.” Pierce’s eyes narrowed.
“I am! Terribly.” I inhaled and then forced out a pathetic fake sneeze, followed by a cough that sounded more like I was choking. “See? Fatal. Let’s go.”
Vix leaned close to my ear. “Careful what you fake. Some of us see that as a challenge.”
I opened my mouth for another retort when Pierce appeared on my other side. Without warning, his hand slipped into mine, warm and firm, and I nearly jumped out of my skin at the contact.
“This way.” He tugged me forward, his grip leaving no room for argument.
Before I could protest or even think, Vix captured my other hand, sandwiching me between them like a very confused filling.
“What are you doing?” I tried to pull away, but they moved in unison, guiding me through the first row of trees.
“Preventing your escape.” Vix squeezed my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in a way that sent a completely unwelcome tingle up my arm.
Pierce’s posture remained rigid as a board, but his fingers interlocked with mine with startling intimacy. “Statistical analysis shows people are sixty-nine percent less likely to run when physical contact is maintained.”
“Did you make that up?” I tried to sound annoyed, but it came out more exasperated than anything as we moved deeper into the cut trees.
“I never fabricate statistics.” The corner of his mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly.
The scent grew stronger as we wound through the maze of trees. I held my breath, waiting for revulsion to set in, but instead fought against a strange tugging that felt like a hook had lodged behind my sternum.
“Close your eyes.” Vix’s voice dropped to a whisper that tickled my ear.
“Absolutely not.”
“Trust the process, North.” Pierce’s thumb traced a small circle on the back of my hand.
We stopped in what felt like the center of the lot, surrounded by trees of various heights, each filling the air with a crisp, wintry fragrance that felt jarringly, inexplicably familiar.
Pierce released my hand but stayed close enough that I could feel the heat coming off him. “Now find the one that calls to you.”
“Trees don’t talk.” I wrapped my arms around my torso, annoyed to realize I already missed the warmth of their hands.
Vix chuckled, the sound low and warm in the cool evening air. “Maybe you’re not listening right.”
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly gave myself a headache. “Fine. I’ll play your little wintry scavenger hunt game.”