Chapter 32
“It’s really nice of you, to give away trees every Christmas.
” I touch the snow-heavy branches of an evergreen as we walk the forested trail, heading to the tree farm area.
The other two stayed behind, as Beckett still had a couple of goats needing their hooves and nails trimmed.
Amelia offered to assist—which both surprised me and didn’t surprise me at all, knowing what I know—and so Liam and I headed out to find the perfect tree for the clinic.
“I imagine it’s a ton of work—the farm, the animals, your bakery. Not to mention the resources,” I add.
“I have plenty to go around,” Liam says, not in a bragging way but matter-of-fact.
His breath is visible in the wintry air, and he tugs his toque lower.
Despite the cold temperature, it’s beautiful out—the sky a cloudless robin’s-egg blue.
“I never expected the app to have the trajectory it did, but I’m glad I can make the most of it. ”
“I’ve been meaning to ask about this app. You mentioned it was health care–related. Would I know it?”
“It’s called PILLS: Patient Interaction Life-Saving Log System,” Liam says. “It tracks medications and drug interactions, but in a highly personalized way.”
I stop in my tracks. “Of course I know it! It’s a mainstay in the emergency room.
I can’t believe you created PILLS.” I’ve used it many times when prescribing medications and have suggested most patients sign up for the service.
It’s free, user-friendly, and adds an extra layer of safety for both patients and medical teams.
“I did,” he says, again with zero ego. “I have Jaclyn to thank for the idea, actually. Her brother almost died from a drug interaction that was avoidable—human error.”
“That app has changed a lot of people’s lives, Liam,” I reply. “You must be really proud to have created something like that.”
“I am proud of it. It changed my life, too, in a lot of ways,” Liam says. “Some people, Jaclyn included, at least at first, couldn’t understand when I opted out of development after PILLS. I did a complete one-eighty, coming here and starting the rescue and the bakery.”
Our boots crunch through the crystallized layer of ice covering the snow. Otherwise, it’s a serene walk, only the occasional chirp of a songbird breaking the quiet. “I never wanted to chase more in that space, because it already felt like I had enough.”
“Success, you mean?”
Liam nods. “Money, too. I’m not all that motivated by a flush bank account, to be honest. Though I know it’s probably easy to say it doesn’t motivate you when you have enough of it.”
He steps slightly ahead of me and, with the hand not carrying the saw, holds back one of the branches so it doesn’t hit me.
“Thanks,” I reply, thinking again of Amelia’s term sans défaut . Liam Young certainly seems without flaw, which both awes me and gives me pause. I have plenty of quirks—okay, flaws—and I’m unsure if Liam’s the real deal or simply too good to be true.
“I learned from my parents the value of giving back, especially into a community you’ve made your home. Like Harmony Hills, for me.”
My throat catches. I think about the differences between Liam and Austin—it’s becoming impossible not to.
Austin, who always wanted more, who was restless in ways I didn’t understand at first. Liam, on the other hand, craves stability, a home, a family.
And then there’s me. Someone who’s lived stability but never fully appreciated it; someone who longed for the energy of somewhere “bigger.” I realize I’ve been chasing more, too, without understanding what I already have.
“I know you get it,” Liam adds. “Growing up here, with your parents running the clinic. You’ve seen that firsthand.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. Everything feels so raw—so close to the surface. I used to pride myself on my steadiness, thinking it was a superpower, especially because of the work I do. Now I’m not so sure.
“Welcome to the land of Christmas trees,” Liam says as we step into a small clearing.
In front of us are rows of evergreens, in various stages of growth.
Some short and round, not yet ready to grace living rooms with holiday cheer; others tall and majestic, with plenty of strong branches to string lights or hang ornaments from.
“This is incredible, Liam. Did you plant all these?”
“Not quite,” he says, smiling in a kind but amused way that reminds me I know nothing about keeping a Christmas tree farm.
“The property already had a tree farm when I bought it. But it was about half this. So yeah, I did a lot of planting.” He points to rows of puny, stubby evergreens. “See all those little trees over there?”
I nod.
“Those I planted. But the rest have been growing for quite a while. It takes about eight years for a tree to grow to six or seven feet, from a sapling,” he says.
“Really? I had no idea.” I point to the taller trees, some which are well above Liam’s head—and he’s over six feet. “How old are those ones, do you think?”
“I’d say at least ten years.”
My expression shifts to one that is overly dramatic and pained. “Is it weird that I feel bad cutting down a tree that has spent ten years growing? Just to throw some ornaments and tinsel onto it, then send it to the curb for chipping?”
“Not weird at all—that’s just a healthy respect for nature,” Liam replies. “But does it help to think of it as the tree’s purpose? These were all grown to become Christmas trees. To bring happiness to whoever chooses, decorates, and enjoys them for the season.”
“Yeah, that helps. A bit,” I reply, smiling.
Liam smiles, too, his cheeks and nose reddened from the cold.
His green eyes are so vibrant, matching the colour of the evergreen boughs, and I’m soon upended by our closeness.
By the intoxicating scent of cedar and cloves that I’ve come to associate with Liam.
My heart races, heat rising in my centre.
I’m only an arm’s length away from him, and then, without planning it, move closer. I inhale deeply, gathering courage…
My phone rings. It’s loud, and both Liam and I glance at my coat pocket, where the incessant ringing comes from. “Sorry about this.” I fumble with the phone, hitting the side button to stop the ringing.
“Not at all. Do you need to take it?”
“Let me just check. In case it’s about Mom.” With a quick glance at the screen, my stomach drops. It’s not my parents, it’s Austin, and he’s leaving a voicemail. Thanks, Universe — message received , I think. Followed by, Seriously, Libby, what are you doing?
“Everything okay?” Liam asks. I’m still looking at my screen, frowning.
Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I say, “Everything’s fine.”
“So… ready to choose a tree?” He turns away from me and back towards the rows of trees. “Thinking a seven-footer, maybe?”
“Sounds good,” I reply, still lost in the whiplash of the preceding moments.
“Follow me,” he says with a wave of his hand. “I think I know the perfect tree.”
Liam stops in front of a tall, cone-shaped blue spruce. He grabs hold of one of the hardy boughs and gives it a shake; snow tumbles from the branches. “What do you think?”
“Sans défaut,” I say, in a quite terrible French accent. “It’s flawless.”
“My feelings exactly.” He crouches, resting his elbows on his knees as he looks up at me—his expression is hard to read. I wonder if, like me, he’s thinking about more than the evergreen.
“Are you ready to fulfill your Christmas tree destiny?” Liam asks the tree, before looking my way again, dimples fully engaged with his grin. My knees wobble, and I almost have to sit down right there in the snow.
“The tree says it’s ready. How about you?” Liam hands me the saw, and I take it, nodding. “Ready,” I reply.
We position it against the trunk, him taking one side of the saw with his good hand, me the other.
We’re both crouched now at the base of the tree, and the spruce needles tickle my face as we take turns pushing and pulling the saw.
The teeth bite into the bark, then the pulp of the tree.
Soon I’m sweating, and have to take off my coat.
“I forgot how much work this is!” It has been years since I felled a Christmas tree.
The last time I remember joining my parents was when I was thirteen or so.
After that, I always seemed to have something better to do.
Studying. Hanging with Claire. I wish I’d continued the tradition, and I decide from now on I’ll cut down my own tree—no matter where I live or what I’m doing.
We’re making good progress until the saw gets stuck midway through the trunk. It won’t budge. “It’s really jammed,” I say. Liam pushes, then pulls, but the saw remains embedded.
“Sure is,” he replies, strain in his voice as he tries to free it. I hold the saw tightly, and tug on it with everything I have.
“Any give at all?” I ask, grunting with the effort. I’m also sweating profusely now, but it feels good using my muscles like this.
“Let’s get on the same side, see if we can’t pull it out.” Liam and I each grab hold of the long end of the saw, the blade facing away from us. “On three, okay? One, two, three!”
There’s resistance and then suddenly, the two of us tumble backwards into the snow.
“You okay?” Liam asks, sitting beside me, still holding the saw.
I nod. “You?”
He nods before carefully setting the saw to the side. Then he starts laughing. “I saw this going much differently in my head.”
“Same,” I reply, laughing as well. “Personally, I imagined less sweat. Definitely less sweat.”
Liam’s hand reaches out, and I’m nearly breathless when his fingers touch my cheek. “You’ve got something… here.”
He gently removes a spruce twig from my hair, and I mumble “thanks,” because it’s the best I can do, with him this close, and the feel of his fingers against my skin. My eyes meet his, and my mind empties. Then he leans towards me, hand on the side of my face, and—
“Liam, I can’t do this.” It comes out quickly, in one strangled breath.
For a moment neither of us moves, then Liam drops his hand to his side. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. It’s just… it’s complicated.” I stand quickly and start brushing snow from my jeans. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Clearly, I’m not thinking. Or thinking too much.” I say this last part more quietly, mostly to myself.
Liam stands as well. “Libby, it was presumptuous of me…” He frowns. Seems frustrated, though I understand it’s not with me. “ I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.”
“Liam, it’s not you.” I take a deep breath, steeling myself. “I think I misled you, before, even though I didn’t mean to. Austin—my, uh, well, to be honest, he’s pretty much my ex -boyfriend—we’re not technically broken up, but we’re also not together right now.”
“I thought you said you broke up,” he says, tilting his head slightly.
“I did say that,” I reply, swallowing hard. “It’s more like we’re on a break.”
“A break?” Liam’s brow furrows.
“Things have been fairly confusing lately.” To put it mildly. “It’s over, at least for me. I just haven’t had the chance to talk to him about it. With the holidays and everything.”
I’m finding it hard to get a full breath in, the relentless panicky feeling settling across my chest. What a mess I’ve made of this. “I should have been more up-front with you. If only you knew how”— If you only knew how badly I want to kiss you —“how very sorry I am.”
“Hey, it’s okay, Libby. You don’t owe me an explanation.” Liam sets a hand on my arm, gives it a gentle squeeze. But now there’s an aloof vibe coming off of him, and he doesn’t let his hand linger. “Besides, you have to go back home soon.”
“Yeah… home.” I could cry, because I’m as confused as ever. I’m no longer sure where home is.
Liam gestures to our half-cut-down tree. “We should probably get back to it, eh? Before Becks and Amelia drink all the hot chocolate without us.”
His words hang in the air like a lifeline, diffusing the tension. I smile back, somewhat shakily, and nod. “Wouldn’t want to miss out.”
The saw glides smoothly this time. Liam gives it one final push, and the evergreen tilts, teetering for a moment before it falls gracefully into the snow. We both stand, admiring our work.
“You’re welcome to submit a résumé anytime,” Liam says, seeming more like himself now. “We can always use a Christmas tree lumberjack at Clover Hill Farm.”
“Hmm. I’ll keep that in mind,” I reply, imagining what it would be like to stay put—to call Harmony Hills home once more. If only it could be that simple.
By the time we reach the farmhouse, Beckett and Amelia are on the porch, steaming mugs of hot chocolate in hand.
“Nice tree,” Beckett says, and then Amelia adds, “Was beginning to wonder if we needed to send out a search party,” with a subtle rise of her eyebrow that I know is meant for me.
“The tree took some coaxing,” Liam replies, brushing snow from his gloves. “But it was well worth it—it’s flawless.”
“Sans défaut,” I say, but I don’t think he hears it.