Chapter 5
brIAR
Guilt crowds my stomach as my parents lead us inside. Excitement too because it’s cool hanging with Dawson even if this wasn’t at all how I envisioned this holiday. He’s so kind, easy-going, and accommodating in a way that few of my boyfriends ever were.
Dawson is wide-eyed, taking it all in, like the large fireplace in the living room. The ground floor is open plan now. It didn’t use to look like this when I was a kid, but my parents have renovated in the last ten years, and I’ll admit it’s modern while still being cozy.
“How about we set our bags in my room and then I’ll show you around?”
“Sounds good.” He follows me upstairs and down the hallway.
“My parents’ room is downstairs,” I tell him, trying to distract myself from my nerves before opening the door and letting him see my childhood room. Though it’s been upgraded to more of a guest space, my parents kept my trophies and books and other childhood favorites that now seem a bit juvenile.
“This is great,” Dawson says as he takes in the space, and it helps me relax.
“What—the small bed or the plastic ice-fishing trophy?” I tease.
“Oooh, ice-fishing?”
I smile at his enthusiasm. “I’m convinced you’d be excited over any small-town references.”
“Maybe.” He runs his fingers over my framed high school diploma. “I like that it hints at what your childhood was like.”
“Minus feeling out of sorts as one of the only gay kids in town, this was a nice area to grow up. My parents are awesome. Was your childhood that different?”
“Besides the large versus small city?” he asks, and I nod.
“My parents were always attending galas, traveling, and pretty much leaving us to fend for ourselves. Don’t get me wrong, we weren’t neglected and always had everything we needed, but you seem so much closer with your parents than I ever was. ”
I wave a hand. “The grass is always greener and all that because truth be told, I felt a bit isolated here—suffocated too. Like I said, it’s why I chose Boston.”
Dawson glances out the window toward the back of our property, where tree saplings and the base of the mountain are in clear view. “I can understand that.”
I show him more of my trophies earned mainly from town fairs for stuff like apple-bobbing and pie-eating contests.
Dawson seems even more enchanted, so I chalk it up to him watching his fair share of Hallmark movies.
We ignore the bed issue—at least it’s not a single—and head back downstairs, where my mom has set out cheese and crackers and freshly baked cookies to tide us over until dinner. “Thought you might be hungry.”
“Thank you,” Dawson replies, reaching for a plate and digging right in. Outside of his nerves in the car, his enthusiasm is catching. His resiliency too for finding comfort in situations he’s unfamiliar with. There’s a lot to learn from his outlook on life.
I pop a chunk of cheddar in my mouth. “Dad headed back to work?”
“Of course.” She winks. “And don’t worry, you don’t have to help—not with a guest in town.”
“I’d love to see the business,” Dawson says around a hearty bite of a cookie. “I’m fine to head over there.”
I meet Mom’s eyes, and there’s a twinkle there because she’s enjoying this—me bringing a guy home. We retrieve our coats, and I hand Dawson a pair of waterproof boots to slide into. “We always keep extra pairs.”
He blinks a few times like he’s trying to take it all in. “Thanks.”
Outside the wind has picked up, so I adjust my hat over my ears and turn toward our snowmobiles stored on the side of the house.
“You two go ahead,” Mom says, zipping her coat to her chin. “I feel like a walk.”
“I don’t mind walking either,” Dawson says, throwing me a pointed look.
“Are you sure?” I mouth, and he nods vigorously.
Dawson takes a step back. “Please, lead the way.”
“Will do,” Mom and I say in unison, and I bark out a laugh.
Dawson grins. “My brother and I do that all the time.”
I try to envision the two of them as kids, finishing each other’s sentences or getting on each other’s nerves, but it’s hard.
“Brother?” Mom inquires.
I throw him a quick glance. “Uh, Dawson has a twin named Nathan.”
“How lovely.” She glances at me. “Can you tell them apart?”
“Oh God, definitely,” I blurt, then clear my throat because my response was way too telling.
“I keep my hair a bit longer than my brother’s,” Dawson thankfully interjects. “Our personalities are different too. He’s all corporate whereas I own a small beverage business in town. It’s called Sip and Savor.”
Mom’s cheeks are rosy as she grins. “Is that how you met?”
“Yes,” I reply, “it’s down the street from my office building.” Glad we had this conversation in the car, seeing as it’s coming alive now. “His lattes and smoothies are the best. The wraps too.”
“We’ll have to try them our next visit to Boston.”
“Yes, ma’am…I mean, Donna.”
Blooming Acres is located just beyond a row of tall pines that borders the fields where we grow berries and flowers in the warmer months and harvest trees for the holiday season.
Besides the rows of pines for sale, there’s a storefront that sells anything from gardening supplies to seasonal decorations.
Space on the gravel driveway is limited, so cars are parked anywhere the customers can find a spot.
“Wow, this place is hopping,” Dawson says as we wind around a line of cars parked in uneven rows.
“Yeah, the week before Christmas is a bit chaotic.”
“But we love it because it keeps us busy—and afloat.” Mom pats his shoulder, then makes a beeline for the store, no doubt to step behind the counter and help our staff.
I point out our pines for sale and explain how we get them ready for transport once the customer decides which they want.
“Do you grow all these trees on your property?”
“Most, yes. For every tree we sell, a new one is planted.”
His eyes grow wide. “That’s amazing.”
Or to use his word, magical? Yeah, maybe it is. Been so long since I thought about it.
“Grab some work gloves, boys,” Dad says from behind us. “Some families need help choosing their trees.”
I wince even though I’m not surprised. Dad can be very business oriented during peak times. “Do you mind?” I ask Dawson. “I can just—”
“I told you, I’d love to help.”
Donning our gloves, we head toward the rows of trees for sale, and Dawson listens as I describe the different options to a family of four. “This one is a Fraser. It’s a bit pricier, but the branches are sturdier, so needles won’t fall off as fast.”
Dawson follows one of the sons to another tree nearby he seems intent on.
“And that one is a balsam, which will give off that strong pine smell people love. The branches are more flexible for hanging ornaments.”
Once they make their decision, I direct them to pull their car up front. Dawson helps me carry the tree to our barn, where we wrap it with netting and twine. “Wow, you’re good at this.”
I grin. “Years of practice.”
We tag the tree with the family’s name, hand it off to one of our seasonal workers herding the line of cars, and head back to help another family.
Dawson seems to revel in chatting with the folks, and I suppose that’s true of him in his shop in Boston as well.
He’s so personable, he’d likely fit in well anywhere. Except maybe the corporate world.
Turning toward a slew of new customers, I freeze. “Oh shit.”
“What’s wrong?” Dawson asks as he looks in the direction of two men heading our way.
“That’s Mark with his husband.” Mark looks virtually the same with his dark hair and freckles dotting his nose and cheeks. His husband is fair skinned and handsome.
“At least you’re getting it over with early,” Dawson mutters as they approach.
Mark stops in front of us, seeming speechless before forcing out, “Briar, hey.”
“Hey there…long time no see.” I glance toward his husband, who offers a tight smile. “Um, you here to pick out your tree?”
“Yep. Helped Mom a few weeks ago, and we’re finally getting around to putting ours up.” He rubs his hands together, maybe from the cold or to give himself something to do. “Though it feels a bit late.”
“It’s never too late,” Dawson interjects, and just like that I snap out of my daze. I straighten my shoulders and look Mark in the eye with as much confidence as I can muster.
“Oh, um, this is Michael,” Mark says, introducing his husband. I try not to notice how nicely dressed he is in his khakis and wool overcoat. Mark seems to have taken some cues from him with his expensive-looking hiking boots and fine-knit cap.
“Nice to…uh, meet you,” I stutter before turning to Dawson. “And this is my…Dawson.”
“His boyfriend.” Dawson winds his arm around my waist, and holy shit, this is actually happening. We’re pretending we’re together. Not that we weren’t with my parents, but this makes it feel more real. The proximity, his fingers gripping me right in front of Mark.
I notice Mark’s surprised expression, possibly because he wasn’t given the heads-up through the town gossip mill about my bringing anyone home. “So how is it—being back here?” I ask him.
“It’s really nice.” He gives his husband a meaningful glance, and it’s so intimate, I have to look away. I rub at the stitch of longing in my chest. Not for Mark, but for what Mark has.
“Are you from around here?” Dawson asks Michael, tightening his hold on my waist. If it were anyone else, I’d say it was a possessive move, but more likely he’s simply nervous.
“No, but not too far away—over in Harbor Springs.”
“Nice,” I reply, and after another uncomfortable beat, I say, “Well, got customers to help. I hope you find a good tree.”
“Thanks, see you around.” Mark looks relieved. “Probably at the tree lighting.”
“Yeah, probably.” Suppose it’s best we got this over with now so that maybe it won’t be so awkward in town at any of the pre-holiday festivities.
Dawson’s arm remains around me even after they’ve walked away.
“It’s okay, they can’t see us anymore.”
“Oh, sorry.” Dawson releases his hold and steps back, his cheeks pink.
I nudge his shoulder. “Good acting, though.”
“Eh, it wasn’t too grueling,” he teases.
My eyes spring to his, and he holds my gaze for entirely too long. My stomach feels funny, and I wonder if it’s because I liked being someone’s boyfriend for those five whole minutes. Probably has nothing to do with Dawson’s arm feeling so good around me, so natural.
Dawson glances over his shoulder. “How did it feel, seeing your ex?”
I blow out a breath. “Not sure. I thought it would be a bigger deal.”
He nods. “We build it up in our heads.”
“Speaking from experience?” I ask, suddenly very curious about his love life.
“Everyone has a first.” He smiles sadly. “Some people just aren’t a match, and that’s okay. We’ve all kissed our share of frogs.”
“Too many in my case,” I admit, and Dawson rolls his eyes.
He scoops up some snow and flings it at me. “Stop being so hard on yourself.”
“Now you’re asking for it.” When I respond in kind, he dodges my makeshift snowball.
“Still want that snowmobile ride?”
“Absolutely.”
I nod. “Let’s go after dinner.”