Chapter 3
SYLVIE
The old pickup truck rumbled down the farm road like a dying dinosaur. Every pothole sent vibrations through the cab that rattled my teeth and made me grateful I’d strapped my coffee mug into the cupholder.
Brom looked all cool and casual with one hand on the wheel and his old Stanley in the other. And I meant old Stanley. Not the trendy kind with a straw. The thermos had to be at least thirty years old. It was dented and ugly as hell but it was a thing in the family.
“This is it,” I said, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my voice despite the nervous butterflies doing aerial acrobatics in my stomach. “Opening day. The first day of Christmas season.”
Brom glanced over at me. I could see the same mixture of hope and worry in his eyes that I felt churning in my chest. “Remember when we were kids and Dad would let us ride down here to open the gate?”
I smiled at the memory. “We’d be so excited we could barely contain ourselves. And there would be this line of cars…”
“All the way down the road,” Brom finished, his voice soft with nostalgia. “People would start lining up at dawn just to make sure they got the perfect tree.”
Those had been magical times. I could still remember the thrill of hopping out of Dad’s truck and running ahead to unlock the big wooden gate that marked the entrance to our Christmas tree farm.
The anticipation in the air had been electric.
There would be families bundled up in winter coats, kids pressing their faces against car windows, everyone chattering excitedly about finding their perfect Fraser fir or Douglas fir or Noble fir.
The truck hit another pothole, this one deep enough that I was pretty sure we temporarily went airborne. I winced as something in the engine made a sound that gave some cause for concern.
“Damn road’s falling apart,” Brom muttered, wrestling with the steering wheel. “I need to get these holes fixed before someone breaks an axle.”
With what money? I thought but kept the words to myself. We both knew the answer to that question, and it wasn’t a cheerful one.
As we rounded the final bend, the gate came into view, and my heart did a little skip when I saw the cars waiting there. Not as many as there used to be—not even close—but cars, nonetheless. I counted quickly under my breath.
Six. Six cars waiting for us to open.
Fifteen years ago, there would have been fifty cars lined up by now, maybe more. The farm road would have been packed bumper to bumper with families eager to start their Christmas traditions. Now we had six.
But six was better than zero, I reminded myself firmly. Six families who still believed in the magic of choosing their own tree, who still wanted to create memories instead of just grabbing an artificial tree from the nearest big box store.
“Six isn’t bad,” Brom said, as if reading my thoughts. “It’s early yet. More will come.”
I nodded, clinging to his optimism even though we both knew that opening day numbers were usually a pretty good indicator of how the rest of the season would go. Still, there was no point in shouldering tomorrow’s troubles today. We had work to do.
Brom pulled the truck to a stop near the gate. I hopped out and hurried over to the heavy wooden gate that had marked the entrance to our farm for as long as I had been alive.
“Ready?” I called to Brom as he climbed out of the truck, his work boots crunching on the gravel.
“Let’s do this thing,” he replied, grabbing his end of the gate.
Together, we swung it wide open. The hinges creaked in the cold air. Immediately, the waiting cars began to move forward, and I waved them through with as much Christmas cheer as I could muster.
“Welcome to Northwood Christmas Tree Farm!” I called out to the first car, a minivan packed with what looked like three generations of family members. “Merry Christmas!”
The driver, a woman about my age with tired but happy eyes, rolled down her window and smiled. “Thank you! We’ve been coming here for years. Wouldn’t think of getting our tree anywhere else.”
That comment sent a warm glow through my chest. These were our people, the families who understood what we were all about, who valued tradition and connection over convenience.
Normally, I would have been directing all these vehicles to designated parking spots scattered throughout the farm property, making sure nobody got boxed in and everyone had clear access to load their chosen trees onto their cars.
We had a whole system worked out, with numbered spots and traffic flow patterns that kept everything moving smoothly even when we were packed to capacity.
Now, with only six cars, parking was significantly less complicated.
I followed the small convoy up toward the main area of the tree farm, where rows upon rows of evergreens stretched out across the rolling hills.
The trees stood like green soldiers at attention, their branches heavy with snow from last night’s dusting.
Even with all my worries about the business, I couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride at the sight.
Whatever else was happening, we still grew some of the most beautiful Christmas trees in the state.
I might have been a little biased.
A couple of kids from the first car immediately took off running through the trees the moment their parents let them out, their delighted shrieks echoing across the property.
Their joy was infectious. I found myself grinning as I watched them dart between the Fraser firs, probably trying to find the tallest tree in the entire lot.
I made my way up to the small, heated structure that served as our payment booth and customer service center.
It wasn’t much to look at, basically a glorified shed with a space heater, a cash register, and a coffee pot that had seen better days.
It worked, though, and it had done so for decades.
It was warm and functional, which was about all we could afford these days.
“Morning, boss lady,” came a cheerful voice from behind me. I turned to see Ozzo loping up the hill with his characteristic easy grin.
Ozzo was our part-time employee, a twenty-year-old local kid who was built like a linebacker and had roughly the same intellectual capacity as a golden retriever.
What he lacked in brains, though, he made up for in enthusiasm and pure physical strength.
And he was an absolute sweetheart. The epitome of a gentle giant.
When it came to wrestling eight-foot Fraser firs onto the tops of cars, Ozzo was worth his weight in gold.
“Hey, Ozzo,” I said, unlocking the booth and flipping on the lights. “Ready for opening day?”
“Yep!”
I spent the next hour helping our early customers select their trees, walking through the rows with families as they debated the merits of different varieties and sizes. A Noble fir versus a Fraser fir. Seven feet versus eight feet. Full and bushy versus more open branching for larger ornaments.
These were the conversations I lived for, the moments when I could share my knowledge and passion for these trees that had been my life’s work.
Each family had their own traditions and their own requirements.
And all of them had their own vision of what their perfect Christmas tree should look like.
The elderly couple from the second car wanted something smaller and easier to handle, so I showed them some beautiful five-foot Douglas firs that would fit perfectly in their living room.
The family with the running kids needed something tall and dramatic, so we walked through the eight and nine-foot Fraser firs until they found one that made all three children gasp with delight.
Ozzo was in his element, hoisting trees onto his shoulder like they weighed nothing and helping customers secure them to their cars with an efficiency that never failed to impress me. He might not be the sharpest axe in the shed, but when it came to Christmas tree logistics, the guy was a pro.
I was helping a young couple choose between two nearly identical Noble firs when movement caught my eye at the entrance to the farm. Another car was coming up the road, but this one was different from our usual clientele.
For one thing, it wasn’t a truck, SUV, or minivan.
Those were the practical vehicles that most people drove when they planned to haul home a Christmas tree.
This was a sleek, glossy black sedan that looked like it had just rolled off a luxury car lot.
The kind of car that probably cost more than most people in Northwood made in a year.
“That’s not exactly tree-hauling transportation,” I murmured to myself.
The sedan navigated carefully around the potholes that had been giving Brom’s truck such trouble. Then it pulled into the makeshift parking area and came to a stop. The driver’s door opened, and a man stepped out.
I audibly gasped. Who on God’s green earth was that?
The man was tall—probably six-two or six-three—with dark hair and the kind of sharp, angular features that belonged on magazine covers or movie screens.
He was dressed like he’d stepped out of some high-end fashion catalog.
I wasn’t even aware men actually dressed like that.
He had on a long charcoal peacoat, perfectly tailored slacks, and shiny dress shoes so polished they reflected the sun.
The dark sunglasses seemed like they were designer, but I couldn’t say for certain.
He stood next to his car for a moment, looking around the tree farm with an expression I couldn’t quite read. Not exactly disapproval, but definitely assessment. Like he was cataloguing everything he saw and finding it somehow lacking.
“Close your fly trap, Northwood,” Ozzo said in an amused voice right next to my ear.
I realized I’d been standing there staring with my mouth hanging open like I’d never seen an attractive man before in my life.
I had, but none like him. He was legit billboard worthy.
Why in the world was he at our tree farm? There was getting lost and then there was getting lost. He would have had to take a lot of wrong turns to end up here.
“Shut up,” I muttered to Ozzo, snapping my mouth closed and giving him a shove that barely budged his solid frame. “I was just… he doesn’t look like our usual customers.”
“Uh huh,” Ozzo said, his grin widening. “Want me to go help him, or are you gonna keep staring at him like he’s the last piece of chocolate cake?”
I felt heat rise in my cheeks, which was ridiculous.
I was a professional businesswoman running a family enterprise, not some teenager at her first dance.
So what if the man was devastatingly handsome?
So what if he carried himself with the kind of confidence that suggested he was used to getting whatever he wanted?
So what if something about him made my pulse quicken so fast I could feel it in my neck?
None of that mattered. What mattered was that he was a potential customer, and based on his appearance, he was a potential customer with serious money to spend.
This could be exactly the kind of break we needed.
If he liked what we had going on here, he could tell his friends and maybe they would show up too.
“I’ll handle it,” I told Ozzo, straightening my shoulders and putting on my best customer service smile. “He looks like he could afford every tree on the lot. Maybe he owns a hotel nearby and wants trees for every room.”
The fantasy was already spinning in my head as I started walking toward the newcomer.
Maybe he was some big shot developer who was planning to open a luxury resort in the area.
Maybe he needed dozens of trees for some elaborate holiday display.
Maybe he was exactly the kind of high-spending customer who could single-handedly turn our season around.
I could already picture myself going up to the lodge tonight and telling my parents that we’d landed a major client on opening day.
I could imagine the relief and pride in their eyes when I explained how this mysterious stranger had placed an order that would cover our operating expenses for the next month.
It was probably too good to be true, but a girl could dream, right?
I was about halfway to the man when he turned and looked directly at me. My steps faltered slightly. Up close, he was even more striking than he’d appeared from a distance. He pushed his sunglasses up on his head and turned his eyes on me.
Oh crap. I looked down to see what I was wearing.
A faded hoodie with Northwood Tree Farm on the back.
Worn jeans. My snow boots. My hair. I groaned.
My hair was in my version of a messy bun that was nowhere near cute and stylish.
It was just messy. I had put on mascara and nothing else.
It wasn’t like I planned on meeting Mr. Tall, Dark, and Gorgeous.
I would have put in a little more effort.
It was what it was. I put on my best saleswoman smile and walked toward him.