Chapter 12
JORDAN
By the time we pull into the lot, the snowfall’s gone from gentle to persistent, swirling in every direction like we’re in a snow globe that someone shook too hard.
The thick, steady flakes blur the windshield and dust the rows of lamp posts lining the driveway.
I slow the truck and glance over at Ginger.
She’s staring out the windshield, her brows slightly raised.
“Okay,” she says, leaning forward. “This is not what I expected.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“I guess we’ll have to wait and see, but I’m definitely intrigued.”
I park near the hand-carved welcome sign that reads “Welcome to Frostbloom Tree Farm” in large, red block letters.
She gets out first, boots crunching in the snow-packed gravel.
I shove a black beanie on my head before I round the front of the truck.
She looks around, taking in the winding paths and the golden glow cast by the lamp posts.
The air is sharp and cold against my face as I breathe in the scent of pine and woodsmoke.
I hear soft bells jingling from somewhere nearby.
We haven’t even stepped through the entrance yet, and we’re already being enveloped by Christmas spirit.
Ginger pauses. “Time for my hat and gloves.” She tugs the items from her pockets and puts each on.
“Let’s get you bundled up.” I grab each end of her scarf, carefully winding the knitted length around her neck. “There you go.” Before I release my hold, I fight the overwhelming urge to tug her closer and finally taste her lips.
She smiles up at me softly. “Thank you.”
“Can’t have you freezing out here.”
We head toward the check-in kiosk, which looks like a small gingerbread house. The woman inside greets us warmly and gives each of us a cup of mulled cider.
Instead of one large field of trees, Frostbloom Farm is broken into winding paths that meander through the forest like a winter maze. Each path is lit by solar lanterns, and helpful signs point in various directions:
FIRST TIME BUYERS
SYMMETRY SEEKERS
TALL, DARK, AND PINESOME
KID-SIZED
BLIND DATE WITH A TREE
IMPERFECTLY PERFECT
SO UGLY ONLY JESUS COULD LOVE THEM
A large chalkboard has instructions for us to follow:
Pick a trail.
Follow the signs.
Find your tree and ring the bell.
We’ll take care of the rest.
Ginger glances at me with wide eyes. “This is like a tree farm version of a corn maze.”
I nod. “I heard one of my employees talking about it, and I looked it up. The farm’s been in the same family for fifty years, but they made it into more of an experience a couple of years ago. Hopefully, no zombies are waiting to jump out at us.”
She laughs. “Someone needs to get right on that idea. The Murder and Mistletoe Tree Farm. The employees who cut down the tree can be dressed as chainsaw-wielding zombies.”
“Sounds like a liability nightmare,” I say.
She sighs. “Okay, maybe it’s not the best idea.”
“Not unless you want to give kids nightmares for the rest of their lives.” I sip on my cider, allowing her time to decide on a route.
“Why am I having such a hard time making up my mind? This isn’t a life or death situation.”
“When do you ever make hasty decisions, G?”
Her head snaps my way. “How do you know that about me?”
“We’ve been friends forever.”
“Yeah, but we haven’t been close friends… until recently.”
If she only knew how well I see her. How I’ve always seen her, even when I wasn’t supposed to be looking.
I shrug. “I’m an observant fucker.”
She gives a quick nod. “Apparently.”
“Which tree route are you thinking of picking?”
“Well, Blind Date With a Tree has me curious. Is it all wrapped up, and you take whatever you get?”
“Probably. I don’t know if that’s the best choice for you.”
Her eyebrows lower. “What do you mean?”
“You’re a planner, not a leave-something-up-to-chance kind of woman.”
Her eyebrows drop even lower as she looks at me through narrowed slits. “You’re being freakishly astute. Who are you, and where is my fun-loving friend?”
Her question makes me laugh, but at the same time, it’s like a thorn pricking my heart painfully. Is my jokester side the only part of me she sees?
“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,” I say.
Her head tilts as she studies me. “I’m beginning to realize that.”
Ginger finally decides on the Imperfectly Perfect option.
“It seems fitting,” she says, grinning.
“For which of us?”
Her grin widens. “I guess you’ll have to figure that out.”
“We need one of these,” I say, taking a bell from a large basket.
We start following the trail, cider warming our hands while snow whirls around us. The path twists through clusters of pines heavily dusted with white, each one different in stature. Some are tall and thin, some are short and wide, and some are much too big for Ginger’s cottage.
She runs a gloved hand over a branch, dislodging snowflakes. “I love that they’re not perfect. You can tell they’re real.”
“That’s because nothing in nature is naturally perfect. Even beautiful things have flaws.” I glance at her. “Well… you might be the one exception.”
She rolls her eyes and says, “Smooth.” But there’s a smile tugging at her mouth.
I’m not kidding.
We wander around for a while, and when it seems like Ginger might never find what she’s looking for, she stops and studies one particular tree. Medium in size, it’s fuller on one side than the other.
“This is the one,” she declares. “It’s got personality.”
I nod. “And a slight lean like it’s had too much spiked eggnog.”
She laughs. “Then it’ll fit right in with Pops.”
“You sure this is it?”
“Positive. The leaner side can go against the wall, and no one will even know. Give that bell a ring.”
I shake it, and the sound peals out through the evening air. Somewhere in the distance, we hear someone call out,” I got it.”
Ginger beams at me. “Mission accomplished.” She raises her cup and takes a sip of cider.
“Do you think Pops is gonna like it?”
“I hope he will, but he doesn’t have a choice. We could’ve put up the fake tree we used the last couple of years, but he wanted a real one.”
We hear the sound of snow crunching before a brawny young man joins us. “Which tree did you choose?”
Ginger touches a branch. “This beauty.”
He hands her a ticket. “Follow the signs to the red barn, and they’ll ring you up.”
She smiles. “Thank you.”
He smiles back a little too eagerly. “No problem. Enjoy your night.”
“We will.” I place my hand on her back, guiding her away.
As we follow the trail toward the front, we see parents with small children skipping about, and hand-holding couples moving at a leisurely pace.
For a moment, I’m envious of what they have.
If Ginger and I were in a relationship, I’d have snuck in some kisses during the tree search.
And when we got home, I’d strip off her clothes and use our combined body heat in all sorts of inventive ways to warm her up.
“Okay, this is the best tree farm I’ve been to,” she states, interrupting my thoughts. “It’s officially my favorite.” She tosses her cup in the trash barrel on the side of the path.
“Good. I’m glad I didn’t pick a dud,” I say, dropping mine in also.
She laughs. “Even if you had, it still would’ve been fun.”
I aim a skeptical glance at her. “You think so?”
She nods. “I know so. You’re someone who makes everything more enjoyable. I don’t want to say you’re the life of the party, because that sounds so trite and shallow, but you have this natural way of setting others at ease and engaging them. It’s a wonderful quality to have.”
“Thank you, but I think you’re giving me more credit than I deserve. Most of the time I’m entertaining myself.”
She sends me a dubious side-eye. “Don’t downplay my compliment. I’ve known you my entire life, Jordan Thorne. If you think I don’t know who you are by now, you’re an idiot.”
I laugh. “I’m an idiot, for sure, but not for that reason.” I’m an idiot for not appreciating what’s been right in front of me all these years. And for wasting time sleeping with other women when we could’ve been together.
We keep walking, our breath expelling in small white puffs and our boots crunching over snow dotted with pine needles. We hear an occasional bell ring as trees get chosen.
“This place is kind of magical,” she says. “It looks like it’s straight out of a fairy tale.”
I drag in a breath through my nose, taking in the scents of pine, fresh air, and fire. “It smells like it too.”
“Mhmm.” She inhales long and slow. “I may not love winter, but I love how it smells. Of course, I won’t be appreciating the fresh, crisp air when I’m shoveling my car out at three in the morning.”
“Yeah, that’s gotta be a shitty way to start your day.”
“It’s not a big deal. A small price to pay for the beauty we have all around us.”
“That’s true. I can’t imagine living anywhere else. We have the best of everything—all four seasons, beaches, and mountains nearby. What more can we ask for?”
“A mild winter?” She laughs.
“That goes without saying.”
As we reach the end of the trail, we come to an archway wrapped in garland and colored lights. Across the top is a sign that reads: Stop Here & Share A Mistletoe Moment.
She looks up. “Oh, come on.”
I follow her gaze to the large sprig of mistletoe, tied with a red ribbon and hanging just overhead. My heart thuds as the distance between us turns electric.
She glances at me, a spark of mischief in her eyes, but there’s also something more lingering underneath. “So… what’s it going to be this time? Nose? Elbow?”
I step closer. “I don’t think I’ve got it in me to be funny right now.”
That catches her off guard. She stills, eyes searching mine.
“I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time, Ginger.”
Her breath hitches. Just barely, but I hear it. I feel it. And then I kiss her.
Not the quick, teasing kind. Not a forehead kiss or a joke. Her lips are soft and warm and steady beneath mine. I pour all the emotion and every unsaid thing into this kiss. This moment has been building for years.
Her gloved hand finds my chest, fingers curling around my jacket like she needs something to hold on to. When she leans into me, it feels undeniable, like it was always supposed to be this way.
When we finally part, she pulls her scarf up a little higher, like she’s trying to hide her smile. But there’s no shielding her flushed cheeks and wide eyes.
“Well,” she says breathlessly. “That was worth the wait.”
I rest my forehead against hers, smiling. “Yeah. It really was.”