Chapter 2
BENJAMIN
I wipe the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand and lean against the truck bed, taking in the sight before me. Only a handful of trees remain standing, propped neatly against the gate—my last load of the season.
“Another sold-out year, Benjamin,” Harry drawls, sidling up beside me. His cane digs into the gravel as he leans on it, his beard whiter than I remember, like he’s been caught in a snow flurry and never bothered shaking it out. “Next year you’ll have to bring down at least a dozen more, I reckon.”
“Well, there are still a few left from this morning.” I gesture to the row of pines, their needles dusted with frost. “But that’s the last of what we’ve cut.”
“Those won’t last through the end of the day, and you know it.” His eyes twinkle. “I’m just grateful you managed to bring me more when the lot was near empty.”
“I’d have brought down extras, but we lost a fair number of saplings in that late storm last spring.
” I shrug, tucking my thumbs under my suspenders.
Truth is, I could’ve cut a few more, but the thought of them drying out and going to waste made my stomach knot.
Besides, I’m ready to settle into winter.
Harry’s gaze sweeps down Main Street, where the crowd thickens in the afternoon light. “Town’s grown, hasn’t it?”
I follow his gesture. The old brick storefronts are dressed to the nines—evergreen wreaths hanging from every lamppost, red velvet bows catching the breeze.
Strings of golden bulbs crisscross overhead, glowing even in daylight.
Ribbons of red, green, and gold spiral around the poles, and the sweet smell of roasted chestnuts mingles with the sharper scent of pine.
Children dart past with peppermint sticks in hand, parents juggling paper-wrapped gifts.
“It’s definitely grown,” I agree. Too much for my taste.
I’ve never had the itch for city life; this little town is bustling enough.
My heart pulls toward the quiet of the mountain—the stillness of the farm, the rhythm of work with my brother, Gran’s laughter at the dinner table, and my parents’ steady presence. That’s where I belong.
It would be better if we had a mate to warm the sheets.
“Seen any ladies of your fancy this year?” Harry’s smirk is mischievous as he nudges my ribs with his elbow. “Your younger brother had a flock of ’em trailing him last week. Could hardly load a tree without one of them batting their lashes at him.”
See, even old Harry has the right idea. Think of how happy Mom and Dad are.
I huff a laugh, shaking my head. “I’m not looking to settle down right now, if that’s what you’re asking. I’ve got enough responsibility on the farm without worrying about a gaggle of ladies and their whims.”
Still, my eyes betray me, sliding to a group of women emerging from the dress shop, arms laden with bags, their laughter ringing like sleigh bells down the street.
For just a flicker of a second, I imagine one of them waiting by the fire back home, pressing a mug of cocoa into my hands after a long day’s work.
The thought makes something ache low in my chest. But no—family comes first. Until things are steady, I can’t spare the luxury of chasing companionship.
The late snowstorms set us back, and with Dad’s broken leg, the farm has demanded more of my time than usual.
“You always were a serious one.” Harry gives a knowing smile. “Even as a boy. I remember your old man bringing you down to help sell trees. How’s he doing these days?”
My throat tightens, and I glance toward the snow-capped peaks.
Homesickness tugs hard, though I’ve only been gone a few hours.
“He’s doing fine. Fixing things around the house now that Nathan and I handle most of the tree work.
Even though the doctor told him to stay off that leg a few more weeks. Stubborn old man.”
Harry chuckles, then nods approvingly. “As he should. Man’s earned a break after all those years, but it’s hard to sit idle and do nothing. Makes the mind wander. Your whole family’s worked that farm as long as I can remember.”
“And you?” I counter. “You’ve run this lot and the general store since before I was born.”
His grin is wistful. “My kids took off, chased bigger dreams. City life, corporate life, all that noise. But me? The store keeps me sharp. Besides, I’ve got a good crew of young bucks to do the heavy lifting. Someone’s got to keep Main Street in business.”
I press a hand to my chest, rubbing absently at the dull ache there. I never dreamed of leaving the farm—never wanted to. One day I’d like a family of my own, but until then, my duty is clear: keep the farm alive, keep my people fed and safe. Anything else can wait.
“Benjamin?” Harry’s voice tugs me back.
“Sorry.” I straighten, squinting toward the sky. “Just a lot on my mind. Storm’s coming tomorrow. Small one, but they’re calling for a blizzard by the end of the week.”
Harry snorts, tapping his wrist. “Don’t need a forecast—these old bones tell me all I need to know.” His expression softens. “Why don’t you join me for a hot meal at the brewery? Roast and beer on the house. Long drive home, and you’ve earned it.”
I fish the keys from my pocket and slide the truck’s tailgate shut. “That’s kind, Harry, but I should head back.”
“Nonsense,” he replies, already ambling toward Main Street, cane clicking against the pavement. “It’s Christmas week, lad. You deserve a full belly and good company. Humor me—it’ll do us both some good.”
With a sigh, I turn and follow the old man toward the Jolly Pumpkin.
“Now you can’t tell me this isn’t the best roast you’ve ever tasted,” Harry says, dropping his spoon into the empty bowl with a satisfied clatter. He lifts his pint and takes a long swallow, foam clinging to his mustache. “Worth putting off your trip back up the mountain for a little while, eh?”
I grin, scraping the last bite from my bowl. The broth is buttery and rich, thick with root vegetables and melt-in-your-mouth beef that’s clearly been simmering for hours. It’s the kind of meal that warms you straight through to the marrow.
“You were right,” I admit, finishing with a drink of cold water. “Perfect combo to warm you down to the toes—especially in weather like this.”
The pub is cozy in a way I don’t allow myself to crave too often.
The bar stretches long and sturdy, polished dark wood lined with locals nursing pints.
A row of hand-carved taps gleams under amber light, each labeled with names like Frosted Pines Lager and Hearthfire Stout.
Low tables and cracked red-leather booths fill the room.
Exposed brick walls are crowded with framed photographs and yellowing newspaper clippings—grainy shots of parades, harvest festivals, and even my great-grandfather breaking ground on the first tree lot.
The air smells of hops, roasting meat, and pine boughs strung along the beams overhead.
“Before your dad met your mom, he and I used to meet up here every Friday night,” Harry muses, voice low with memory. His gaze drifts across the pub as though the ghosts of the past were still there, laughing in the booths, clinking pints together.
“I can see the appeal,” I say softly, tracing the condensation on my glass. “Thanks for convincing me to come.”
“It’s I who should be thanking you.” He exhales, leaning back in his chair, cane propped at his side. “It can get awfully lonely if you don’t have someone to share this life with.”
I stare into my water. The word doesn’t sting, but lonely lands heavier than I’d like. My family keeps me busy, keeps me tethered—but sometimes, when the house goes quiet, the silence rings too loud in my ears.
“Well, maybe I’ll convince Dad to come down next time,” I offer, forcing a smile.
“I’d like that.” Harry’s eyes twinkle. “I see him when I look at you—the same set jaw, the same gruff exterior. But you’ve got his earnest eyes too. You’d be just as terrible at poker as he was.” He snorts, giving the table a firm slap as he finishes the last of his pint.
The waitress approaches, a cheery young woman in a red knit sweater with a sprig of holly pinned to her apron. She gathers our empty bowls with a practiced smile.
“I’ll get you gentlemen another round?” she asks.
I reach for my wallet. “I’ve got this, Harry.”
“Nonsense,” she says before he can protest, shaking her head firmly. “Without you, your family, and Harry here, Christmas wouldn’t be half as festive in this town. This one’s on the house.”
“Well, thank you, ma’am.” I incline my head, meaning it. “But it’s just the life we chose. We get as much joy out of it as we give.”
She winks, whisking away the dishes.
Harry leans closer, dropping his voice. “Joy’s good, Benjamin. But don’t forget—you deserve more than just duty. Even your old man figured that out eventually.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Harry.” I stand and offer him a hand, helping him to his feet. “Can I offer you a ride home?”
“Nah, these old bones could use the walk, and my place isn’t far. Just walk me back to the shop,” Harry replies, patting my forearm with a firmness that brooks no argument.
We stroll across the gravel lot in companionable silence, our breath puffing white in the frigid air. The brewery’s golden glow fades behind us as we make our way through downtown toward his shop. When we reach my truck, I turn the ignition, headlights cutting sharp beams through the falling snow.
“Are you sure I can’t give you a ride? It’s getting dark, and the storm’s coming.”
“I’m positive. Drive safe—and tell your dad not to be a stranger.” Harry tips his cap, his figure outlined in the orange halo of a streetlamp, then lifts a hand in farewell. I wave back as I shift into gear, tires crunching over packed gravel before rolling onto the main road.
I take a right, steering away from Main Street and the glow of town.
In minutes, I’m alone on the two-lane stretch leading north into the mountains.
Pines rise tall and silent on either side, their snow-draped branches blurring past in the dark.
The wind whistles against the cab as I pick up speed, flurries peppering the windshield, melting into quicksilver streaks under the wipers.
My fingers drum a restless rhythm on the steering wheel until I flick on the radio, letting the cabin fill with the tinny cheer of Christmas carols—familiar, safe, the kind of sound you don’t have to think too hard about.
You deserve more than just duty.
Harry’s words echo, unsettling as they sink beneath the music.
They stir an ache I don’t want to name—one I usually drown in work and routine.
I’ve always told myself contentment was enough: family, the farm, the mountain.
So why does the silence pressing in around me tonight feel heavier than it used to?
A flash of movement.
I swerve hard as a deer leaps across the road, its body frozen bright in my headlights. Gravel spits under my tires, the wheel jerks in my hands, and for a heartbeat I’m skidding toward the shoulder. Instinct snaps me back—the truck straightens with a violent jolt. My pulse thunders in my throat.
“Goddess, that was close.” I drag a hand through my disheveled hair, knuckles white around the wheel.
How are we supposed to find a mate if you can’t keep your head clear long enough to get us home safe?
My bear’s voice cuts sharp, irritated but steady.
“It’s not like I had a crystal ball to see that deer coming,” I mutter. “Besides, we’re fine. You’re the one who wants me to follow Harry’s advice anyway.”
He’s silent, but I can feel his simmering disapproval pressing against my own frustration.
“As if I have time,” I add under my breath. “After this holiday break, Nathan and I have to prep the expansion for next year’s saplings. That’s more than enough on my plate.”
The road climbs higher, the trees thickening, branches bowing under the weight of fresh snow.
My headlights catch flakes tumbling fast and heavy now, a curtain of white blurring the path ahead.
I tighten my grip on the wheel, leaning forward, squinting into the storm until I can barely see two car lengths ahead.
There’s no one out here. No one but me.
And yet, for the first time in years, I can’t shake the bone-deep feeling that something has changed.