11. Colette
COLETTE
I grip the door handle of Hendrix's massive truck, questioning every life choice that led to this moment. Of course the decorating committee for the school dance would pair us up. Because the universe hates me.
"Need a boost?" Hendrix's eyes sparkle as he gestures to the running board.
"I'm perfectly capable." I hoist myself up with as much dignity as possible, which isn't much considering my boots slip on the running board. His hand shoots out to steady me, and I bat it away. "Don't."
Despite my efforts, it really is a feat to climb up into the truck—especially in a pencil skirt.
Hendrix's hand steadies my lower back, sending unwanted tingles up my spine.
His palm is warm and sure against my wool coat, and I hate how my body instantly responds to his touch, like some sort of Pavlovian reaction I can't control.
It's the kind of steadying gesture that shouldn't mean anything - that I won't let mean anything - but my traitorous nerve endings seem to have other ideas.
Hendrix clicks the door shut and jogs around the front with a huge grin on his face. When he hops in the driver’s seat, he slides across the bench until he’s almost on top of me.
"Safety first." He reaches across me to grab my seatbelt, his cologne - a heady mix of pine and something distinctly masculine - invading my space.
My breath catches as his arm brushes against my shoulder, his breath against my skin.
And I fight the urge to lean into him despite the unwanted proximity.
The warmth radiating from him only makes the cramped cab feel that much smaller.
"I can buckle myself in, thanks."
“Too late.” He clicks the buckle shut and slides back to start the engine, whistling to the tune of Sleigh Bells.
I plaster myself against the passenger door—the leather seat squeaks as I adjust, trying to maintain as much distance as possible between us.
He accelerates smoothly, one hand resting casually on the wheel. His other arm stretches across the back of the bench seat, not quite touching me but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him.
"You know," he says, voice low and warm, "this reminds me of those Hallmark movies my gran loves so much. Two people, a Christmas tree farm..."
"Don't even start."
His laugh fills the cab, rich and genuine. "Whatever you say.”
"Just drive please." I cross my arms and stare straight ahead. “The sooner we get this over with, the better.”
I pull my coat tighter, angling toward the window.
"Cold?"
"I'm fine." But a shiver betrays me, and before I can protest, he's cranking up the temperature and angling the vents my way.
“It takes a minute to kick in. Here.” He shrugs off his leather jacket somehow and drapes it over my lap, managing to trail his fingers along my arm in the process. The weight of it settles warm and heavy, carrying that maddening pine scent.
"I don't need-"
"Humor me." His dimple appears as he glances my way.
I clutch the door handle tighter as Hendrix navigates out of town and onto the winding country roads, each curve bringing us closer to Sullivan’s Christmas Tree farm - and bringing my stomach into my throat. He drives like he plays hockey - fast and reckless.
A pothole sends us bouncing, and his hand lands on my knee to steady me.
"Careful there. These back roads are treacherous."
"The roads are fine. Your driving, however..." I remove his hand, ignoring how warm and rough his palm feels against my fingers.
"How about some music?" He taps on his controls screen, opening Spotify.
The sound of trumpets and the opening notes of Joy to the World fill the small cab.
Hendrix beams. “I love this song, don’t you?
“Sure.”
"Reminds me of a singing telegram I got yesterday. They changed 'Silent Night' to 'Leave Tonight.' Pretty creative, actually."
I bite my lip to keep from smiling. "I wouldn't know anything about that."
"Right." He shoots me a knowing look.
"Eyes on the road, please."
I can tell he’s all too pleased with himself, and when the song ends, he fiddles with his touch screen. "Want to pick the next song?"
"The road, Hendrix."
"Okay, okay. Tell me your favorite Christmas song."
I press myself harder against the door. "Why do you care?"
"Because contrary to what you might think, I actually want to know things about you." His voice softens, and I hate how it makes my stomach flip. "I bet it's something classy. Like 'O Holy Night.'"
“Actually, it’s ‘Jingle Bell Rock’, for your information.”
He taps the screen a few times and then 'Jingle Bell Rock' blasts through the speaker.
"You never cease to surprise me. You seem like a traditional carols kind of woman."
"I seem like someone who wants to get this over with as quickly as possible."
The bass thrums through the cab, and I catch him sneaking glances at me between checking the snowy road. He starts singing along to the music deliberately off-key until I can't help but crack a smile.
"Your musical talents leave much to be desired."
"I've got other talents to make up for it." He waggles his eyebrows.
I turn to glare at him, but there's something disarmingly genuine in his expression that makes my sharp retort die in my throat.
And I can't help noticing his bright, easy smile, how his light brown hair flops over his forehead, or how his shoulders flex under his henley as he navigates the winding road.
When he catches me watching him, he winks.
My cheeks heat up and I turn to stare out the window at the snow-covered fields. But I can still see his reflection in the glass, the way his eyes keep darting over to me, the slight grin playing at his lips.
"You know," he says, voice soft. "I've always loved this drive up to Sullivan’s. The way the snow coats the pines..."
"Mmhmm." I try to sound disinterested, but he's right. The landscape is magical, trees bowing under fresh powder. There's something enchanting about the way the pristine snow blankets everything in sight, transforming our ordinary countryside into something out of a storybook.
"Dad would pile us all into his truck every December first. No exceptions. Even if there was a blizzard, we'd bundle up and make the drive to Sullivan’s."
“I thought you spent Christmases in Germany.”
I only remember this because during my Sophomore year, I spent an entire afternoon baking cookies for Liam, only to find the Ellis family had left for Berlin the very first day of Christmas break.
“We did go to Germany a couple of times when we were older,” Hendrix replies.
“Once Ingrid went off to college, Dad got it into his head that we needed to learn more about our heritage. It was nice, if not a little posh. We’d stay in the fanciest hotels within walking distance to Oma and Opa’s house.
In retrospect, I’m glad we spent that time with them. ”
“Oma and Opa is German for Grandma and Grandpa?”
“Yes. Oh and they’d spoil us. They’d take us to the Christmas markets and buy so much Lebkuchen I’d get a bellyache from eating it all.”
“Sounds nice.”
"It was.” His voice takes on a softer quality I've never heard before.
“But the best Christmases were here in Brookking Sound—when we were small.
Dad would wake us up at dawn and pile us in the truck to pick out our tree.
Ingrid would complain, but she'd be first one in the truck.
And Liam—" He chuckles. "He'd get crazy focused about finding the perfect tree. "
"Let me guess, you two made everything into a competition?"
"Obviously. But Dad had this rule—we had to all agree on the tree. Liam always wanted the sturdiest tree possible - you know how he is. For Ingrid, it was the fluffiest."
“And you?” I ask. Despite my best efforts to remain aloof, I find myself drawn in.
“The tallest, of course.” His face lights up.
“And we'd spend what seemed like hours running through the rows playing hide and seek while Dad pretended he couldn't find us.
" A gentle smile plays at his lips. "Then we'd all gather at this one spot where you could see the whole farm. And then the perfect tree would always find us. Never failed.”
Something in my chest tightens at the image of a younger Hendrix, cheeks red from cold, playing among the pines with his family.
"After the tree was loaded in the back of the truck, we'd stop at that little cabin shop and Dad would buy us these massive hot chocolates - the kind with real whipped cream and chocolate shavings. I always ended up with cream on my nose." His voice goes quiet. "Those were the best days.”
He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, lost in thought. "You know what's funny? The tree was never actually perfect. Sometimes it'd be crooked, or have a bald spot, or be way too big for our living room. But Dad would just say 'That's what makes it special' and somehow... it was."
A lump forms in my throat.
I shake myself out of the spell his story has cast. What am I doing, getting all misty-eyed over Hendrix Ellis's childhood memories?
One sweet story about picking Christmas trees doesn't erase years of torment. Or the fact that he's currently making my life impossible. Or that infuriating smirk he gets whenever he knows he's pushing my buttons.
I glance over at him, still lost in his memories, and my traitorous heart skips.
"Look," he points through the windshield at a family of deer crossing the road ahead. My breath catches at the sight - a majestic doe leading two spindly-legged fawns across the snowy pavement, their hooves making delicate prints in the fresh powder.
As he slows the truck, he rests his arm behind me, his thumb tracing small circles on my shoulder. For a moment, we both sit perfectly still, watching nature's quiet parade in front of us.
I should shrug his arm off my shoulder. I really should.
But somehow, I don't. The worst part is how natural it feels - his casual touches, his thoughtful gestures, the way he keeps stealing glances at me when he thinks I'm not looking.
It's like he's determined to be Prince Charming, and I'm running out of reasons to resist.
We pull into Sullivan's, parking lot, and Hendrix kills the engine. Before I can reach for my door handle, he's already out and opening my door with an exaggerated bow. "My lady."
"I can open my own door." I hop down, my boots crunching in the snow, heading straight for the rows of trees.
"Let's get this over with."
"Whoa there." He jogs to catch up, his long legs easily matching my determined stride. "We need a plan of attack.”
I immediately spot several sensible trees that would work perfectly for the school dance.
"I know exactly what we need. Six feet tall, full branches, symmetrical shape-"
But Hendrix strides right past them, making a beeline for what can only be described as the sequoia section.
“This isn't just any tree - it needs to be majestic. Regal. The kind of tree that makes teenagers actually want to look up from their phones for five seconds."
"No. Absolutely not." I hurry after him, my heels sinking into the snow. "The budget is two hundred dollars. Total. That includes lights and decorations."
He ignores me and trudges up a path leading far into the thicket of enormous trees. "We need something with personality. Character. A tree that says 'dance under me, young lovebirds!'"
I roll my eyes so hard they might get stuck. "The tree doesn't need to talk, Hendrix."
He stops in front of a monster of a tree that must be twenty feet tall. "This is the one."
"That tree probably costs more than my monthly salary. And how will we get it through the gymnasium doors?"
"You know what they say... Go big or go home."
"Speaking of going home..." I start sweetly.
He circles the mammoth tree, admiring it from every angle. "This beauty would make an impression. The kids would talk about it for years."
"The kids would talk about how their English teacher got fired for bankrupting the decorating committee."
"I'll chip in the difference."
"That's not the point." I cross my arms.
His eyes light up with that familiar mischievous gleam. "You know what might help us decide?"
"If you suggest hide and seek, I swear-"
"Ready or not!" He darts between the trees, leaving me standing there with my mouth open.
"Hendrix! Get back here! We have work to do!"
His laugh echoes through the rows of pines. "Can't hear you! I'm hiding!"
"This is completely unprofessional!" I shout, but I'm fighting back a smile despite myself. "We're supposed to be choosing a tree!"
"The perfect tree will find us!" His voice comes from somewhere to my left. "That's how it works!"
The enormous pines tower around me, branches heavy with fresh powder.
"This is childish!" I stomp through the snow, my sensible boots leaving angry prints. "We're supposed to be picking a tree for the dance, not-"
"Marco!" Hendrix's voice echoes through the trees.
"I am not playing this ridiculous game." I trudge through the snow, searching for a sensible tree that won't bankrupt the school.
"Polo!" His voice comes from somewhere to my left and I hear the his footsteps fly by.
I spin around, but he's nowhere to be seen. Just rows and rows of snow-dusted pines stretching in every direction. Great. I'm lost in a Christmas tree maze with an overgrown child.
"This isn't funny, Hendrix. Some of us have actual work to do."
The crunch of snow stops abruptly. I strain my ears, but the forest has gone eerily quiet.
"Hendrix?"
No response.
"This isn't funny anymore." I turn in a slow circle, scanning the trees. "We need to get back to-"
"Looking for me?" His warm breath tickles my ear.
I shriek and jump backward, right into the branches of a tree. The snow-laden boughs engulf me, dumping their cold load down my collar. I flail, trying to escape the prickly embrace of the tree, but only manage to get more tangled. Hendrix reaches out, circling my waist with his arm.
"Gotcha." His voice is low, amused as he rescues me.
I'm suddenly very aware of his hands on my waist, steadying me. My heart hammers against my ribs, and I'm not sure if it's from the near-fall or his proximity.
"You okay?" He doesn't let go.
"I'd be better if you weren't acting like a child." But my voice comes out breathier than intended.
"Look up." He tilts his chin toward the sky.
Above us towers the most magnificent Fraser fir I've ever seen. It's at least fifteen feet tall, with lush, well-spaced branches and a gently tapering top giving it a classic, elegant silhouette. Snowflakes drift down around it like nature's own Christmas lights. I don’t even care that it’s bigger than I wanted. It’s perfect.
"See?" Hendrix's voice is soft near my ear. "I told you the perfect tree would find us."