40 JANIE
JANIE
“Are you sure he’s going to make it in time?” Steven yells over to me from his tree a few feet away.
“He’s landing now!” I yell back, knowing the whole town is hoping my husband will make it. He promised he would, after days traveling to and from Clark Industries interests along the west coast.
It’s not just about the activity itself, it’s about the added press Juniper Falls will get if Ben’s involved. No one has come out and said so, but I get the feeling the tourism numbers are down. Without the tourism from September to December, the town can’t survive.
“Please tell me you have had sex with him,” Harper says beside me.
“Shouldn’t you be manning a Juniper trunk like the rest of us?”
“You know we won’t start until your man is here.”
I nod, “You have a point.”
“And? Have you caved?” Her big eyes are so full of hope I have to look away.
“I have.”
“I knew it!”
I slump and admit the truth, “I couldn’t take it anymore. One of his exes was trying to feel him up at the ball last week and I lost it. Snapped like this,” I take a twig from the ground and snap it in half.
“You’re only human,” She says.
“Exactly!”
She squeals, “Now tell me how it was!”
I glare at her, “How do you think it was?”
“I think you’ll never be the same.”
“Ugh, you’re so right.” She squeals again until I add, “Years from now when I’m single and sitting at The Roasted Chestnut and he’s married to some foreign princess, I’m going to remember last wekk.”
Harper deflates like an inflatable snowman at the end of the season. “Single? You’re still planning on the divorce?”
“Of course.”
“Janieeee, c’mon, you like him, admit it.”
I sigh, “Yes, I like him. But this can’t last, we all know it. He’s going to jet set all over the world with some royal skank and I’ll be happy at home with my spreadsheets and routines and Gran and hey, at least no more terrifying text messages, right?”
“Royal skank, huh? Yeah, you’re totally fine with that.”
“Okay,” I wince, “that was the jealousy talking. I’m sure his future wife will be…lovely.” I start coughing.
“Suuure.”
“I’m not changing my mind so let’s talk about something else.”
“Like how gorgeous and in love you two looked on the red carpet last night?”
“Pass.”
“The decorating at your Gran’s—”
“Next!”
“How about the fact that he bought your one million outside Christmas lights through our general store instead of ordering online so that he could give that revenue to the town?”
My eyes finally snap to hers. “He what?”
“He’s here!” Someone shouts before a chorus of voices rings out.
“We’re saved!”
“Praise the Lord.”
“It’s a Christmas miracle!”
I deadpan back at that last one, “It was literally planned in advance and there was no danger of him not coming.”
“Still,” Miles says, surprising me, “It makes a difference if you two are here.”
“Well then, jolly good luck that there wasn’t any weather today. Happy Christmas, all!” My very British husband greets everyone on his way to me.
“Merry,” I correct but I can’t roll my eyes because they’re locked on him, stalking toward me like I’m an oasis in the desert. He’s been gone 48 hours. “It’s Merry Christmas.”
“Is it?” He murmurs as he grabs my face and before I can answer he’s kissing me like he never has before.
I hum happily into his mouth and then register hooting and throat clearing and cameras clicking.
He pulls away too soon and kisses my forehead before asking the onlookers, “So. Who’s ready to break a world record? ”
Everyone cheers.
“Technically we’re making up a record. Believe it or not, no one has set out to chop down three hundred and fifty Christmas trees at once.”
“Three hundred and fifty one!” My exuberant husband yells.
I roll my eyes, “You were in the original headcount.”
“I know, my darling Ebenezer, I know, just trying to rally the troops here.”
That, he does. He smiles and waves and makes a show of putting on his work gloves. He winks at the cameras and everyone eats out of the palm of his very charming hand.
Assistant Mayor Chappell starts shouting instructions into a megaphone and I observe the gorgeous man beside me as he steps over to his tree.
We each have to saw down our own in order to make this ridiculous idea work.
Each evergreen is small and someone not-so-mysteriously donated three hundred brand new reciprocating saws.
A horn blares and everyone starts sawing. Ben bends over and I admire the view.
“Pst!” Harper gets my attention on my other side. “Just think. All that, but with the French princess beside him.”
“Please, she’s not out here sawing trees.”
“If that man is out sawing trees, the princess is going to be out sawing trees too, but,” she shrugs, “Je ne sais pas.” I don’t know. I snort as Harp shrugs after butchering the one phrase we remember from high school French class.
But I know.
She’s right.
Ben is like a magnet. He doesn’t even try. It can’t be helped. He’s the sun or gravity or fresh brewed coffee first thing in the morning. Where he goes she will go. The future love of his life.
“Janelle?” Ben stands and checks on me and finds me staring at him. “What’s it, my darling? You look green.”
“Oh, nothing, I’m fine.”
“You sure, love?”
I look down at my tree, “Yeah, I’m sure.”
No. I’m really, really not.
____
“How long was I gone? Ten days? A month?” He says in between kisses as we stumble into his bedroom after speeding home from the tree farm.
“Must've been a freaking year,” I say back, kissing his neck and pulling at his shirt.
He chuckles as he takes it off and says in his low voice, “You missed me.”
After I pull off all that’s left of my clothes, I reach down and palm him through his boxer briefs, “Some parts more than others.”
“Ah, ah,” he tuts as I move my fingers to the elastic, ready for him to be fully naked, “I want to hear it.”
He stares at me, his eyes dark with want and…something else. “Hear what?”
“Tell me you missed me, wife.”
I swallow.
This feels like he’s asking to hear something else, for me to validate something else.
And, my eyes stinging and my throat scratchy, I just…can’t.
“Fine, yes,” I say before tugging. He lets me pull the last fabric barrier down. “Did you miss me?”
“I did,” he says simply.
I turn around and bend over to grip his dresser, “Why don’t you show me how much?”
He hums in appreciation rubbing one hand down my spine while he rips the foil packet with his teeth. He sheaths himself and nudges into me. I inhale happily, and he bends over me, caging around me as he pushes further.
“Let me in, Janelle,” he grits softly into my ear. He sinks in further and repeats, “Let me in.”
He wrecks me, both of us moaning and sweating and losing ourselves. We don’t laugh or tease this time, it’s quiet and hard. He doesn’t say the words out loud again but it’s in every move of his fingers, every thrust of his hips.
Let me in Janelle, let me in.
I just don’t think I can.