Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
How is Grant going to try and tell me how I felt about the kiss?
Last I checked, he’s not a mind reader nor body language expert. Him declaring something doesn’t automatically make it true.
‘I’m not the only one who wanted or liked it.’
And if I did like it? If I thought it somehow managed to top the kiss we shared at the wedding? If I’ve daydreamed of his warm hand caressing my neck, feeling the stubble of his mustache prick my lip, how he looked like a man who knew exactly what he wanted—so what?
I cannot fall for Grant.
One: he’s Braxton’s brother. I am not about to turn Ivy and me into those cliché twins who fall for a pair of brothers.
Just… no. Two: I’m not in the market for another heart break.
If Grant and I became a thing that ended in disaster, which seems to be the way of life for me, it would be a million times more awkward at family events.
It’s been impossible to keep Grant at a distance as it is.
I’d have to do something drastic like lock him up in the shed to make sure I never saw him again.
“The light’s green,” Grant says beside me, snapping me out of my spiral. “Quit thinking about kissing me again and drive.”
My foot slams the gas and the truck I’m driving lurches forward before stalling as I shift to First Gear. It happens two more times before the car behind us blares their horn.
“Well Happy Holidays to you too,” I grumble as they speed past.
Out the corner of my eye, I see Grant grimace and rub his neck.
“You did not get whiplash from a little bit of rocking,” I tell him, refusing to take his bait or talk about the kiss.
I get the truck moving and continue down to the Christmas tree farm.
It’s been two days since the incident. In that time, I’ve organized baby supplies, sorted old household items into donation boxes, and rearranged the living room a handful of times.
And Grant’s been there every step of the way, doing all he can to ensure the kiss stays on my mind.
So today I’ve decided I need some good, fresh air of the pine variety.
“I can’t believe these are the best Christmas songs they can come up with,” Grant huffs as a painfully slow version of “Sleigh Ride” drags on. “They could at least play something from this century.”
“Just turn the radio off if you’re going to have something to say about every song that comes on,” I snap.
We had to use Dad’s old Chevy since neither of us wanted to strap a tree to our cars, but that leaves us without a Bluetooth connection or even an aux cord. My patience is hanging by a thread with his constant teasing about the kiss. I don’t need his complaining mixed in.
Grant does turn off the radio, then swivels toward me. “So, about that kiss—”
“I just remembered,” I cut in quickly, my voice higher than normal. “There should be a case of CDs in the glove compartment.”
Grant chuckles but reaches for the small handle. Crisis averted.
“I used to have some of these,” he says, flipping through the selections. “You care if it’s not Christmas music?”
“Nope. Whatever is fine by me.”
I don’t see what he picks, but a moment later Tamia’s voice pours through the speakers.
Grant relaxes in his seat. “This era hits different, huh?” he remarks and starts singing along.
It’s like he knows 90’s RnB is my kryptonite.
I’ve always been a sucker for love songs. The kind that make you long for love when you don’t have it, and appreciate it all the more when you do.
I didn’t realize until now, but I stopped listening to music after Eddie.
The beat flows, the storytelling and soulful lyrics speaking to me now.
They paint a picture of how life could be if I were brave enough to open my heart again.
To have what Ivy and Braxton have. What Mom and Dad had.
And as I glance down and see Grant’s fingers tapping along to the beat against the seat, I long to reach over and grab on.
He wouldn’t let me down like Eddie did, right?
Grant catches me looking at him and I direct my gaze back to the road, just in time to not miss the entrance of Oh, Christmas Tree!
“Remember, we need something at least seven feet tall,” I tell Grant after parking. “And the stronger the pine smell the better.”
We get out and he makes it to the front of the truck before I do, holding his hand out. I pause, surprised he wants me to take it, until I realize he’s gesturing me to go ahead of him. I stuff my hands into the pockets of my coat so I’m not tempted to reach out for his hand anyway.
I stop before we get to the entrance, right next to their makeshift hot chocolate stand where you can enjoy a warm treat for browsing for five dollars. The price seems a little steep for me considering it’s served in a Styrofoam cup with no added marshmallows.
“Alright, why don’t you take the left side, and I’ll take the right,” I say. “Now, they do have some of the best trees, just be careful of who helps you. Text me if you find a good tree.”
Grant frowns. “You don’t want to find one together?”
“There’s so many trees here, it’ll save time if we divide and conquer.”
Grant hesitates but nods his agreement and I take off, speeding through the threshold and heading off on my side, determined to find peace and pretend the kiss and Grant’s not-so-subtle reminders don’t exist for a while.
I need to find the perfect tree. One Ivy will love.
With a deep inhale, the pine-scented air hits me sharp and sweet.
When I came with Dad last year, it took us over an hour to find “the one.” And then a new worker tried to overcharge us—big mistake.
He didn’t realize we’d been coming here for years, and that the one thing I hate most is people trying to get over on others.
Especially at Christmas. Especially when the “others” are my family.
I went full lawyer mode, and we walked out with a tree so discounted Dad said he finally knew how my clients feel when I win their cases.
I weave through the rows, relishing the soft spiky needles brushing my fingers, weighing each tree I pass. Some are that perfect dark green I’m seeking but don’t reach my shoulder. Some have the height but gaps of branches that would be awkward to fill with ornaments.
When I get to the stand of mistletoe in the back my face heats and I back far away. The last thing I need is for Grant to pop up and get any ideas.
I keep going and pause in front of a tree that could work. It’s shorter than I’d hoped but full and lush and would look wonderful wrapped in twinkling lights. I step back to get a better view and pick up Grant’s voice.
“Excuse me, how much is this one?” he asks.
“For that height and density, you’re lookin’ at two hundred,” the worker says and I frown.
Grant whistles while I try peeking through the trees to get a look at the worker.
“For that amount does it decorate itself?” Grant says under his breath.
“Sir?”
“Nothing.” Grant sighs. “Do y’all trim the trunk?”
“Yup. It’s an extra twenty-five dollars,” the worker says.
Now I know he’s lying, because ain’t no way.
“What do you think of this one?” Grant asks me when I come stomping down the row.
I freeze in my tracks and gawk at the tree he’s holding upright. It perfectly checks off all requirements: color, height, shape, and fullness. It looks like it came straight out of a magazine.
I beam at Grant. “I love it.”
His chest puffs out.
Then, I let the smile slip right off as I turn to the employee.
I should’ve known.
The guy’s face drains as his eyes go wide. Good, he remembers me too.
“We’re interested in this tree,” I say sweetly, “but did I hear right that it’s two hundred dollars?”
If this guy is smart, he’ll think very carefully about his response.
“This one?” His face scrunches up like he’s got a tough deliberation going on in his mind, then nods, having come to some conclusion he missed that should have been obvious. “You know what? I must’ve gotten my trees mixed up. It’s actually one-sixty.”
Maybe I should be pleased, but I’m not. He’s ready and willing to place nice with me, but where was that energy for Grant? He was happy to treat Grant like some big guy with deep pockets and no tree awareness.
I cross my arms. “Uh huh.”
“And, we’re throwing in an extra twenty percent off for couples,” he offers.
“How very magnanimous of you, but we’re not—”
“How much to trim the trunk again?” Grant interrupts.
“No charge, boss! You get it for free.” The employee’s eyes emphatically beg Grant to take the offer.
“Is this the tree you want?” Grant asks me, gently brushing my arm with his free hand. The touch is light and fleeting but sends a small shockwave through me.
I drag my gaze away from the worker to meet his eyes. I’m mad that the employee tried to take advantage of Grant and don’t want to give in, but it’s exactly the kind of tree Dad would have picked. I know Ivy will love it.
When I nod, Grant winks before turning back to the worker. “Alright, we’ll take it.”
Fifteen minutes later we’ve got the tree loaded in the truck bed and are heading back home. The scent of pine fills the cab, blending with the sweetness of the cocoa Grant finagled—free of charge—before we left.
“What’s that smirk for?” I ask Grant as we roll smoothly through an intersection framed with oak trees wrapped in white lights.
“It was nice having your scary scowl directed at someone else for a change,” he teases, eyes glinting with mischief.
“My scowl isn’t scary,” I grumble, even though we both know that’s a lie. I’ve worked on my scowl throughout the years to intimidate opposing counsel and in general to be left alone.
Grant chuckles, a deep, warm sound that vibrates through the cab, but my stomach twists as I consider just how many times he’s been on the receiving end of my scowls. Too many. And for all the wrong reasons.