Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Aaron
I stand in the hallway after the new events coordinator storms off, hoping the elf in the locker room doesn’t think I’m waiting for her.
Closing my eyes, I suck in one more deep breath, count to four, then release it slowly while counting to eight.
I use the same trick when I’m angry with my son.
He’s five—almost six, as he likes to remind me.
His birthday’s in early February, right before Valentine’s Day, which hasn’t been much of an issue so far, but now that he’s in school, I’m hoping he doesn’t feel like the classroom Valentine’s celebrations overshadow his birthday.
Since I haven’t really been romantically involved with anyone since his mother, me having plans on Valentine’s Day hasn’t been an issue.
Not that anything about my relationship with Amelia could’ve ever been termed romantic. We were friends with benefits for a little while after my dad’s first heart attack, which led to Colin.
We discussed trying for a real relationship when she told me she was pregnant, but we both decided we weren’t compatible for a serious relationship.
We’d spent enough time together by then that we both knew that.
She’s a flight attendant and works out of the airport that’s about forty-five minutes from Arcadian Falls.
She’s gone more often than she’s around, while I’m firmly rooted here in Arcadian Falls.
Plus at the time, I was more focused on my father’s declining health, running the family Christmas tree farm, and growing my accounting business for steady income.
Speaking of accounting …
I pull out my phone and glance at the time, noticing that I have a message from Amelia about the holiday schedule.
First things first. I need to check the trees again—the soil didn’t seem dry when I looked before, which was my first thought when I saw the needles on the ground, though I have to admit, there really aren’t a terrible amount. Still, there are more than there should be.
I assumed that Jenna had probably dumped some water in first thing this morning before calling me. Then she could say she’s been watering the trees.
But the way she acted—truly offended that I would imply she was shirking her duties—makes me wonder if I’m thinking the worst of her for no real reason.
The thing is, I know her type—they show up from a city, full of ideas to “improve” things that don’t need improving.
ChristmasFest has been a success since its inception nearly thirty years ago.
The Daniels did a fantastic job coordinating it in the beginning, also helping shape the current downtown association, giving the town the injection of tourism dollars it needs to weather the off-season.
I’m a firm believer in the old saying—if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. I just wish Jenna would see the sense in that.
My brow furrows and my steps slow as I approach the cluster of potted trees that are having problems. I glance around at the space—there are a few other clusters of potted trees here and there throughout the space, though there are also large cut Christmas trees.
The biggest one is by Santa’s Workshop, but there are a few others dotted around, and this year there are comfy chairs and a few props set up in front of a couple of them.
“For people to take pictures to post on social media,” Jenna had said. “We’ll have our hashtag and our handles printed on all the props so people can tag us. It’ll help raise the profile.”
I’d thought the Daniels would kill that idea the minute she proposed it.
Wouldn’t that prevent people from paying to take photos with Santa?
But Mara had just pressed her lips together and said she’d think about it.
At the next meeting, she was raving about what a good idea it was.
“My daughters, Sarah and Nora, both think it’s fabulous too.
As long as there are no Santa props.” She’d given Jenna a meaningful glance, and Jenna nodded, holding up her hands to show her innocence.
“Of course. These are just ambiance-type photos for people’s socials.”
I make a quick detour, moving to the other groups of potted trees, examining the area around them, taking note of their proximity to heat sources, if there are more needles than normal falling, and feeling their soil to see how dry or wet they are.
The other trees all seem in good shape, so I probably was too hasty in my judgment of Jenna’s ability to care for these trees.
Circling back to the trees she called me about, I catch sight of one of the vendors sidling up to it, opening the lid of something, and dumping the contents into the pot of one of the trees.
“Hey!” I call, but I’m too far away, it’s too loud, and I also probably shouldn’t make a scene in the middle of ChristmasFest. Organizing and running one of these might be outside my area of expertise, but I’m smart enough to realize that much.
Grimacing, I speed up—or try to, at least. I have to weave my way through a cluster of young moms with babies and toddlers—some carrying them but a few using giant strollers that block almost the entire aisle.
When I finally get to the trees, I notice that one of the pots is significantly wetter than it was earlier. And it wasn’t bone dry before, either.
Clearing my throat, I glance around, trying to spot the vendor.
When I see him, he’s deep in conversation with a customer, so I have to wait my turn, doing my best not to glower at him in the meantime.
I might be pissed that he’s the reason my trees aren’t doing well, but I shouldn’t tank his sale over it.
When he finishes, all smiles for the customer as he hands over the laser cut ornament, I swoop in before he can get waylaid by someone else and clear my throat.
“Hello! How can I help you?” He’s young, dressed in baggy jeans and a hoodie, a beanie pulled low on his forehead and dark brown hair curling out at the back. At least he knows how to greet someone professionally.
I point at the trees. “Did you just pour something into one of the trees over there?”
Guilt flashes across his face, and his eyes cut to the side. “Uh …”
“Look. I just watched you do it. What was it?”
Grimacing, he shakes his head. “Just my leftover coffee. It was cold, and I didn’t want it anymore.”
My eyebrows jump. “And you thought the tree would want it?”
He lifts up his hands in an exaggerated shrug. “I read somewhere that coffee’s a good fertilizer.”
“Uh-huh. And how often do you do this, would you say?”
Another guilty look. “Um …”
Deep breath. “Every day? Have you done it every day since you’ve been here?”
Still looking guilty, he nods. “But I swear, my mom—”
I circle a finger in the air, pointing toward the ceiling. “Is your mom here?”
He clears his throat. “No,” he mumbles.
Pointing at the trees. “Are those your mom’s trees?”
Another mumbled, “No.”
“Right. Those are my trees. And while your mom’s not wrong that coffee can make a good fertilizer sometimes, those trees do not need fertilizing. And they do not need coffee. Especially not the leftovers of your venti half caf soy latte or whatever.”
“It was a chai latte,” he mumbles.
I roll my eyes. “And how is that better? If coffee—diluted and in small quantities, mind you—might be beneficial very occasionally—my trees definitely don’t need milk and sugar.
” I lean in close, pitching my voice in the register that I know can read as vaguely threatening.
“Stop dumping your leftover coffee in my trees. Either drink it all, or dump it in the sink like a normal human.”
He blanches, nodding frantically and holding up his hands in surrender. “I swear, I won’t do it again.”
“Good.”
Turning, I stride away, equal parts irritated and satisfied.
The mystery’s solved, at least. But now I’m going to have to apologize to the event coordinator.
Glancing down at my phone, I shake my head. It’s almost noon, and I haven’t even started on my real job today. I have end of year work to do for a number of clients, and I need to make some progress before I have to pick up Colin at three thirty.
That reminds me, I need to see what Amelia wanted to talk to me about.
Amelia
Hey, Aaron! I just wanted to check in about my schedule through the holidays. I’m home today, so give me a call when you have time to chat.
Climbing into my truck, I hit her name, the ringing sounding through my speaker system.
She picks up on the second ring. “Hey! Thanks for calling back so fast. I figured you’d be busy this time of day.”
“I’m between things right now,” I tell her, pulling onto the main street that goes through town.
“So you’re driving.”
Grinning, I shrug. “I am.”
“Okay, well, I’ll be sure to add everything we discuss into the shared calendar so you have it in writing too.”
“‘Preciate it.”
“Since I was away for Thanksgiving, I was wondering if I could see Colin tonight? I know it’s a school night, so I promise not to keep him late, but I thought dinner would be nice. Or, if not tonight, I could do tomorrow.”
Pressing my lips together, I consider her question. “I think tomorrow would be better. He has plans to make cookies with Grandma tonight. And that way I can tell him tonight, and he’ll be extra excited for tomorrow.”
She sighs, and I expect her to push back, but instead she says, “Okay. That sounds good. I fly out again on Thursday, so again, I won’t keep him late.”
“I believe you,” I reassure her. Having a kid wasn’t in either of our plans when she got pregnant with Colin, but she wanted to keep him if I was willing to be involved.
She said this might be her only option to have kids given her career choices, and she knew I’d be a good dad.
And because she’s gone so often, I have Colin about eighty percent of the time.
Her schedule is typically pretty consistent since she only works the commuter planes around the northwest, but she’s away overnight a significant part of every month.
I try to facilitate her getting time as much as I can, but I also like to keep Colin’s schedule consistent, or at least warn him in advance of changes.
It doesn’t always work perfectly, but I can tell a big difference in how he handles things when he gets surprised by his mom versus when he knows in advance that he’ll get to see her.
Surprises, while fun in the moment, throw him off so much that recovering takes days.
Giving him twenty-four hours notice will make a big difference.
She and I have had that conversation enough by now that she understands, even if I know she’d prefer seeing him tonight given her schedule.
She’s a good mom, even if she can’t be around as often as we might all prefer. Not unless she wants to change careers, and even if she did, given the state of jobs in our area—even going over an hour or more away from town—she wouldn’t be able to find anything that pays comparably well.
We’ve got a pretty good setup, though.
I clear my throat. “You mentioned the holidays in your text.” I mentally brace myself for her to say she’ll be working on Christmas Day or something. Or maybe it’ll be Christmas Eve this year. Even though we said we’d take turns, her schedule doesn’t always allow it to run that smoothly.
She clears her throat as well. “Yes. I wanted to check with you about the dates for Colin’s Christmas break.
I took two weeks off, and I thought it would be fun to have him for more than just the holiday, if that’s okay with you.
I know it’s different than what we’ve discussed in the past,” she rushes to say before I can respond.
“And I know you probably have plans. But I was hoping I could get him for a week or so? Since I typically only see him a few times a month, I thought it’d be nice to have him for longer.
I haven’t gotten that since he was a baby, and he’s growing up so fast.” She sounds more wistful than I’ve ever heard her on that last sentence.
Amelia’s not typically a sentimental woman, but maybe because Colin’s in school now, she realizes how much she’s missing by traveling so often.
We hash out a few details—the exact dates she’ll be home and when Colin gets out of school as well as me getting to have him for dinner for Christmas Eve—and I somewhat reluctantly agree to the plan.
It’s not that I don’t want Colin to spend time with his mother, it’s just hard when I’m used to having him so much of the time.
It’s not so bad if he’s only gone for a night or two, but a week?
I don’t know how he’ll handle it. And what am I going to do with myself for a whole week without my kid?
That’s not Amelia’s problem, though.
After we hang up, I climb out of my truck—I’ve been parked at home for the last ten minutes while we finished our conversation. Now it’s time to get to work.