Chapter 8 #2
When I get to those trees, I’m happy to see that they seem to be perking up a bit in just the short time since their chai latte diet has stopped.
I still think it might be best to repot them.
I’ll talk to Jenna about doing that after the fest has closed for the evening tomorrow night.
Colin will be at his mom’s so I’ll have plenty of time to come out and take care of that while the event is closed.
It sucks I’ll have to inconvenience her by making her stay late, but I know she cares about the event and the trees, so I hope she’ll be okay with it.
I could offer to take her out for another drink to make up for it. Or maybe dinner?
That sounds like a date …
Strangely, the thought of asking Jenna on a date doesn’t sound terrible.
I haven’t dated at all since Amelia. Between taking care of Colin and work, I didn’t have time, and I didn’t really have the desire to either.
Letting someone set me up is a hard no—I don’t trust other people to have a good handle on what I’m looking for or for them to know their friends and coworkers well enough to know what they’re like in a romantic capacity either.
And dating apps? I’ve read way too many horror stories to even want to bother.
Plus, the thought of parading a string of women through my son’s life sounds like the kind of thing that’ll put him in therapy for the rest of his life.
It’s always seemed like too much work for not enough reward.
But I had a nice time talking to Jenna at the bar the other night. Assuming she’s okay with taking things slow—and with the way her last relationship ended, I’d be surprised if she wanted to take things any other way—I wouldn’t mind trying to date her.
Just then, she appears in my line of vision, and a slow smile spreads across my face.
“Perfect timing,” I murmur to myself, dodging a group of teenagers who are wandering through and heading for Jenna.
She disappears between two booths, but I slip in behind her.
“Hey!” I say, letting my happiness at seeing her show in my voice.
But then I catch that she has her hand on her forehead in a clear sign of distress, and I soften my tone. “Hey. Are you okay?”
She sniffs, still giving me most of her back, though I can see a little of her profile too, then wipes her cheek with the edge of her hand and faces me, a forced smile curving her mouth. “Hey. Yeah. Fine. What’s up?”
Her eyes are red, though, and she sniffs again. I shake my head. “Are you sure? You don’t seem fine.”
She cuts her eyes away, smooths a hand over her ponytail and shakes her head. “Now’s really not the time, Aaron. Did you need something?”
“Oh, uh, yeah.” Now I feel stupid and awkward.
Shrugging my shoulders, I stuff my hands in my jeans pockets.
“I was thinking I should repot those trees that were getting coffee poured on them. They’re looking better, but it would make me feel better to know they’re in the right soil without extras that shouldn’t be in there. ”
Lines appear between her brows, and she looks down at the tablet in her hand that she uses to organize everything. “I really don’t …”
“I was thinking tomorrow?” I add. “After everything’s closed.
I can be here when it closes, then as soon as everyone’s out, I’ll repot the trees and be out of the way.
Then we know they’re healthy and will last the next three weeks no problem.
” A thought occurs to me. “What was your plan for the trees after the event is over?”
She blinks at me. “Uh …” She looks back at her tablet. “Well, um, I guess I thought you’d take them back?”
It’s my turn to blink at her. “But you paid for them.”
Chuckling, she shakes her head. “I guess I did, didn’t I?”
“You could raffle them off. They’re decorated so nicely, I bet people would pay for the chance to take one home. Then you could donate the proceeds to a charity.”
She blinks at me some more, then her gaze abstracts, looking over my shoulder, her mouth hooking to the side as she taps her fingers on the edge of the tablet. “That’s a really good idea,” she murmurs. Then her gaze refocuses on me. “Do you have any suggestions for a charity?”
I pause for a second. “You know? There’s a hockey player that moved here a while ago that’s starting up a youth hockey league.
I know he’s looking for donors to help provide gear and scholarships for kids who couldn’t afford to play otherwise.
It’s a good, homegrown thing that’ll mean the money directly benefits people in our community. ”
Her face brightens, though there’s a flash of something else I can’t read in the mix. “I like that idea. People love things that help kids. Do you know the name of the organization? I’d like to get in touch with them before we start advertising.”
“Of course.” I end up having to Google it, but at least I know the name of the hockey player that started it—Troy Easton.
He apparently came here on vacation a couple years ago, fell in love, and moved here full time after retiring from hockey.
I don’t really know the guy personally, though of course I’ve seen him around a few times.
I know people who know him, though. Brit, the owner of Bitty B’s Treasures, who also provided decor for ChristmasFest and is on the committee, is friends with his girlfriend, Anna.
“Awesome. Thank you,” Jenna says after I read out the information for her. She gives me a smile that looks slightly more authentic than the one she first gave me, but not by much. “Well, let me know about repotting the trees. I gotta get going.”
“For sure. But before you go, since I know I’ll be inconveniencing you by making you stay late for me to repot the trees, I wondered if I could take you to dinner after?”