Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Avery
Once we finally made it back to the car—after the whole charade of hunting down the perfect tree and rescuing a brown one from the chipper to decorate the porch at our Malibu beach house—it was already dark and late.
We wouldn’t be able to get to the Malibu house until tomorrow, and with Cat having the construction and permits signed off by Jim this week, I was also looking forward to seeing real progress on our Dickens lot. There were just too many things to be excited about.
It had been a fun day, all in all, but tomorrow would be when everything truly started coming together, and tonight, we’d kick it off by bringing our Christmas Carol–blessed tree into the Hills house to decorate before heading to Malibu.
“Turn on Christmas carols, Dad,” Izzy giggled, still feeling the high from everyone blessing all the trees we picked from the lot today, which were currently being delivered to our houses.
“Absolutely,” Jim cheered.
I eyed my overly festive husband, who should’ve been beyond jet-lagged today, with a questioning stare. Something was up. I just didn’t know what.
While Jim turned on Classic Christmas tunes on Spotify, I finally reached for my phone to see if I’d missed any calls or texts from Cat.
It was surprising how obsessed I’d become with our planning, hearing from Cat with extra ideas, and, of course, knowing that our fun Christmas party prank set for Jim was coming to life starting today.
When I opened my phone and saw multiple missed calls from Cat, followed by a voicemail explaining that my husband had postponed the signatures until today—and then never showed up—I knew exactly what was going on.
I glanced over at Jim singing along with our girls (aka: his little Team Jim scandalous partners in crime), and I knew precisely why I’d spent the better part of two hours singing damn Christmas carols for our trees to be blessed to come into our home.
I also knew why we’d spent the entire day at that Christmas tree lot, and, more importantly, why I’d had to leave my phone in the car.
Jim was onto me. Once he realized I’d had a hand in sending him to Madrid instead of Spencer—slowing down his plans—my charming, ruthless shark of a husband pulled a full-on CEO move and threw a monkey wrench into my schemes, making sure my planning slowed right along with his.
If it weren’t such a perfect and sly retaliation that only my husband could sneak in, I’d be pissed. But I couldn’t be mad. This was our little family Christmas planning war, and I would be a fool to bitch about it. In fact, I’m sure that’s exactly what he wanted.
His eyes scanning over to me multiple times while singing the wrong words to ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ told me he was waiting for me to lose it.
But I knew my husband, and his victory never truly lay within the win…
it was the victory of the pain endured by his opponent.
And that’s what drove him to a Christmas tree lot today to do something I knew his jet-lagged and overworked ass didn’t want to do.
But he was driven to do it for this exact moment: my reaction.
So, that’s why I started singing along with everyone, pretending not to care. I would let his ass squirm, wondering if his entire day out at a Christmas tree farm and staying up late all night tonight to decorate our new real tree was worth it for his sly ass.
“No regrets leaving the phone in the car today?” Jim asked, lacing our fingers and kissing my knuckles.
“None.” I smiled. “Honestly, I want to do this every Christmas. Get everyone involved—our doctors, our CEO friends. Make it a thing.”
“Really?” He played along.
“Really. We should bring the shelter residents down to the lot and let everyone pick trees the same way.”
“That’s a grand idea,” he said.
“Maybe we can do that tomorrow,” I added.
“Tomorrow?” He frowned. “Aren’t we decorating the Malibu house?”
“I think that would be selfish,” I said. “Unless we’re spending Christmas in Malibu this year, we don’t need that house decorated too, do we?”
“What about the rescue tree?” he asked as if he really gave a shit.
“All Jake and Collin said was the rescue tree sits on the beach deck to enjoy its final sunsets before the chipper,” I said, repeating today’s sermon.
“And to enjoy the salty holiday breezes,” Jim added solemnly.
“Exactly. No other rules for a rescue tree,” I shrugged.
“They have to feel like it’s Christmas too, Mom,” Addy chimed in.
“And we can’t abandon it,” Izzy added, as if her Uncle Jake and Collin proclaimed these myths from ancient texts.
“They won’t be abandoned. And they’ll see their last Christmas with all the beach houses lit up from our porch,” I smiled.
“No,” Izzy insisted. “Uncle Collin said if we rescue one, it has to feel like a part of our Christmas family.”
“Oh, it’ll feel something,” I muttered.
I looked at Jim. He smiled, smug as sin.
“I understand the reasoning,” he said smoothly.
“Oh, do you now?” I asked, voice sharp enough to slice wrapping paper. “Please. Enlighten us, Father Christmas.”
“Because,” he said, leaning back with that CEO swagger that made half of Los Angeles weak, “parking that tree on our deck without decorating the house would be cruel. Like leaving it to rot in the chipper line. Unacceptable.”
I exhaled a dry laugh. “You’re out of your mind.”
“And that would be so sad for our special rescue, Mom,” Izzy backed her dad’s bullshit, full drama.
“So, with all of our hearts warmed for dead, brown Christmas trees this year, when are we making time for our shelters and centers to pick out their live evergreen trees?” I cut in, done being the butt of Jake and Collin’s rescue-tree mythology.
“Next weekend,” Jim said, glancing at me. “Splendid idea. My planners don’t need me or the girls for walkthroughs. Do yours need you?”
“They might,” I said. “Seems Cat will need your signature for our permits tomorrow, so our walkthrough may be pushed to next weekend.”
Jim eyed me. I stared back, unfazed.
“Damn,” he said. “I told Spencer to let her know I’d sign today. I got distracted with the—”
“Rescuing dead trees for the holidays?” I cut in, ready to be done pretending.
“In truth, I didn’t realize I’d be so caught up in my brother and Collin’s heartfelt tradition,” he said.
“Ah. But if it conveniently kept us at the lot—with my phone in the car—so Cat couldn’t meet you for signatures…then sure. Makes sense why you suddenly care about a dead tree.” I arched a brow.
Jim finally chuckled. “Listen, my love,” he said as we took the off-ramp winding up to the Hills. “I wouldn’t have used my signature power to slow you down…that is, if I hadn’t learned my scheming little cheat of a wife used Madrid and tried to slow me down first.”
“Who leaked it? Spence?”
“Spence likes his balls where they are,” Jim laughed. “He wouldn’t crack—Nat would end him.”
“Jake?”
“I’m not selling anyone out,” he said. “Just know this: scores are even. And going forward, don’t use my dedication to the company to knock me off my plan.”
“You’re truly serious about seeing this through?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t have entered this little contest, with our girls on the side of the honest parent, if I weren’t,” he said.
“God.” I rolled my eyes. “Fine. No more games. You’ll sign the permits tomorrow. Actually, tonight. I’ll have Cat come by, and we’ll get it done.”
“Fine by me. I’ve had a marvelous, cheerful homecoming. If you want to bring business into our tree-decorating evening, that’s on you.”
“Mom, just wait till Monday,” Addy said. “We haven’t seen him all week.”
“How long would it take to sign?” I asked Jim.
“Depends,” he said. “If I trust the planner, which I don’t, I wouldn’t need to read the fine print.
” His smile turned dangerous. “But permits for a Paramount set with you and your planner? If I’m reading to ensure there are no further tricks up anyone’s sleeves?
Could be an hour or two.” He sighed. “Give or take.”
“Mom,” Izzy pleaded. “Just wait till Dad’s back at work.”
“You’re all working together,” I muttered. “How am I supposed to trust any of you?”
Jim chuckled. “Same way we trust you, my love. Don’t.”
Their smiles told me if I pushed for one more second, I’d hand them the win. Whatever. Cat would handle it. We’d hit our deadline.
The best part was right here—being with my family.
And the even better part was the reason we were building the set at all: to march Jim out in his pajamas like Clark Griswold’s boss, then change him into Scrooge’s wardrobe so he could ‘fully immerse’ himself with the employees he almost short-changed this year.
Eyes on the grand finale, not the games getting us there.
In the end, the joke would be on Jim. That’s what mattered, reminding him what this war was about and making sure he didn’t take the cheap way out next year.
Honestly, today’s cheating challenges had dragged him to a tree lot, away from the office, and into spending more holiday time with us than he ever had.
Maybe the rescue tree wasn’t the only thing saved today.