Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CLAIRE
The gravel crunches beneath my tires as I pull into the lot at McKinley’s Tree Farm. The scent hits me the moment I step out of my car, a breath of something sharp and fresh, like it’s trying to clear away the clutter in my head. If only it were that easy.
The wind nips at my cheeks as I make my way toward the barn to pick up the centerpieces Mrs. McKinley is donating for the kids’ holiday carnival this week.
Frost sparkles like crushed glass along the wooden fence posts, the sun barely clearing the tops of the trees.
I tug my coat tighter around myself, willing the cold to drown out the thoughts still buzzing like static in the back of my brain.
It’s been over a week since the bar. Since Declan.
Since he hovered over me, his lips a breath from mine.
I haven’t seen him since I walked away from him in that darkened bar.
Not at Holley Ridge. Not during my morning runs.
Not even when Dylan, Rowan, and I went out for drinks again this past weekend to the same bar.
I’d be lying if I said the chance of seeing him there again didn’t factor into my decision.
But he wasn’t there.
I haven’t so much as peeked a glimpse of him as I’ve stared out my bedroom window like a deranged peeping Tom.
I hate how much I miss him.
Hate how I can’t stop thinking about him.
Hate how my body aches with the memory of his touch.
Hate all the nights I’ve spent with my hand between my thighs.
Hate how I’ve whispered his name in the dark like it’s a secret I can’t stop telling.
Hate how I’ve replayed our one night together as I made myself come.
My cheeks heat from the memory, and I quickly brush it off, focusing on why I’m here. Centerpieces. Carnival. Mrs. McKinley.
But as I pass the rows of pre-cut trees, I notice a familiar figure standing between a few eight-foot Noble Firs.
Declan.
He looks out of place here, surrounded by flannel and fleece and family chaos. His shoes are too pristine. His coat too expensive. His pants too starched.
But it’s not just his clothes that make him look foreign. It’s the way he moves. There’s an air of control about him. A quiet intensity that makes him feel separate. Removed. Like he’s not part of this world but is desperately trying to figure out how to walk through it without anyone noticing.
It makes me want to peel back that cold outer shell and bring back the man I spent a few hours with during a snowstorm in Boston.
But I can’t. Not when he’s Joshua’s father.
So I try to hurry past, pretending I didn’t notice him.
As I do, he lifts his head and our eyes lock. His gaze softens the moment it lands on me, but he still doesn’t smile. Not really. Instead, there’s a flicker of something else. Something warm that sparks in his expression. But just as quickly, his mouth tightens.
“I can come back later,” he says, his voice colder than I remember. He turns, starting toward the parking lot.
“You don’t need to leave because of me,” I call after him, and he pauses, glancing back toward me. “I won’t be long. Just picking up a few things for Holley Ridge.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s fine,” I reply, forcing a smile. “Really.”
He fully faces me, and I feel like I should say something more. What is there to say?
Instead, I turn from him and head toward the barn, trying to shake off the tension I feel deep in my chest.
Inside, the scent of pine and cinnamon swirls through the warm air.
Handmade wreaths line the walls, their red bows bright against the worn wood.
Strings of white lights blink lazily overhead, intertwined with garland.
It looks and smells like every Christmas memory I’ve ever loved, reminding me of coming here every year with my mother and sister to pick out a tree.
But those memories don’t comfort me like they once did.
Because now all I can think about is Declan.
“Claire Thomas,” a familiar voice calls out, full of warmth.
I snap my head up as Mrs. McKinley bustles out from behind the counter, her arms open and inviting.
“It’s so nice to see you, sweetie.”
“You, too.”
“Don’t tell me you went fake on me,” she chastises with a subtle look of scorn. “I haven’t seen you at the farm yet to get a tree.”
“I’d never do that to you,” I assure her. “I’ve been working so much with the Christmas Festival and all, so I let Dylan take care of it.”
“That’s good. And how are your mom and sister?”
“Great. Gen just found out she’s having a girl.”
She covers her heart with her hand. “She must be over the moon.” Then she leans closer. “I always knew she and Finn would get together someday.”
I laugh. “I think we all did.”
“Well, I know you’re not here to update me on the town gossip. Let’s get those centerpieces for you.”
“Thanks, Mrs. McKinley. Your donation means a lot.”
“You know I’m always happy to help when I can.” She heads toward the open door of the barn. “Theo! Can you help Claire bring the centerpieces to her car?”
“He doesn’t have to. I can manage myself.”
“Nonsense.” She waves me off. “He has to earn his paycheck some way,” she says with a wink, since Theo is her son and will be taking over the tree farm one day.
Theo McKinley appears in the open doorway, wiping his hands on a cloth. He’s always been handsome in a rugged, salt-of-the-earth kind of way.
“Hey, Claire,” he greets with a heartwarming smile.
“Good to see you, Theo.”
He easily lifts the three boxes containing the centerpieces like they weigh nothing, refusing to let me carry a single one. I lead him toward my SUV as we talk about the festival, my position at Holley Ridge, both of us commiserating about all the long hours we’ve been working this time of year.
Once he’s done loading the boxes, he leans against the side of my car and crosses his arms in front of his chest. It pulls his flannel shirt tight, and I sense he’s trying to show off. One thing is certain. The years he’s spent hauling trees have certainly paid off.
“Any chance you’d want to grab a drink after the holidays when things slow down?” he asks, treating me to the same smile that made my stomach flip when I was a teenager. “We can decompress a bit.”
A few weeks ago, I would’ve said yes without hesitation. He’s kind. Has an incredible work ethic. Wants a family. He’s rooted here. All the things I’ve always wanted.
Except now I want them with someone who is off limits in every meaning of the word.
But I can’t keep pining for something that can never be.
Plus, it’s only a drink. Not a marriage proposal.
“I’d like that,” I say, although my voice lacks any sort of enthusiasm.
He beams. “Great. I’ll call you.”
“Sounds good.”
He gives me one last smile before jogging off to help tie a tree onto someone’s car. I watch him for several long moments, trying to muster some sort of excitement at the prospect of going on a date with Theo McKinley, something teenage me would have lost sleep over.
But I can’t.
With a long sigh, I open my car door, stealing one last glance at the tree farm. Couples and families meander through row after row of trees, parents letting their kids tug them toward the biggest one they can find.
And then there’s Declan. Alone. Staring at a tree as if it’s some foreign object.
He looks like he’s wandered into someone else’s family photo and doesn’t quite know whether he should be a part of it.
It makes my heart squeeze, and before I can talk myself out of it, I close the door and head back to the tree farm, my boots crunching over frostbitten needles and leaves.
Declan doesn’t immediately look up when I approach. He seems lost in thought, his hands buried in his pockets, his shoulders hunched like the cold has finally found its way through that polished exterior. I’ve never seen him like this. So…sad.
“Would you like some company?” I offer.
He snaps his eyes toward mine, completely taken aback by my presence.
“You look like you’re a bit out of your depth here.” I push out a laugh, hoping to cut through the tension.
He blinks repeatedly, as if clearing whatever he was just thinking about from his mind.
Then he blows out a long breath, the stiffness in his posture gradually waning.
“I could definitely use some help.”