Chapter 3
MAUVE
She woke the next morning to a text from Jason.
Jason
The first day of Christmas. A tree for Mauve. #ThirtyDaysOfChristmasMagic
She sat staring at it for a moment. On the one hand, the thought of only thirty days before he had to leave broke her heart. Their love affair would end before it barely began. Thirty days would go fast. She couldn’t waste a single day. Thirty days that would have to last a lifetime.
Mauve
I don’t do trees.
Jason
What?!
Mauve
Not since the divorce.
Jason
We’re getting a tree.
Mauve
Fine. Pick me up in an hour?
Jason
I’ll be there.
She set aside her phone and took a shower. As she scrubbed her hair, thoughts traveled from Sugarville Grove to Manhattan. The last Christmas with Chris. Or, the Christmas that never happened because he was a lying, cheating heartbreaker dressed in a three-piece suit.
While he was at work, she’d spent two days decorating for the holidays in their penthouse apartment.
Her mother-in-law had told her about a Christmas shop in the city that had been a family tradition of theirs.
Which loosely translated in rich-woman speak meant: all ornaments must be purchased there.
Dutifully, because that’s who she had been before his cheating changed everything, she’d gone to the shop and picked out dozens of gorgeous, albeit overpriced ornaments. She’d just hung the last one when her phone buzzed. It was a photo from an unknown number.
I’m sorry, but you have the right to know.
It was a photo of Chris on his desk at the office, with a girl wrapped around him.
To this day she had no idea who had sent it, but she suspected it was Chris’s secretary. Regardless, it did its job. She’d run to the bathroom and vomited, then sat on the bathroom floor sobbing, as the truth embedded itself in her heart. Her marriage was over.
And her dreams of being a mother with it.
That was something she kept to herself. Admitting how much she wanted a baby out loud, even to Reese, was too painful. The years were slipping by and so were her hopes of motherhood. She’d be thirty-five in January. The window was closing.
She dressed in a warm sweater and jeans, and her fur-lined boots, before heading downstairs for a piece of toast and a cup of coffee.
She’d just finished her breakfast when Jason arrived, looking way too handsome in a thick flannel jacket and jeans.
In L.A., he’d looked like he belonged there in his linen shirts and shorts but today he looked like he was all Sugarville Grove.
“You ready to find the perfect tree?” Jason asked as he stepped inside her kitchen.
“I guess.”
He stopped and looked around. “Your home is gorgeous.”
She realized with a jolt that this was the first time he’d been in her house.
Her safe place she’d bought with her divorce settlement from Chris.
She’d found the little farmhouse by accident one day when Reese had taken her out to look around.
They’d happened upon the For Sale sign, advertising an Open House and had stopped in to take a look.
Mauve had fallen instantly in love. The place was only 1200 square feet, with one bedroom and one bath, but it was perfect for her.
It had been renovated by the previous owners, who were selling because they were having a baby.
Yes, that hurt a little, but she put it aside to imagine her life there.
What did he see? Small and sad? Or cozy and hopeful?
She watched him look at the exposed beams overhead and sage-gray cabinets.
He ran his hand along the butcher-block island where she'd left her coffee mug, then looked up at the pots hanging from the rack above the stove.
His gaze traveled to the mismatched pitchers she'd collected from flea markets lined up on the open shelving.
He wandered over to the farmhouse sink beneath the window, where a small herb garden sat in terra cotta pots on the sill, catching the weak December light
“It’s not much, but it’s mine,” Mauve said. “Come on, I’ll show you the living room. You can help me decide where to put the tree.”
“You’ve really never had a tree since you moved here?” Jason asked.
“No trees. No decorating at all.”
“Why?”
How could she explain it? That part of her died when she saw Chris and the other woman? That Christmas was always associated with that memory? “I was decorating when I was sent a photo of my husband on the desk with another woman. Since then, Christmas makes me feel a little sick to my stomach.”
He drew her close, holding her for a moment. “I’m sorry. But maybe it’s time to replace that memory with some new ones?”
“I’ll try,” Mauve said, resting her cheek against his chest.
A few seconds later, she led him into her small living room, thinking about his home in California. His Hollywood Hills house was impressive, with vaulted ceilings and big windows. She’d enjoyed his pool and the view of the canyon but it couldn’t be more opposite from her little farmhouse.
After the penthouse she’d shared with Chris, with its marble countertops, the Sub-Zero fridge, and kitchen that looked like a magazine spread, she'd wanted something that felt like hers. Warm interiors and soft furniture and soothing colors on the walls. She’d wanted it to smell of coffee and freshly baked bread in the winter and flowers and meat cooking on the grill during the warm months.
A blue linen sofa she'd found at an estate sale took up most of the space, piled with pillows and a fringed throw blanket.
Built-in bookshelves flanked the window, crammed full of novels, speech pathology textbooks, and picture books she kept on hand for her younger clients.
A wicker basket sat beside the sofa, a jute rug beneath it.
“This is a beautiful room.” His gaze grew wistful. “I’ll be able to picture you in it after I leave.”
That made her so sad she wanted to cry. Instead, she smiled brightly, pretending to have fun. “Most nights I’m curled up on the couch watching television or reading. Reese and I hang out in here sometimes when she needs a break from all the testosterone in her house.”
Jason turned in a full circle. “Where are you going to put the tree? In that empty corner?” He pointed to the corner by the windows that looked into the yard.
“Yes, but it has to be a small tree,” Mauve said. “And we’ll have to buy some ornaments. I have nothing here.”
“All right, well, this is a job perfect for my Aunt Grace, but I’ll have to do.” He took her hands. “You ready for the first day of Christmas with me?”
“Yeah, okay. But we can’t get carried away.”
“That’s not how I roll, pretty girl. Go big or go home.”
“You’re scaring me.”
He laughed. “I’m a Hayes, and we do Christmas the right way. You’re in good hands.” He tilted his head, gazing at her with a spark of hunger in his eyes. “Can I have that kiss now? Since no one’s looking?”
She lifted her chin. “Yes, please.”
He leaned down to kiss her, not far because she was almost as tall as him. 5’11” without heels. But his 6’3” height was just right.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him pull her close, and they kissed like they had in L.A. Like their life depended on it.
Hank’s Trees and Holiday Farm was a sprawling operation set on a gorgeous piece of land about ten minutes outside of town.
The big red barn was visible from the main road, its roof lined with twinkling lights.
As Jason pulled his rental into the gravel lot, Mauve took in the charming old farmhouse with its wide porch decorated with garlands of pine and red bows.
A wreath hung on the front door, and lanterns flickered along the steps.
Beyond the barn, rows of trees were lined up under strings of lights.
A large wooden sign next to the farmhouse read Hank’s Trees and Holiday Farm, its letters outlined with white lights.
Families roamed the lot, sipping hot chocolate and chatting as they searched for the perfect tree.
“I love this place,” Jason said, cutting the engine. “My Mom took us here every year. Roan and I would fight over which tree to get, but ultimately she chose. Mom loved Christmas.”
The yearning in his voice made her chest ache. It also made her want to make the day special for him.
“Let’s go find the perfect tree,” Mauve said. “A short, fat one maybe?”
“We’ll know it when we see it.”
They climbed out of the SUV. She breathed in the cold air that smelled like pine and woodsmoke. “Smells like Christmas,” she said. “And it’s cold.” She tugged a knit cap out of her jacket and pulled it down over her ears.
“You look adorable in that hat,” Jason said.
She smiled back at him. No one had ever made her feel more beautiful than Jason Hayes.
Which was odd since he was surrounded by beautiful actresses and wannabe actresses at every turn.
When she’d visited him, she’d been stunned by how thin the women were.
And tan. And blonde. Many had faces that didn’t move as they should, what with the fillers and Botox, but that was the culture there.
In Vermont, it was okay for a woman to have some curves and a face that moved.
Christmas music drifted from speakers, mingling with children’s shouts and laughter.
Jason steered them toward a rustic wooden cabin where families browsed handmade ornaments, garlands, and wreaths. “Let’s choose some ornaments first. My treat.”
“Are you sure?” She hadn’t wanted to admit that her budget was tight. Too tight for new ornaments.
“I’m sure,” Jason said.
She didn’t argue, letting him open the door for her.
Inside, the cabin smelled like cinnamon and pine, with a crackling fireplace in the corner and shelves filled with delicate glass ornaments, hand-carved reindeer, and stockings in every color.
There were rows of scented candles, small nativity sets, baked goods, including gingerbread cookies that she could smell even through their plastic wrapping.