“And I can’t stand you either,” he says, grinning.
And for whatever reason, suddenly … I feel something I never feel. I feel freaking bashful. And I hate every second of it.
Just when I thought I had this complicated human figured out, I bring her to a tree farm, and she’s walking around like a lost puppy dog. She typically has a sharp look on her face, but right now, she just looks sad.
And suddenly, I feel like a dick for making her come to this place with me.
It’s spitting snow now, and with the freezing temperature, it’s fucking cold out. Stella is better dressed than me—aside from the sneakers she’s wearing, which are not waterproof.
“What do you think of this one?” I ask, nudging her side gently and pointing to a tree. “It doesn’t look too bad.”
She eyes it over and shrugs. “They all look the same to me. I’m not sure I’m the best wingman for this.”
I rear my head back before I gaze around at the row of trees beside us. “I mean, that one right there is short and stubby. And the one beside it? It looks like another tree tried to fuck it and got too rough and ripped half its limbs off. That guy at the end? That’s what I would call a Charlie Brown tree. And the one across from it is overkill and would totally piss my brothers off because my Instagram story on Christmas night would, hands down, kick the shit out of theirs.”
“So, pick that one then,” she says, completely disconnected from what we’re here for.
I don’t know what it is, but seeing her like this—so down in the dumps—makes me look at her differently. Since the first time we met, when she got pissed at me for buying her groceries, I’ve thought she was a coldhearted bitch. Now, I think she’s just a sad girl, hiding behind that icy attitude.
“Fine,” she says quickly, a fed-up expression on her face before her finger points at the Charlie Brown tree. “That’s the one. That’s your winner.” She claps her hands. “Pack it up. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
I know she thinks I’ll call her bluff and say obviously that’s not the tree I’m getting because it’s definitely the ugliest son of a bitch here. But in reality, I don’t give a fuck what my tree looks like. Hell, I don’t really even want one to begin with because my dog likes to mark his territory on it every year and I have to put a damn baby gate around the fucking thing so that he can’t get to it.
Instead of arguing, I look it up and down and bob my head. “Looks good,” I say, chipper, and walk over to it.
Soon, she’s hastily trailing behind me while I walk around to the back of it.
“Wait, wait. I mean … I was kind of joking.” She stops, and I glance over to find a grimace on her face. “Or maybe being a bit bitchy.” She pauses. “Yeah. Definitely bitchy.” She sighs, brushing her hands against the tree. “Your mom will want you to have a beautiful tree. And despite my distaste for you, I really like your mom. You’d better get a different one.”
I doubt she actually likes my mom. But I can see the wheels turning in her head. I’m sure she’s thinking that if I get this ugly-ass tree and then I tell my mom it was her idea, my mom will be mad. If my mom’s mad, she won’t be as kind to her hanging around and still pushing this shit about us selling our land to her company.
Even when she’s being sulky and sad, she’s thinking about that fucking career.
“My mom doesn’t give a fuck what the tree looks like. Just that we all have one,” I say truthfully.
I take one look at her, and I can read her like a book and see how uncomfortable she is right now. I might not like her, and she may be in Maine for all the wrong reasons, yet, for some strange reason … I want to cheer her up.
Stepping in front of her, I rest my hands on my waist. “How about this, Miss Difficult as Fuck? We’ll go to the store and get the ugliest ornaments we can find, and we’ll make this the worst-looking motherfucking tree anyone has ever seen.” I grin at her. “You can hate on Christmas and beautiful, picture-perfect trees all you want.” I jerk my chin toward the tree. “But this one? Nah. There’s no way. He’s already had a rough enough life without you shitting on him. I mean, just look at the poor guy.”
Questioning first flashes on her face, but when she realizes I’m serious, she fights back a smile. “He? The tree has a gender?” She narrows her eyes, looking it over. “I don’t see a penis anywhere.”
“Don’t embarrass him more than he already is,” I whisper, and this time, she actually giggles. “He’s ugly,andhe has a small dick. It’s tragic really.” Reaching forward, I bop her nose playfully with my finger. “What do you say, Fireball?” I wiggle my brows at her playfully. “Challenge accepted?”
She looks down for a second, and I swear, it’s almost like she reverts back to a child before, finally, she lifts her head back. “Sure. I mean, it’s the least we can do for this poor, ugly-ass, tiny-dick tree. Right?”
“Oh, for sure.” I nod quickly before grabbing it. “All right, Mr. Tiny-Dick Tree. You’re coming with us.”
As I drag the tree toward the front to load it into the back of my truck, I glance next to me. And the weirdest thing happens …
Stella smiles at me.
But what’s even more fucked up? My heart swells, and I smile back.
For the first time since her stuck-up ass landed here, I don’t want to wring her neck.
It’s a fucking Christmas miracle.
Of course, the moment is going well, until the owner’s wife, Mary, suddenly appears out of absolutely nowhere. She’s known me my entire life, and she’s nice enough, but, goddamn, she’s always been extremely pushy with just about everything. Especially always wondering why my brothers and I are single. She’s made it her personal mission to try to hook each one of us up. This might be my opportunity to never deal with that again.
