Her eyes take in the sight of me and Stella, and I cringe.
I lean closer to Stella’s ear. “I’m really sorry for whatever is about to happen.”
Before she even has the chance to ask what in the hell I’m talking about, Mary has her camera out and is fast approaching us.
“Ridge! I thought that was you over here, next to this gorgeous girl.” She beams at both of us, practically bouncing before holding her camera up to me. “You know how we feel about documenting our customers’ experiences. So, you two lovebirds need to come sit on the steps in front of the Crabby Jon’s sign!”
Stella’s eyebrows form a straight line, and she opens her mouth to no doubt argue. “Oh, we’re not a co—”
“That sounds great, Mary,” I cut her off, smiling at Stella and nodding slowly. “Doesn’t it, babe?”
Casting a glare straight at me, she folds her arms over her chest. “Why, yes, Ridge, that sounds absolutely delightful.”
The words come out sounding like she’s a robot, and I try not to laugh at her enthusiasm, but it’s not easy.
I wave my hand toward the steps, knowing this drill because there were times in the past when I had to take a picture all by myself with a damn tree I didn’t give a fuck about getting. If you stop in when Mary isn’t here, you’re in luck because no one else gives a shit about these pictures. But if she’s here? Shut the fuck up and take the picture because she’ll likely follow you home if not.
I sit down, and right away, she tries to sit a foot away; instead, I tug her down in front of me, pulling her in real close.
“What the hell are you doing, asshole?” she whispers.
“Just sit there and smile like a good girl,” I warn her. “Don’t you see the crazy in her eyes? You don’t want that smoke.”
Just then, she looks at Mary, and I can feel her body begin to shake with laughter, though she does her best to contain it to be polite.
“Fine,” she whispers. “I’ll play along. But only because you’re right. She’s a nutjob for sure.”
I hold her a little closer, feeling her relax against me as Mary snaps a picture.
“Okay, you’re all set.” She beams at us. “Thank you for your business, lovebirds. Be sure to tag us on Facebook once your tree is up!”
And then, thank fuck, she’s off to bug the shit out of someone else.
“Clearly, she didn’t see the tree we’d picked out.” Stella snorts, but after a few seconds, she realizes that she’s still leaning against me and scurries to get up.
Typically, I hate to see Mary coming. But after she just made Stella take a picture and pretend to actually like me?
Well, I may just be her biggest fan.
Ridge and I continue to fill our cart with ugly Christmas decorations. And between choosing a homely tree; grabbing lunch at one of the cutest restaurants I’ve ever seen, called The Rusty Anchor; and now this … I can’t believe I’m going to admit it, but … I’ve actually been enjoying myself today. I’m certainly not going to boost Ridge’s ego and tell him that because he’d never let me live it down, but it’s the truth. And I made it through the tree farm experience without breaking down or kicking the shit out of any innocent trees.
Winning.
“What about these? These are fucking terrible,” Ridge says, holding up a box of brown ornaments. “They look like shit with sparkles dumped on them.”
I laugh, taking them from him and putting them in the cart. “Yep. We’re definitely getting those.”
Something about this—about not decorating the perfect tree just to pretend everything is wonderful—well, it somehow makes me not hate doing it. In fact, I’m kind of liking it. And Ridge and I haven’t even fought. Not once.
Grabbing a Santa hat from the rack, he leans forward and carefully pulls it down onto my head. But instead of moving away after, he hovers, looking down at me.
“Well,” he drawls lowly, “aren’t you cute?”
My cheeks heat, and I fight an awkward giggle.
“Keep it. I like how it looks on you, Fireball.”
He swallows, staring down at me, and I stand here, still as a statue and completely incapable of moving.
