Her mouth opens like she wants to argue—but instead, Audrey closes it, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “Fine. Next business meeting.”
The heaviness eases, replaced by something lighter. Not quite safe, but not uncomfortable either.
Good thing this is just business.
OBJECTION!
Audrey
The problem with good intentions is that they look suspiciously like dates when you’re carrying a picnic basket.
“When I said you could get the tab for the next business meeting, I didn’t know it was going to come with a side of tree.” Jack stands at the entrance to Pine & Dandy, one brow cocked, his breath fogging in the cold air like punctuation to his amusement.
I shift the basket to my other hand, the containers inside clattering like sleigh bells. “Well, uh… I wanted to thank you for all your help.” The words sound lame even to my ears. Who thanks someone with flannel-clad tree cutters, sleigh rides, and hot chocolate stands that smell like sugar and woodsmoke?
Me, that’s who.
This excursion seemed like a good idea this morning. After three straight days of tourist buses slamming into Making Whoopie—customers either asking for whatever Felix Jones posted about on social media or trying to catch a glimpse of Amanda Willis mid-whoopie pie bite—plus prepping for the upcoming gingerbread competition, I’d also been replaying what Jack said at the Chowder House. How Hideaway reminded him of his parents. About how the town’s holiday magic may have initially stung, but it also sparked something unexpectedly good.
And I thought… maybe he’d like Pine & Dandy. The whole cut-your-own-tree experience complete with horses jingling past, tamed reindeer roaming the forest, and hot chocolate that tastes better because your mittens are damp. A small-town classic that might feel less like loss and more like home.
But now, standing at the entrance with Jack at my side, his amused expression melting into something softer, something dangerously more intimate, I’m second-guessing everything.
“Besides.” I tug my scarf tighter with my free hand. “You were the one who complained about my apartment being holiday deprived.”
He looks ahead to the clapboard barn decorated with swaths of pine garland, the corner of his mouth twitching. Not quite a smile but suspiciously close. “That I did.”
Stifling a humph, I shuffle forward across the snow dusted ground. Jack follows, catching up to take hold of the basket for me.
It’s nice. Not just his gentlemanly act but Pine & Dandy’s atmosphere. I remember it from when I visited Hideawaybefore I moved here. Before I opened my bakery and suddenly didn’t have time for the very things I moved here for.
The farm smells like every candle Yankee ever tried to bottle—pine needles crushed underfoot, woodsmoke from chimneys, sugar drifting out from the barn’s bakery counter. Kids squeal as a pair of horses jingle past, pulling a sleigh heavy with bundled families. Off to the side, a pen holds two of the farm’s reindeer, lounging like disinterested celebrities behind their wooden fence while children press mittened hands through the slats, begging them to “do the nose thing.”
Jack’s gaze lingers on the reindeer. “Tell me you don’t actually make people pay to see Rudolph’s understudies.”
“Only three dollars,” I say, straight-faced. “Five if you want a selfie.”
That earns me a low chuckle, warm enough to chase away the chill.
“So what’s the business angle here?” Jack shoves his hands in his coat pockets as we stroll past the rows of pre-cut trees, eyeing them like he’s ready to negotiate. “You’re going to write off a Douglas fir as a deductible?”
“No business.” The words almost stick in my throat for how unusual they are. “Just a well-earned, small-town thank you experience.”
Jack was right— I don’t partake in the local festivities that drew me to the town. After Making Whoopie opened its doors, I kept saying I’d make time once that first crucial year of a new business’s first year was behind me. Then it was once I’d paid off the equipment. Then once I hit a certain follower count on social media. All benchmarks Ithought my mom needed before she’d finally admit I’d done a good thing by moving here—that she could be as proud of my little shop as she’d been when I worked at the Ritz.
Only then could I launch my main objective. Which, ironically enough, began with a Christmas tree farm. Just not this one.
Jack nudges my shoulder with his, guiding me back to the present. “Does that mean I’ve become baking assistant material?”
Between answering the phone, ringing up customers, and juggling his telework, he’s started sticking around after hours to ‘help’ me prep for the gingerbread house competition this weekend.
I smile remembering Jack’s expression when hefinallygot all four sides standing somewhat straight. “Getting there.”
He puffs out his chest as best he can in his new thick winter coat. “Nice.”
Having given up his city-slicker cashmere trench, Jack, in between lawyering and baking assistanting, managed to find a legitimately warm winter coat from a local shop.
It’s unnerving how good he looks in his small-town-guy uniform.
