My eyes widened, and he shrugged. “It’s incredibly competitive. You have to work your way up, fighting to impress the head chef, and then when you get your own restaurant to run…” He stepped into the barn to fetch the shears and handed them to me.
“It’s not just dinner service, you know?” he continued. “It’s menu planning, creating new recipes, food orders, staff management.” He smiled ruefully. “I lived and breathed it. And sometimes I really loved it.”
I cut the twine binding the tree, letting its limbs spread. “Just sometimes?”
“Sometimes I also hated it.” He chuckled. “Have you ever been in a toxic relationship?”
“Back in high school, sure. Weren’t they all?”
Noel smiled grimly. “I wouldn’t know, but…yeah, that’s what my career is like. The most intoxicating lover that you know is bad for your mental health, but you just can’t stay away.”
I frowned. “Sounds awful.”
“Yeah, but the highs are so very high,” he said suggestively with a wiggle of his brows.
That was a bedroom voice if I’d ever heard one. And damn, toxic or not, I’d love hearing more of it. Maybe while we were both naked and toasty under the quilt on Noel’s bed.
I focused on arranging the tree display, cutting twine and spreading out limbs, so that folks would hopefully buy these first. It saved a lot more time than traipsing through the farm, though we offered that service, too.
“The arbor was such a nice accent,” Noel said wistfully as he helped me arrange trees, fetching stands to prop them up and shifting hay bales around to allow for seating near the store. “Why didn’t they replace it?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess they had other worries.”
“Like?”
“Like running the day-to-day,” I said. “There’s a lot more to tree farming than stringing up some lights and?—”
“That’swhat’s missing,” Noel exclaimed, craning his head to look up. “There used to be lights strung from the barn roof to that first row of trees over there. It was the starting point for the illuminated trail.” His eyes narrowed. “Is that seriously gone, too?”
“Ice storm took down the hanging lights a couple of years ago. I offered to put them back up, but Ed said he wanted to do it. He was just never quite up to it.”
“Well, he’s not doing that,” Noel said decisively. “We’ll have to take care of it.”
“Noel, I’m sure the lights are a tangled mess by now, and we’ve got other things to do. It’s Black Friday.”
“Then we’ll do it on a slower day,” he said. “Those lights drew people here at night for s’mores and hayrack rides through the trees. Santa used to come out here.”
I sighed. “Things have changed.”
His eyes looked stormy as he gazed around the farm, seeing it as it was now, rather than what he remembered from childhood.
It wasn’t like it wasbad.
It was a beautiful farm with evergreens as far as the eye could see. There was a firepit with chairs positioned around it for s’more-making and a few picnic tables set up for families to gather with cups of hot chocolate.
I could remember coming over here as a kid with my parents, delighted by the lights and decor, everything beautiful and glowing and warm.
I’d always attributed the brightness of those memories to my mother’s hand in mine. Her life, so vibrant and strong back then.
Maybe the farm had dimmed. Maybe we didn’t light the place up in a blaze of Christmas cheer or hold as many holiday-themed events as when the Grisolds were younger, but we had a gorgeous selection of Douglas firs, Scotch pines, and Colorado blue spruce. The barn was still full of crafts and canned goods that Maggie made and sold on consignment for other crafters.
We had a lot to offer—even if we were a bit less shiny these days.
“You’re right,” Noel said, surprising me. Since when did the guy ever agree with me? “Thingshavechanged. I’m here now. And I’m going to whip this place into shape.”
Heaven help me. I took in the manic glow in his eyes and wondered if I’d survive Noel’s good intentions.
And yes, Ialsowondered what it would be like to have all that focus and determination turned on me.
