Her smile brightens, genuine enthusiasm lighting her features. "I'd love to help pick out a tree."
"Good." I nod once, decisive. "We'll head to town after breakfast. There's a tree farm just outside Crimson Hollow."
In the kitchen, I set about making coffee while attempting to untangle the complicated knot of emotions I've been studiously ignoring. Getting a Christmas tree together feels like another step over a line we've already obliterated. Another domestic ritual that belongs to real couples, not temporary arrangements.
Judith joins me ten minutes later, dressed in jeans and one of my flannel shirts knotted at her waist. The sight of her in my clothes satisfies something primitive in me.
"Something smells amazing." She moves to the stove where I've started breakfast.
"Just bacon and eggs. Nothing fancy." I hand her a mug of coffee, prepared exactly how she likes it: splash of cream, one sugar.
"Still amazing." She sips the coffee, humming with appreciation. "I could get used to this."
The casual comment lands like a stone in still water, ripples of possibility expanding outward. Could get used to this. As if there's a future beyond December 26th. As if this isn't just a temporary solution to our respective problems.
I turn back to the stove, focusing on not burning the eggs. "Sleep shirt looks better on you than me."
"Perks of being the wife." She says it lightly, teasingly, but the word sends another ripple through me.
Wife. A title with an expiration date.
We eat breakfast with comfortable familiarity, discussing the merits of various Christmas tree varieties. Judith advocates for a classic Douglas fir while I explain why the native Engelmann spruce is superior for high elevation homes. The debate is playful, domestic in a way that twists something in my chest.
After cleaning up, we bundle into warm clothes and head to my truck. The drive to town is filled with easy conversation and the occasional brush of her hand against mine. When did thisbecome so natural? When did her touch become something I anticipate rather than tolerate?
The tree farm buzzes with families despite the early hour. Children dart between rows of evergreens while parents debate height and fullness. Christmas music plays from speakers mounted on weathered fence posts. The scent of pine and wood smoke fills the crisp mountain air.
"It's like something from a Christmas card." Judith's eyes sparkle with childlike delight as we exit the truck.
"Wait till you taste their hot chocolate." I guide her toward the entrance, hand settling naturally at the small of her back. "Best in the county."
We collect a handsaw from the attendant and venture into the rows of trees. Judith moves ahead of me, evaluating each specimen with the same focused attention she brings to everything. The sight of her intense consideration over something as simple as a Christmas tree brings a smile to my face.
"What about this one?" She stops before a perfectly shaped spruce, around seven feet tall.
I circle the tree, assessing. "Good symmetry. Strong branches. Healthy color." I nod approval. "You have a good eye."
Her smile at the simple praise does something to my insides. "I aim to please."
The words trigger memories of her kneeling before me last night, looking up with those dark eyes, saying those exact words in a very different context. Heat floods my system, and I step closer, backing her against the tree.
"You certainly do." My voice drops lower as I cage her between my arms. "Very thoroughly."
Her breath catches, pupils dilating. "Dario. We're in public."
"No one can see us behind this tree." I brush my lips along her jaw, gratified by her shiver. "Just wanted to remind you what you have to look forward to when we get home."
"As if I could forget." She tilts her head, giving me better access to the sensitive spot below her ear. "But if you keep this up, we won't make it home."
With reluctance, I step back. "Can't have that. I have plans for my wife that require privacy."
The promise in my words brings a flush to her cheeks that has nothing to do with the cold. "Then let's get this tree and go."
I make quick work of cutting down the spruce while Judith holds it steady. We carry it together to the processing area, where staff wrap it in netting for transport. While they work, I buy two cups of hot chocolate from the small concession stand.
"You weren't kidding." She sighs with appreciation after the first sip. "This is incredible."
"Told you." I watch her enjoyment, finding satisfaction in her simple pleasure. "They add cinnamon and nutmeg."
