I nod. “Stranger things have happened.”Like the two of us riding in his truck together on our way to pick out a Christmas tree.
“Yesterday, someone asked me if we sold fruitcake edibles.”
“Do you?”
“No. But now I kind of wish we did. It could be a million-dollar idea.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Not evenIcan make fruitcake taste good.”
“I bet you could.”
“It’s something people either love or hate. There’s no in-between ground.”
“Kind of like me,” he quips.
I snort. “How can you say that with a straight face? Everyone loves you.”
“I wouldn’t say that. Mr. Hilton didn’t,” he says, referring to one of the high school teachers.
“Can you blame the guy for being upset when he found out the tomato plants you grew for the photosynthesis project were really marijuana plants?”
He chuckles. “I’ll never forget the look on his face when a parent pointed it out during Open House.”
“Weren’t you worried you’d get in trouble?” Even as an adult, I can’t imagine being so bold.
He shrugs. “I didn’t really think that far ahead.”
“Yeah, that seems to be a recurring problem with the male species in general,” I quip.
“Hey, I turned out to be an upstanding member of society. I don’t break any laws.”
No, just hearts.
“Looking back, we should’ve known you were destined to open a dispensary.”
He laughs. “And now, I don’t even smoke weed. How’s that for irony?”
“That’s a good thing. You won’t eat into your profit margin.”
He shoots me a quick sideways look, and I catch the flicker of amusement and maybe something warmer in his eyes.
As we drive along, the snowfall intensifies. We fall into a comfortable silence as the white flakes blanket the world around us. It’s peaceful and totally at odds with my brain’s need to overthink the situation.
“You sure this tree farm exists?” I finally ask.
“Hey, have a little faith,” he says, smiling.
If only that were as easy as it sounds.
CHAPTER 12
JORDAN
By the time we pull into the lot, the snowfall’s gone from gentle to persistent, swirling in every direction like we’re in a snow globe that someone shook too hard. The thick, steady flakes blur the windshield and dust the rows of lamp posts lining the driveway. I slow the truck and glance over at Ginger. She’s staring out the windshield, her brows slightly raised.
“Okay,” she says, leaning forward. “This is not what I expected.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
