“I love this place,” Jason said, cutting the engine. “My Mom took us here every year. Roan and I would fight over which tree to get, but ultimately she chose. Mom loved Christmas.”
The yearning in his voice made her chest ache. It also made her want to make the day special for him.
“Let’s go find the perfect tree,” Mauve said. “A short, fat one maybe?”
“We’ll know it when we see it.”
They climbed out of the SUV. She breathed in the cold air that smelled like pine and woodsmoke. “Smells like Christmas,” she said. “And it’s cold.” She tugged a knit cap out of her jacket and pulled it down over her ears.
“You look adorable in that hat,” Jason said.
She smiled back at him. No one had ever made her feel more beautiful than Jason Hayes. Which was odd since he was surrounded by beautiful actresses and wannabe actresses at every turn. When she’d visited him, she’d been stunned by howthin the women were. And tan. And blonde. Many had faces that didn’t move as they should, what with the fillers and Botox, but that was the culture there. In Vermont, it was okay for a woman to have some curves and a face that moved.
Christmas music drifted from speakers, mingling with children’s shouts and laughter.
Jason steered them toward a rustic wooden cabin where families browsed handmade ornaments, garlands, and wreaths. “Let’s choose some ornaments first. My treat.”
“Are you sure?” She hadn’t wanted to admit that her budget was tight. Too tight for new ornaments.
“I’m sure,” Jason said.
She didn’t argue, letting him open the door for her. Inside, the cabin smelled like cinnamon and pine, with a crackling fireplace in the corner and shelves filled with delicate glass ornaments, hand-carved reindeer, and stockings in every color. There were rows of scented candles, small nativity sets, baked goods, including gingerbread cookies that she could smell even through their plastic wrapping.
A clerk came up with a basket, thrusting it into Jason’s hands. “In case you’re on a shopping spree,” she said.
Jason grinned. “We are, actually.”
“I love gingerbread,” she said, mouth watering.
“Me too. Let’s get some.” Jason put several into the basket.
He moved through the shop, picking up ornaments and looking at them closely. He held a hand-blown glass star up to the light.
“This one’s pretty,” he said.
“It is.”
He handed it to her. “First ornament on the first day of Christmas.”
She took it from him, turning the delicate ornament in her hands, noticing the tiny air bubbles caught in the pale blue glass.
They went back and forth like that while they browsed. Despite her reluctance, she found herself thoroughly enjoying it. Her mood dampened, however, when she saw a small silver frame withBaby’s first Christmasetched into the metal and a place to put a photo. She picked it up, brushing the words with her thumb, the familiar ache for a child lodged at the back of her throat. As if it were suddenly hot, she placed it back where she’d found it and walked to another table where there were safer ornaments.
She looked up to see Jason watching her, a sadness in his eyes but also a knowing. He’d seen her reaction, and there was no taking it back now.
Bless him, he didn’t say anything.
By the time they left the cabin, they had a bag of goodies. In addition to the glass star, they’d found a carved wooden snowflake, a dozen glass balls, a set of simple white lights, and the gingerbread cookies neither of them could resist.
Outside, the late morning sun was bright against the snow. Families moved between the rows of trees, kids running ahead, parents calling after them.
“Okay, here we go,” Jason said, taking her hand.
They walked into the rows together, their boots crunching on the icy ground. There were Frasier firs, Douglas firs, and blue spruces in orderly lines. Every few steps, Jason would stop and gesture at one.
But none of them were quite right. One was too tall, another too sparse, another with a slightly crooked trunk.
He stopped in front of a six-foot Frasier fir that was full but not too wide, with good symmetry. It smelled incredible.
