Page 2 of Dumped for a Christmas Tree Farmer

“Hey man, let’s calm down, okay? I’m James MacIntosh.” He holds his free hand out to shake mine, and I fight the urge to slap it away.

“I don’t care if you’re Father Christmas. Get out of my face, or you’ll be getting a black eye to go with your bloody nose.”

I pull Holly gently to the side as she worries her lip between her teeth.

“Holly, what the hell is going on here?”

“I’m not happy.” She wets her lips, holding up her hands in mock surrender.

No shit. But a warning would have been nice before I dropped twenty thousand on a ring and drove through arctic conditions to get here. This is going to wreck my plans. It’s going to set me back years. A wife, two-point-four kids, a dog if we must, but a cat at least, matching number plates, a picket fence. I want it all. I need it. I need to experience the nuclear family at least once in my life, and Holly Honeyford is my ticket. She’s amiable, considerate. She’s been preparing to be a good little wife her whole life. She has little ambition other than shopping or spending time with her friends, and that is absolutely fine with me. I want someone free, available, someone who I don’t mind spending time with. Is it love? Not in a jumping off a stage at your parents's Christmas party sort of way, no. But it’s companionship, half-decent sex, and a commitment that I’ve lived for the last three years.

It’s an agreement that I’ve supported her in her multiple endeavors that have flitted and changed with the season. It’s an acknowledgment that she doesn't make out with someone whilst the man you’re living with is entering the same goddamn party you invited him to.

“Holly.” I pinch the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger. “You’re making out with a random guy—”

“He’s not random. It’s James. My childhood sweetheart. We’ve—well, we’ve reconnected recently.”

“In the last two weeks since you’ve been home?” I scoff, throwing my hands up. The entire room is silent, watching our exchange. I need to keep my cool. These people will be my neighbors one day.

Her eyes light up like I’m finally getting it. “Yes, exactly.”

“And what? You’re going to move back here, get married to a Christmas tree farmer that somehow makes enough money to support himself year-round, have five children and wear matching outfits on the holidays? Are you going to set up a bakery that you’ve always dreamed of opening but never happened to mention to me, your partner of three years?” I huff, my hands flying up in frustration as I sweep them around the overly decorated room.

Her mouth gapes open.

“I knew there was something wrong with you. Are you stalking me? How do you know all of that?”

“You’re kidding me? He’s not seriously a Christmas tree farmer? Tell me this is a prank, Holly.” I look around the room, and I’m met with deathly silence.

A white-haired man wearing a sweater with a crocheted carrot nose extending from the fabric flinches when I approach.

“What does that man do for a living?” I point toward the lumberjack.

“He runs the Christmas tree farm up on Heston Road,” he whimpers.

“And what about the rest of the year?”

“I . . . I don’t know what you mean . . .”

I take a steadying breath. “What. Does. He. Do. The. Rest. Of. The. Year? A Christmas tree farm is not going to get you a mortgage. You can’t go to the bank and say, yes, I sell Christmas trees to a town of two thousand people once a year and earn nothing else.”

He stammers more, but I leave him with his mouth agape and brow furrowed as if the scenario had never occurred to him before.

“I think that’s enough, young man,” a booming voice calls out from behind me.

I swivel and see Mr. Honeyford wrapping his arm around his daughter as if I were the one who had just had my tongue down the lumberjack's throat.

“Holly, we need to talk. This is ridiculous. You invited me here to meet your family. To visit your hometown.”

Mr. Honeyford frowns, his face tilting toward Holly’s in confusion. “Holly? Is this true? You said you broke up weeks ago, and that’s why you came home early.”

Holly flounders and leans into James. The town is on the edge of its seat.

I intervene, eager to ensure Mr. Honeyford understands that I’ve been bamboozled as much as he has. “I came here for you, Holly. I came here because all the hard work, it’s paid off. All the—”

“I think you should leave, Mav,” she says, her body pulling back from mine. “I’ll call you, okay?”

The lumberjack growls next to her, and she puts a reassuring palm against his overly puffed-out chest. Her hand, which should have my ring on it by now.