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Her shoulders slump. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but—”
“No buts, Quinn. We can still make this work. You just have to trust me.”
She sets her coffee on the table. “I do trust you.”
“Then let me do this for you.” Taking her hands, I give them a squeeze. “For us.” My eyes lock on hers, pleading with her. “Please, Quinn?”
The smile on her lips is faint, but it’s there. “How can I say no to you?”
“You can’t. I was kind of banking on that.”
She groans and gives her head a quick shake as though resetting. After she squares her shoulders, there’s a legit smile on her face.
“Okay. Let’s do this.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
After breakfast, we head to our first stop, a nearby Christmas tree lot. When I drove by it the other day, it was filled with gorgeous evergreen trees. Today, we pull into the parking lot, and there are—none.
“Sorry, we just sold the last one about fifteen minutes ago,” the guy says.
He doesn’t intend for me to hear him, but under his breath, he mumbles something about people waiting until the last minute. We might not be the only ones in this predicament, and putting together a perfect last-minute Christmas might not be as easy as I thought.
Quinn looks a little dejected, but I keep my positive attitude.
“There’s another one just a few miles away.”
We make our way to the second lot to find it just as empty as the first.
“This isn’t over yet.” Wrapping my arm around her shoulders, I pull her close. “Third time’s a charm.”
We head out to yet another lot, and I was right. We pull into the lot, and low and behold, this one has trees, although even from our seats in the car, we can tell not one of them is worth a damn. They all look like they are in worse shape than Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree. Only, I don’t think we could salvage any of them.
Lot number four was another disappointment. We are running out of tree lots—and out of time.
“Ugh, just forget it,” she says, throwing her hands up in the air, exasperated.
“There’s one more place,” I tell her.
The trust that Quinn had instilled in me is long gone, though. “Let’s just go home.”
I grab her by the waist and turn her around. Her back is pressed up against the car, my hands framing her face. “Don’t give up on me, baby.”
“I’m not giving up on you. I’m giving up on Christmas.”
“Come on, Quinn. Do you think Santa wants to hit billions of houses in one night? No. But does he give up? Also, no.”
Even she can’t help but break a smile at my sheer enthusiasm.
“Besides,” I tell her. “You’ll love this part.”
“Fine. What’s next?”
“Shopping.”
CHAPTER4
