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Tears well in my eyes, and I hastily wipe them away, hating how effortlessly she can make me face my own demons. “I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “I’m scared of it all. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or what to even say. How am I supposed to just walk up to a man I hurt like that?”
“That’s for you to figure out, Blair. I can’t help you with that, but what I do know is that the longer you put it off, the harder it will get.”
“You know, I really don’t like it when you force me to deal with my emotions.”
“I know, and given any other circumstances, I would have let it go, but you’re back home, in the town where you first fell in love with Nick, and I can’t help but feel that this is some kind of Christmas gift. I’d hate for you to waste it. Besides, if you don’t at least try, you and I both know that when you get back to New York, you’ll regret it. You need to know where you stand and if there’s a chance that you can find your happiness again.”
My head falls into my hands as I brace my elbows on the table. “And if he’s moved on and doesn’t love me anymore?”
“You get really fucking drunk.”
Shit.
Rena and I talk for another hour, going over all of my ideas for my branding for the new business before it somehow shifts into paint colors for Nana’s home, and by the time she has to end the call, I’m all talked out.
It’s already been such a huge day and is well after three in the afternoon, but as I look around the home I grew up in, I realize Rena was onto something. This is my chance to relax before starting my new business. I’m back in my hometown where I once thought of Christmas as the most magical time of year. Perhaps it’s time for me to try and find that magic again.
But how? Nana was always the brain behind our Christmas traditions. She decorated our home and blasted Christmas carols through the house from the 1st of December. She had a roaring fire going every day, and the warmth inside the house was like none other.
How the hell am I supposed to replicate that without her?
Digging out all the Christmas decorations won’t be hard, but I don’t even have a tree. Pop used to take us every year to pick out the best one, but without him, how the hell am I supposed to chop one down? Hell, how am I supposed to get it in the back of his truck, let alone carry it into the house?
Shit. Maybe I’m insane for thinking I can do this.
I’m just about ready to give up when I spy the photograph of Nana and me from my college graduation stuck to the fridge, and I know without a doubt that she would be so disappointed in me for even considering giving up. I can just hear her telling me,You’re a Wilder, Blair, and Wilders do not give up.
Fuck it. I’ll wing it. It’s up to me to make the magic now.
Glancing at the clock, I realize I have just enough time to get out to the old Christmas tree farm and ponder over what little selection they have left, chop down the biggest one I can find, haul its piney ass into the back of Pop’s truck, and have just enough time to stop by Hardin’s Hardware on the way home and pick up some spackle and a few paint samples.
With a newfound determination pounding through my veins, I grab my wallet, keys, and phone off the counter and head straight out the door. It’s not until I’m halfway to the Christmas tree farm that I realize my coat is still hanging over the coat rack by the front door.
Fuck. This is going to suck. But it’s not like I need to be there for hours. I’ll be quick. I just need to get in, pick a tree, and get straight back in the truck. How long could it possibly take?
The Christmas tree farm is on the outskirts of town, nearly a good forty-minute drive. In the summer, this drive is absolutely spectacular with the expansive views of the trees and rolling hills in the distance, but in the dead of winter, it’s nothing but a white blob. It’s an overcast day with a steady flow of snowfall, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. As long as it’s not storming, I’ll consider myself lucky.
A soft smile settles over my face as I reach the main entrance of Old McDonald’s Farm, and I slow down before pulling into the parking lot. There are a few cars around, but from the looks of it, it’s clear that the majority of Blushing has already come and gone, probably leaving nothing but the scraps behind.
My determination keeps me going. I’m going to save what’s left of this Christmas and somehow make it magical, even if it means scouring every last inch of this farm for the best tree on the lot.
I drive right up to the top of the farm, finding the best parking space. My gaze lingers on the surrounding trees as I pull into the space, trying to figure out the best place to start my search, and just as my foot lifts off the gas and shifts toward the brake, my tires hit a patch of black ice and I lose control.
Fear pounds through my veins as Pop’s truck slides toward the ditch in front of the parking spaces, and I slam my foot onto the brake as a raw scream tears from the back of my throat. “OH FUCK,” I panic, desperately trying to gain control, but it’s no use, there’s too much momentum.
The truck launches forward, the front end dropping heavily into the ditch and coming to a crunching stop as my heart thunders wildly in my chest. “Holy fucking shit,” I mutter, my eyes wide as I white knuckle the steering wheel.
I take a moment, barely able to believe that just happened, all too aware that if Pop were here he would be cursing me out right about now.
A sharp knock sounds at the window, and I whip my head around, finding a familiar face staring back at me. “Miss,” Billy McDonald from my high school calls out, his hands braced against the glass to see past the fog glued to the window. “Miss, are you alright?”
He tries the handle, and the door pops open just enough that I’ll be able to squeeze through. “Miss,” he says again, his voice filled with the kind of calmness that has me finally catching my breath. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
My brows furrow as I take him in, standing in knee-deep snow. “I, ummm . . . yeah. I think I’m okay,” I say, embarrassment gripping me in a chokehold.
“Can you get out?”
Cutting the engine, I grab my things and unbuckle my seatbelt before wriggling over to the edge. There’s a fallen tree in the bottom of the ditch keeping the door from opening any wider, and Billy heaves it back, giving me just a little more space.
