Christmas With a Crank

Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

OLIVE

N ormally I wake up with that ridiculous Rebecca Black song on repeat in my brain, but this Friday I wake up nervous.

It’s the day before our first weekend of new events hits. Tomorrow evening, we’ll open Santa’s Village, preview new specialty items on the café’s menu, have carriage rides and hayrides around the property, and debut a fun new addition just for the hopeless romantics—a Mistletoe Walk.

I designed a sort of scavenger hunt with clues that will lead couples around the farm in hopes of locating all the little bunches of mistletoe Liam and I hung around the property.

In the morning, Jo will host her first wreath-making class—and it filled up so quickly she had to add another two sessions. I knew people would love it. And then Sunday, in the late afternoon, Pine Creek will close early for Family Day.

It’s been a lot getting everything ready, but people are more willing to handle last minute events considering it’s their last chance to enjoy Pine Creek.

In spite of my nerves, I’m excited as I make the turn into Pine Creek. At least I am until I catch a glimpse of Liam over by the equipment barn, chatting with the guys who will wrap and haul trees for customers throughout the day.

The nerves turn into what some people call a flutter.

I tell my body to stop it right now.

I think about what Phoebe said, about how I shouldn’t be angry with him and realize I’m not angry—but it would be easier if I were.

The real feelings that have started to form when I think about Liam are going to be far more difficult to navigate than anger.

I park and pop the trunk, then exit the car. I feel Liam’s gaze, but I don’t turn to confirm it. I do the thing people do when they know someone is watching them but they don’t want to acknowledge it—pretend to be super involved with the task at hand. I open the trunk and find the yard signs I designed and had printed to post around the farm.

It was one of my midnight ideas, to create branded signage to lead people around the farm. And because I apparently no longer sleep, I also created others with hand-lettered Christmas movie quotes like She’s a beaut, Clark!, “Photo op” spots, and arrows with faces and arms directing people to the mistletoe.

In my head, it’s an easy way to add a bit of festive cheer to the farm, but also to create a unified look for all printed materials. I’d be lying if I said I’m not proud of it.

I sling my bag over my shoulder and start pulling the signs from the trunk. I’m gingerly stacking them in a haphazard pile, one hand underneath and a foot on the bumper, when they teeter and fall to the ground.

As I kneel to pick them up, a man’s voice calls out, “Let me help.”

I glance up, hoping to see Liam striding toward me, but it’s Travis. My heart sinks. And I’m not sure if I’m disappointed because it’s Travis or because it isn’t Liam.

Yeah. It’s both .

I sigh. Liam’s still standing in a group of guys near the barn, but now I can confirm his gaze is trained on me.

Me. And now Travis.

“I’m fine.” I lift a hand, hoping to signal that I don’t need Travis’s help.

He doesn’t stop helping.

Travis is the kind of guy who thinks he knows better. So much so that you might as well not speak at all. He’s not going to listen.

“They’re awkward to carry. Where are you going with these?” He leans the signs up against my car, then slides his arm under the metal base like it was the obvious way to transport such awkward cargo. “Will you just let me help?”

I draw in a breath, and on an exhale, I ask, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m the real estate agent,” he says. “I had questions.”

I frown. “My grandparents sold their house before they moved to Arizona. I think they saw their Realtor like, twice.”

He holds his hands out, “What can I say, I’m a hands-on kind of guy.”

Good grief. Does everything he says have to be dripping with innuendo?

I don’t acknowledge him. Instead, I slip an arm under the yard signs, take them from him, then tromp toward the equipment barn, disappointed to see that Liam is no longer outside.

“Have you thought any more about dinner?” Travis calls out, trailing behind me.

“No,” I say over my shoulder, barely looking back. I trudge my way down the gravel road, and when I reach the barn, I lean the signs against the side of it and walk inside.

I know I’m out of place here, but if I wasn’t aware, the complete silence that follows my entrance would’ve clued me in .

I wait a second, thankful Travis appears to have given up. For now, anyway.

“Hey.” I lift a hand and wave at two of the young guys standing near a workbench next to an oversized door. They half-heartedly wave back, then glance off toward the back of the large building. I take the cue and start walking in that direction when I find Manny and Liam standing next to a tractor.

Manny turns toward me, his face brightening. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him, but years of coming to the farm revealed that we have something in common—we both love Christmas.

“Finally! I was wondering when you were going to come see me!” He walks over and pulls me into a paternal hug. “I heard you started working here.” He leans in. “Wish you’d come sooner—things might be different.”

I pull back and shake my head. “Aw, thanks.” I force myself not to look at Liam, but I see him turn away. I don’t blame him if he’s upset with me. He apologized for something I’m not even sure he needed to apologize for, and I practically said, apology not accepted.

I’m the worst.

I turn my attention back to Manny.

“I heard about your ugly Christmas sweater,” he says.

I wince. “You did?”

He laughs. “They’re hanging a photo in the main barn.”

My eyes go wide. “They better not be!”

“Your family won! You get a place of honor on the wall of winners.” His eyes drift over to Liam, and I see a tiny shift in his expression. Amusement at the memory of the coconut sweater, maybe?

“I hear you’re reprising your big role this weekend, Santa.” I give my shoulders a little shimmy.

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year,” Manny sings. “What can I do for you? Did you bring me your Christmas list? ”

“Uh, no, I was hoping I could borrow an ATV.”

Liam turns toward me. “No way.”

Manny frowns. I frown.

“Why not?” I ask.

“One, they’re dangerous,” he says. “Two, you don’t know how to operate them. Especially around here.”

“I think I can handle it,” I say, though his reaction makes me unsure. “It’ll be quicker getting around the back parts of the farm. I have signs to put up before tomorrow.”

“If you’re concerned, Liam, why don’t you take her?” Manny says. “Probably go quicker, and you can keep her out of the way of the field trip.”

“There’s a field trip?” Liam groans. “I didn’t think we did those anymore.”

“Oh. Right. I set that up,” I sheepishly admit.

I can tell by the way he’s looking at me he guessed that part.

My smile is tentative. “Lacey is their point person, and I think she has everything under control. All we really have to do is stay out of the way.”

He glowers. But after a pause, he pulls a set of keys off a pegboard on the wall, glares at me and says, “Let’s go.”

Manny stops him. “Oh, hey, the clutch was sticking on the four-seater. I have to take a look at it before anyone rides it.”

Liam looks at him like, are you serious ?

“Only the single’s available, gotta ride tandem.” I glance at Manny, whose grimace looks more like a smirk. “Sorry.”

Liam makes a show of hanging the set of keys back up, grabbing another set, and then he’s out the door.

I try to remember what tandem means as I jog to catch up with Liam. When I do, I find him outside, strapping the posters onto the small back part of one of the ATVs.

The ATV only has one seat.

Tandem .

Me behind him, arms wrapped around his waist, chin propped on his shoulder, inhaling that familiar yet unfamiliar scent I’ve come to associate with Liam.

“What are these for anyway?” He nods at the signs.

Okay. A simple question. I can answer this.

“They’re happy little signs I thought would make people feel welcome,” I say, still staring at the single seat. “And help people find their way around. Plus, I made a little scavenger hunt out of all that mistletoe we hung.”

He flips through them. “You drew these?”

I shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Do you ever sleep?” He secures the last of the signs and swings a leg over to sit on the four-wheeler.

“Sure,” I say, pausing and not moving.

He’s getting situated and looks at me, then looks behind him, at me again, then tilts his head behind him as if to say, get on .

Sure. No problem. I’m just going to straddle the seat and cozy right in behind him.

I’m suddenly very warm.

I cautiously slide onto the four-wheeler.

My mouth starts moving while my logic and emotions are duking it out. “But my brain doesn’t always settle, and when I can’t sleep, I draw. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it doesn’t, and with everything I’m doing for the farm lately, I figured why not just stay up and finish a few things, and so I’ve been drawing to help me relax.”

I’m positive none of what I said had any punctuation, but it’s hard to think when he’s so close.

This is Liam. Don’t make it a thing.

I wiggle a bit on the seat and inadvertently slide forward so my chest presses against his back. He straightens for a fraction of a second, then clears his throat. I shift back a little, desperate for even an inch of space between us.

He reaches behind and hands me a helmet.

It’s the kind without the visor, which is bad, because I don’t want anyone to see how flushed I am right now. I pull the helmet on, then hold my hands in the air, unsure of where to rest them. I settle for my legs, deluding myself into thinking I can stay on this thing once it starts moving by sheer force of will.

“What do you use?” he asks over his shoulder, strapping on his own helmet. “I mean, they’re digital, right?”

“Right,” I say, trying to focus. “I use Procreate.” The second I say it, I hear the innuendo, and my face gets hot again. “Uh, it’s an app.”

He starts the ATV and revs the engine. I’m not used to the vibration, and I instinctively wrap my arms around him.

He stiffens for a brief second, then relaxes. He turns his head and talks over the engine. “You okay back there?”

Other than the impending heart attack?

“Yeah, I’m good!”

“Okay, hold on tight.”

It’s like an invitation to a party I’m not allowed to attend.

He gently pulls away from the garage and out of the parking area, and at the movement I squeeze a bit tighter. He doesn’t drive nearly as fast as I’ve seen the other guys drive these things—maybe for my benefit—and it’s surprisingly easy to talk over the engine. Probably because our faces are practically touching.

“Would you ever—” He stops.

“What?”

“Do you do any freelance work?” He keeps his eyes steady on the path in front of us.

I scoff. “After my business tanked, I sort of hung up my Apple Pencil.”

“Until now?”

I frown. “Right. Until now.” This had initially felt like a favor I was doing for Liam’s family, but the more I work on the branding and events at the farm, the less it feels like a favor and the more it feels like a future .

“I have a project I’m working on—” He angles the handlebars as I point for him to pull over at a fork in the gravel road. “I could use a little input.”

I pull back from him and lean slightly over his left shoulder. “From me?”

“From someone who understands art better than I do,” he says. “I’m a programming guy. And I like the storytelling part, but art is, uh, not my strength.”

He stops the four-wheeler, and I hop off, grateful for the momentary distance, if only to give my heart a chance to settle. I remove my helmet and set it on the seat, then grab one of the signs that says, Pine Creek recommends our Holly Jolly Jam, available in the Pine Creek gift shop. It has an arrow with big eyes, a goofy smile, and hands, one of which is giving a forced perspective thumbs-up.

I walk over to the fork in the road, double-check that the arrow is pointing in the correct direction, and then use my foot to push the metal stakes into the ground. It stands upright and I grin up at Liam, who has removed his helmet and is now watching me.

I’m feeling a bit bold. Maybe from the crisp air. Maybe because of the distance between us now. Or maybe it’s my desperation for things to feel normal again.

I narrow my eyes. “So, you need me.”

“Not what I said.” He stands.

“Interesting.” I squint at him. “What I heard was that you need me to swoop in and save your project thingie.”

“I just want your help.”

I pretend to think for a second. “I’ve never been someone’s knight in shining armor. I like it. Kind of like when I punched Jared Galecki in the second grade because he wouldn’t stop picking on you.” I let the grin crawl across my face, then I pump my eyebrows and do a weird dance.

He shakes his head and goes back to glaring at the trees in front of us. I should be offended, but it almost feels normal. Almost.

Before I can say anything else, a tractor pulling a trailer of children appears in a cleared path in the trees. “Oh, look, it’s the field trip!”

Liam winces.

The kids are loud, and when they drive by, they hoot and smile and wave. I wave enthusiastically and holler out, “Merry Pine Creek Christmas!”

When I turn back, I see Liam shaking his head at me.

“What?”

“You really are always like this, aren’t you?”

“Like what?”

He motions toward me. “Sunny.” He says it like it’s a swear.

“Well, I’m not—” I motion to him the same way he just did to me— “cranky if that’s what you’re getting at,” I say, pointedly.

He quirks a brow. “Touché.”

I look back at the ATV, getting the same feeling you get when your boyfriend walks you to your car, and you anticipate a kiss.

Stop it , I think. He doesn’t even think of me like that. Phoebe can speculate all she wants, but Liam has made his disinterest quite clear.

I try to act casual as I get back on the seat. I clap my hands dramatically in the air. “Chop, chop!” I pull the helmet back on.

He rolls his eyes, sticks his helmet on, and slides onto the seat in front of me. This time, though, he gently moves back so my chest is pressed to his back.

“All good?”

I beg my traitor of a heart not to give me away. I’m sure he can feel it racing against his back.

I do my best to act normal as we drive around, mostly in silence, stopping in various spots around the farm to stick signs in the earth. As we do, I run through possible ways to bring up the fact that I was a total jerk about his apology because all the acting cute in the world doesn’t absolve me.

The simplest solution, of course, is to apologize.

Say words.

I’m beginning to understand why he doesn’t talk.

Which is probably why I start talking without thinking. Just sort of . . . open mouth, say stuff.

I lean over his shoulder and loudly say, “That thing you said before—” I look around, as if there’s someone in the woods who can save me from myself.

“That thing?”

“When you were talking about Travis and the thing?—”

He slows the ATV down. “When I apologized to you?” He says this so dryly, I can hear his frown.

“Yeah, that.”

“What about it?”

“I accept.”

He lets the ATV come to a stop and kills the engine. He turns to the side and looks at me, amused. “You accept?”

“Yes.”

He nods and shrugs at the same time. “Okay.”

There’s a pause.

We’re just looking at each other. Our bodies are touching. And we’re in the woods. Alone.

We stay like that for a beat. It’s long. Like a year.

I scrunch my nose because I can’t beat him in a game of who can stay silent longer.

“I thought I had the right to be mad at you, but . . . I really don’t. It wasn’t your job to tell me you were friends with a lying cheater.” I glance away. “Or that I shouldn’t date him. I probably wouldn’t have listened to you. I probably would’ve gotten mad at you.” I sigh. “Travis really is a master in the art of gaslighting.”

“Truth,” he says.

I go quiet, all out of words .

He looks out, off the path and into the near distance of the trees. “I always felt bad about it, Liv.”

Liv .

He still calls me Liv. And this time, when he does, something clicks into place.

It’s dumb to linger on it, but hearing my nickname in his mouth again feels like the start of something new. A mending of sorts.

But it’s more than that, isn’t it?

I go still, staring at his profile, trying not to let my gaze dip to his lips. “You did?”

He glances slightly toward me. “Yeah. I did.”

I pause, wondering if he can hear my heart pounding in my chest. “You’re a lot different than you lead people to believe. I mean, you’re actually nice.”

He grunts as he spins back around and starts the engine back up. He revs it, then tosses me a sideways glance. “Ready?”

I move closer and wrap my arms around his midsection because I have the distinct impression he’s done going slow.

“You better hang on.”

“Wait. Hang on? What are we?—”

He turns, but not before I catch a glimpse of a wicked smirk. A sexy smirk. My admiration is short-lived though because he guns the motor, and we take off like a shot. My grip on him tightens, and I clasp my hands together around him. It’s exhilarating and terrifying and I love every second of it.

If the way I feel now is a sign of things to come, then he’s right.

I’d better hang on.