Inheritance for Christmas (Holly Ridge Christmas #1)

5. Avery

5

AVERY

D espite what I’ve been telling Blake, I’m worried. The sprinkling of customers who have slowly filtered through the Christmas tree farm over the past week is not enough. Whatever plans I have for the future can’t proceed without money, but for that, I need more income. But I’m not sure what else I can do that I’m not already doing.

Since opening the doors again, I’ve worked tirelessly on marketing, reactivating all the social media accounts, even putting out a half-page ad in the Holly Ridge Times, which I can’t afford. I have to brainstorm new ideas without spending too much money. My savings are already dwindling, and I’ve barely gotten started.

I sort through the boxes of decorations on the floor of the Holly Forest Store, eying the massive pine tree out front from my place on the hardwood. I remember my grandparents always decorating that particular beast as the signature tree for the season, the tallest one out front to attract drivers on the road and welcome customers as they approach Maple Lane. It’s massive, and I wonder how I’m going to manage it all on my own, particularly when the farm doesn’t own any real farming equipment, particularly not a crane. Grandad managed everything old-school.

My next thoughts shift to Blake, and a smidgen of guilt shoots through me. I can’t ask him for more help, can I?

I shrug it off. It’s not like I’m not paying him for his time, even if I can’t really afford it. The odd jobs he’s been doing around the farm need to get done to ensure the farm’s sustainability.

Is that the only reason I keep finding jobs for him to do?

Heat spikes up my back, and I hastily return to the box of lights and ornaments, sorting through the interior and exterior decorations. I pick up a crushed velvet stocking and run it through my fingers, looking for a place to hang it along the knickknacks.

The door opens, blasting a wave of cold air through the storefront, and I don’t need to turn to know it’s Blake. His earthy scent preceded him.

“Interesting seat choice in a place full of homemade furniture,” he teases me. I glance up and grin at him, nodding at the small mess I’ve made.

“It’s easier for me to arrange everything like this,” I reply. “I want to get the showcase tree lit up outside, but…”

I press my lips, suddenly embarrassed to ask him about a crane. It feels like I’ve been asking him for too much. He turns and frowns, gazing out the French door toward the parking lot. “Sorry, which one is the bull pine? The big one?”

“The biggest one,” I concede.

“Hm.”

I look at him speculatively, waiting for him to say more, but when he turns back and leans against the counter casually, I press him. “Hm, what?” I ask with a laugh. “It’s the same tree they light up every year.”

“Oh yeah, I know,” he agrees quickly. “I just… it’s nothing.”

My eyebrow arches. “No, go ahead. I want to hear your opinion. You promised to help me, remember, partner?” I’m half-bantering, but I do want to hear what he has to say.

“It’s not the prettiest tree out front. There’s that one there…” He pushes himself off the counter and ambles back toward the door, pointing toward a giant spruce, closer and more to the left of the road. It’s a much fuller tree, even if it is smaller. It is prettier. “It would make for a nice signature tree, all done up.”

I nod in agreement, standing to join him at the glass. “Bull pines have a lacier look than other coniferous trees,” I recite from memory. “They’re also one of the sturdiest types of pine because they retain water and sunlight better than their sisters, even if they’re not as… attractive by regular standards. That means they won’t wilt under pressure or weather. They’ll hold up under the elements and withstand the snow. That also means they will hold décor better, so if there’s a storm, I never have to worry about running around and finding all the missing decorations because our beautiful bull pine would have held fast to them.”

Blake’s head turns toward me, the awe in his face tangible. “You really know a lot about the trees,” he comments.

“I had excellent teachers,” I reply with a laugh.

“Your grandfather would be proud.”

My heart flutters with the compliment, the admiration shining in his eyes as we stare at one another, inches apart. I’m distinctly aware of how close his lips are to mine, my pulse quickening as I tip my head back more. Headlights flash down the road, and I look away quickly, my breath catching.

What are you doing? He’s your only friend in town right now. Don’t ruin it by kissing him!

“Er… um, I was just wondering if you know how Grandad got up there? Did he rent a crane or borrow one?” I sputter, the moment passing.

“I’ll see if I can locate one,” Blake says, stepping back. “Mike’s Auto might have a lead on something like that. He knows all the vehicles around here, and I know Mike pretty well.”

Gratefully, I turn back toward the disarray on the floor, casting him a quick peek again, but he’s already whipping out his cell phone to call his friend at the garage. I pretend not to listen as he chats with Mike, and I get back to organizing the exterior and interior ornaments. A moment later, he rejoins me in the middle of the store.

“Mike says he has access to a crane. He can drop it off tomorrow morning,” Blake says as I set one of the crates down by the naked pine tree near the front door. “Will that work?”

I study him as I untangle a string of lights for the indoor tree, and he moves to help me. Mildly surprised by the unsolicited assistance, I allow it.

“Does that work for you ?” I ask slowly. “You’ve been here every day this week.”

Effortlessly, he loops an end of the lights over the point of the tree, a task that would have toppled me face-first into the wall if I’d attempted it without a stool. He catches me looking at him, and I look away again, feeling the now-familiar blush tinge my cheeks.

“It’s what you hired me to do,” he reminds me, circling the pine. I step closer to help him twist the light strand, and we work in tandem until all the lights are hanging evenly. Without asking, he reaches for one of the glass ornaments and places it on the tree.

This isn’t part of his job, I think, but I stop myself from saying anything aloud. I’m glad he’s here, and I don’t want him to go.

Like he’s reading my thoughts, he adds, “But I can go if I’m in your way.”

“No!” I answer quickly—too quickly. Swallowing, I reach for a tiny, wooden nutcracker man and duck around the side of the tree, hiding my face. “I’m happy to have the company. It’s not like it’s super busy or anything.”

“Hm.”

My head pokes around the side of the tree. “Hm?” I echo teasingly. He grins, hanging another glass ball high up where I wouldn’t be able to reach.

“You still have a couple of weeks to go,” he reminds me.

“Three,” I say flatly. “And that’s until Christmas. No one is going to buy a tree on Christmas day. I have three weeks to try to recoup some of these losses.”

My arms fall to my side dejectedly. Blake sets his decoration on a lower branch and steps toward me. “You might be setting your expectations too high,” he tells me gently. “This is years of damage you’re trying to undo.”

His mouth parts as if he’s about to say something else, but he closes his lips, and I suddenly find myself fascinated with them. His smell overtakes me, that earthy, homegrown working man scent as I tip my head back to stare into his blazing blue eyes. The scruff of his five o’clock shadow is back, making him look grumpier than he is.

“Do you think it’s salvageable?” I ask him honestly. “Do you think I can fix this?”

His eyes darken, and he drops his chin. “I don’t think I’ve met anyone as determined as you,” he mutters. His answer fills me with hope, but simultaneously, I can’t help but feel like he’s holding something back.

Blake’s gaze falls on my lips now, hands raising toward my shoulders, but his hesitation bothers me. “You’re so bright and passionate,” he rasps. “Just make sure it’s about the right things.”

My heart drops.

Is he talking about himself or the tree farm?

Suddenly, I’m confused, and I turn away, my parents popping into my head out of nowhere. The thought of them upsets me, and I grind my teeth. Why does their messed up relationship always come to haunt me at the most inopportune times?

“I should get this tree finished,” I say with forced cheer. “It’s getting late.”

“Okay.”

He moves to help me again, but I wave him off. “You should head home, Blake. I’ve got this.”

Hurt flashes in his cobalt irises, but he doesn’t argue. “I don’t mind finishing with you. But if you want me to go…”

He waits, and I nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, okay?”

Nodding, he heads toward the door.

“Blake?”

Pausing, he turns to look at me, and I gesture over his head with a wide smile. “Mistletoe.”

He looks up, his dark crown a few inches below the hanging cluster of green and red I hung earlier in the day. He smiles weakly. “Good night, Avery.”

He’s gone, leaving me wondering what I’m doing, both with him and this farm.