That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe (Abieville Love Stories #4)

Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Three

Humboldt Farms is just over the bridge, about a mile up from the docks at Abie Lake. The sprawling property isn’t really so much of a farm as a few acres where Stanley Humboldt sells seasonal products he has shipped in from upstate.

Pumpkins and gourds in the fall. Christmas trees and wreaths in the winter. Fresh fruit and vegetables in the spring and summer.

This time of year, his best customers are typically tourists and a few less adventurous people living in the areas surrounding Abieville. That’s because most locals go out and chop down a tree themselves—either on property they own, or on land owned by friends or family.

At this point, though, I’m not about to suggest we trudge out to my Uncle Cubby’s place. We don’t have a chainsaw with us, and Sara probably wouldn’t let me exert that much effort anyway.

Not to mention the already-cold temperatures will keep dropping with the sun, and I’m not about to watch Sara shiver out in the woods .

Bottom line: Humboldt Farms and their pre-cut trees are our best bet under the circumstances.

As Sara drives us over the bridge, she keeps her gaze locked on the other side of the lake. At the first glimpse of red barn off to the east, she yelps.

“There!” She points toward the horizon. “That’s Humboldt Farms!”

“Yes, I know where Humboldt Farms is.”

She swings her focus back to the bridge. “It’s just that you don’t seem very excited.”

“Really?” I stifle a snort. “I think I’m just the right amount of excited.”

“Well, hopefully they’ll still have some decent trees left to choose from,” she chirps, ignoring my sarcasm. “What do you think we should get? Eight foot? Nine? Taller?”

I shake my head, finally surrendering to a chuckle. “I didn’t measure the ceiling back at the lake house, but we’re not at the Hathaway penthouse. I’d guess nine’s about right. Maybe eight if you want to leave room for the star on top.”

“See?” Sara shoots me a grin. “ This is exactly why I need you.”

“Hmm.” I grunt, but my heart does a little zigzag in my chest. I like hearing that Sara needs me. A little too much.

No, a lot too much.

“Thanks for remembering to get a star by the way.” She nods to indicate our haul from the Five and Dime. Bags of tinsel, white lights, ornaments, and the world’s ugliest Christmas tree skirt are in the back with our groceries. Luckily, we didn’t buy anything frozen, so there’s just enough time to grab a tree and get back home.

Another grunt from me.

“This is all going to work out,” Sara gushes, and a fresh wave of dizziness threatens my vision.

So I stare at the dashboard, trying my best to hide my brain fog from Sara. I need her to believe I’m healing. That my head’s not at risk, let alone my heart. If I can just hold on a couple more days, she never has to know how much I’m beginning to dread being without her.

By the time we pull up to Humboldt Farms, Sara’s officially wiggling like a puppy. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she gasps. “This is amazing! Isn’t this amazing?”

My mouth goes crooked, but then I try to imagine the scene through her first-timer eyes.

Snow-dusted pine trees stretch in neat rows across from where we’re parked. To the right is a beverage stand selling mulled wine and hot cocoa. Two large firepits flicker in the space between the trees and an enormous barn. The rooftop and open doors are all lit up with strands of red and green Christmas bulbs.

“I love everything about this,” Sara says, almost breathless.

I nod toward the barn. “I don’t want to send you into orbit, but they’re probably selling gingerbread cookies and Santa hats in there. And Stanley will definitely be giving away candy canes.”

“Yes, yes, and yes.” She beams at me. “But first things first, we need a tree!”

She clambers out of the car and takes a shortcut to the nearest row of pines, crunching over a low snowbank at the edge of the parking lot. I follow her, hands stuffed in my pockets, watching as she ruffles the branches of each tree. She peeks around the back of them, probably searching for potential bald spots. The whole time, she’s got her chin tipped, eyes in a squint, nose wrinkled in concentration.

The woman means business.

And it’s adorable.

“I like this one!” She’s stopped in front of an eight-foot noble fir at the edge of the third row. “What do you think?” she asks, with a little hop and clap.

I bob my head. “It’s a beaut, Clark.”

“Ha! I love that movie.” Sara snort-laughs at my Christmas Vacation reference, her eyes shining with pure joy. She’s basically a kid in a candy store right now. It’s like she’s never picked out a Christmas tree before.

Oh, right. I guess she hasn’t.

“Hey! Mr. Fuller!” someone calls out from a few rows away. It’s Sullivan Ackerman in a Santa hat, all six foot six of him, looking like Jack and his beanstalk melded into one giant teenager.

I had Sully for US history last year, and he’s in my senior government class now. Good kid. Great basketball player. Talented enough to score a full ride to Ohio State next fall.

“Hey, Sully.” I wave as he approaches. When he spots Sara for the first time, the kid’s jaw comes unhinged.

Yeah, I get it, man. She ’ s really something else .

He reaches up to adjust his hat, then boomerangs his focus back to me. “How … how is …how’s your winter break going, Mr. Fuller?”

Since my bandage is hidden by the beanie, I make a snap decision not to go into any of the details. “So far, so good,” I say, vaguely.

Sara lets out a barely audible yelp.

Sully nods, his gaze flicking between us, ultimately landing on me. “What can I do for you, then?”

“Oh, we’re just here to get a tree.” As soon as the word ‘we’ slips out of my mouth, I regret it. Good thing Sully’s already so awkward around girls—he’s probably not gonna ask about Sara. Who she is. What she means to me.

Please don't ask about Sara.

“Sure thing, Mr. Fuller.” Sully nods to indicate the tree next to Sara. “Is this the one?”

“Yes!” She claps again and something stirs behind my ribs. Seeing her happy like this makes me happier than I’ve felt in a while. Concussion or no concussion.

“I’ll just net the tree up for you and load it into your truck, then.” Sully surveys the parking lot probably searching for my Chevy.

“It’s the blue sedan over there today.” I pull out my wallet and slip out a twenty for a tip. “Can you tie the tree to the roof? ”

“’Course.” I pass Sully the money while Sara hands over the keys. He ducks his head, throat blotching up. “Thanks, Mr. Fuller. Ma’am.” He stuffs the bill into his pocket, then yanks the tag off the tree so I can take it to the cashier to pay. “Won’t take me long.”

“No rush,” I say. In fact, I’ve got nothing but time to kill for the next couple days. And then another couple weeks before everyone’s back from Hawaii. Just in time for me to go back to work again.

Vacation over.

“I’ve gotta grab a tree stand too,” I tell Sully, careful not to use we this time.

“Mr. Humboldt’s got some in the barn.”

“Is he selling cookies tonight?”

“You bet.” A grin spreads across his face. “We’ve got a charity thing going on in there, too.” Sully cuts his gaze to Sara. “But only if you want to participate, ma’am.”

“Call me Sara,” she says. “And we do want to participate. Don’t we, Three?” Sara turns and aims her hundred-watt smile on me. “’Tis the season after all!”

Without waiting for a response, she takes my hand, dragging me past one of the firepits and the beverage stand, right into the barn. As usual, the cashier station is on one side of the room along with the Christmas tree stands and a display of fresh wreaths made from pinecones and spruce. There’s also a rack of Santa hats for sale, and as we pass it, Sara snatches two.

Against the opposite wall is a temporary archway set up on a low stage. The arch is decked out with white lights, holly, and bunches of mistletoe tied in red ribbon. Carver Townsend, one of Abieville’s deputies, is standing on one side of the arch holding a Polaroid camera. Behind him is a cork board with a bunch of instant pictures already pinned to it.

When he spots us, his eyes immediately lock on Sara, and my guts twist as he appraises her from across the room. Not that I’ve got any right to be possessive of Sara. It’s just that Carver and my sister are neighbors, and she’s had a crush on him forever. If Nella knew Carver was gawking at Sara right now, she’d not only be hurt, she’d?—

“Three!” Sara sucks in a breath, and I turn to face her. Her eyes go wide. “Did you see the sign?”

Uhhh, sorry. I’ve been too busy watching Carver stare at you. “What sign?”

“It’s for the charity Sully talked about,” she hisses. “We’ve got to get out of here.”