Page 82 of I'm Your Guy
“Hmm.”
He shrugs. “But, hey, if you want to be a size queen, I can make it work.”
I howl. And then I choose the eight-foot tree, because if the taller one doesn’t fit, I’ll never live it down.
The rainbow beanie guy comes outside to cut two inches off the tree’s trunk and take my credit card. He flirts with Carter the whole time.
I don’t blame him. But I don’t like it.
“You want to bale this up?” he asks after I’ve tucked my card back into my wallet.
“Yes,” Carter says at the same moment that I say “No.”
“I got this,” I say, waving him off. “We’re not going far, and I brought bungee straps.”
“Suit yourself.” He gives Carter one more hot smile and disappears inside.
* * *
When we get home, I unlock the house and then pull the tree off the roof of my SUV.
I hand Carter a pair of work gloves. “You take the top, and I’ll take the bottom. It’s heavier.”
We heft the tree, and he actually rolls his eyes. “Who do you think moved your furniture all over the house?”
I pause on the walk up to my house. “The delivery people, I hope.”
“Pfft,” he says. “There’s no delivery person on Earth with the patience to hang around while I walk slowly around the room and figure out whether the chair needs to be six more inches to the left of the coffee table’s edge. Or if the rug should be centered to the windows or the floorboards. I’ve spent the whole month lifting your furniture. But it builds up my guns, so I’m counting it as a win.”
It’s a good thing we’re busy, or I’d be scrutinizing his biceps right now.
“Hey, Jersey? Let’s swing around,” he says as I step backwards into the house. “This should go in the other direction.”
“Nah, I’m good like this. I skate backwards all day.”
“Yeah, but the top of the tree should go first.”
“But I’m here already. Is the stand ready?”
“Have you met me? Of course it’s ready. But, seriously, stop a sec? We really ought to…”
I take another two steps backward, and it’s slow going. I give a good tug, pulling the first couple of branches through, but when I look down, I can tell I’ve wedged the tree in the open doorway.
Uh-oh.
“Jersey!” Carter tugs on the tree, trying to get it back out. But I’m tugging on my end, too. And if I keep that up, I might rip the branches off.
After an awkward moment of unproductive action on both our parts, Carter drops his end. “I did try to tell you.”
“Uh-huh. I get it now. This is why people get their trees baled, huh?”
“Yeah, but…” Carter winces. “I’m sure this happens all the time.”
I finish the sentence for him. “To idiots.”
He laughs. Then he gives the tree one more tug in his direction. “It’s pretty stuck.”
“You know why I didn’t let that dude put this tree through the baler?” I ask.
