Page 35 of Frosty the Farmhand
The next letter is among the trees.
Harlan
“Wren,”I whisper, my throat clogged with an emotion I’d rather not name as I look to my cousin for the push I need to take that first step.
“Go,” she says quietly, her hand pointing toward a small arrow sign stuck in the ground.
Giving her a watery smile, I take a breath and follow the arrows through the trees, finding another red envelope resting on the branches.
Christmas,
Onyx and I aren’t so different. Maybe he needed someone broken like him, but I need you. You don’t see it, but you’ve done the same for me since I landed in Wintervale. You never saw a broken man—you just saw me.
Find me among the trees. When you’re ready, I’ll be waiting.
Harlan
I stare at the words.Black ink on white paper shouldn’t hold so much weight but it does. This morning he’d been so sure we could never be—what had changed? What had made him run?
Do I want to know?
The simple answer is yes.
But life isn’t simple, and I don’t want to go through the hurt again to just be tossed away when things get hard.
Sighing, I look down at my feet, my eyes catching on something on the path a few steps in front of me. Bending down, I pick up two thermoses and pull the card from one, before shoving them under my arm and opening the envelope.
Christmas,
You remember the little things.
The things that feel so inconsequential but mean the most because they resonate with us like nothing else ever will. They make us who we are, and you didn’t run when you finally saw me—when I no longer wanted to hide.
Just a little bit farther, baby.
Please.
Harlan
I don’t needto open the thermoses to know there’s white hot chocolate in one and peppermint in the other.
His favorite and mine.
Before I even know what’s happening, my feet are carrying me down the path covered in packed snow and pine needles, blood pounding in my ears.
The path opens slightly and I realize I’m in the field Harlan and I’d been assigned to, the day that had changed our dynamic, when he’d brushed his thumb against my bottom lip and I’d beenlostto him.
“Thank you,” he says quietly, stepping around one of the trees and moving to stand in front of me.
“Are you wearing a sweater?” I ask, the comment stupid and obvious, but my brain has only latched on to the idea that the man before meowns a sweater.
He looks down, and then up at me, his cheeks blushing the slightest shade of pink as I set the thermoses on the ground. “I wanted to look nice for you.”
“You always look nice,” I whisper as tears blur my vision.
“I look like I’m either going to or coming home from work.”
The words are supposed to bring levity but all I can think iscome home to me.
