Page 56 of Merrily Ever After
“It’s perfect, Hannah. I love it. Seriously. You must have spent so much time on it.”
“Liam did most of the work,” I mumble as I open the door. “After you.”
“This is so cool,” she says as she steps inside. “I’ve never— oh my god, there’s a kettle!”
She spends a few minutes ooh and ahhing over everything before we climb into the front seats.
“I can’t believe he doesn’t use it,” she says, running her hands along the dashboard before reaching for the radio.
“It doesn’t work.”
“That’s okay.” She gets her phone out and starts up a playlist. She seems happy, but I can’t relax even as I pull onto the road without incident. Daniela is a terrible liar, which means I’d be able to tell if she was just being nice. She looks like she genuinely loves it, which should make me feel better, but I still can’t shake my anxiety.
The traffic doesn’t help. We’re bumper to bumper all the way to the motorway, and the cloud overhead still looks heavy with rain, which doesn’t help my already shaky confidence when it comes to keeping us alive.
On top of that, I think Daniela picks up on my mood because, despite my best efforts, she goes quiet, scrolling through her phone and shooting me glances every few seconds as we trundle along. Then, out of nowhere, she whacks me on the arm.
“Christmas tree farm.”
“What?” I ask, bewildered.
“Christmas tree farm!” She sits up, pointing at a handmade sign as we pass it. “Next exit.”
“So?”
“So let’sgo.”
I glance at her and back at the road. For all my insisting that I wanted to be alone with her, the only thing I want to do right now is get home. But the traffic is still terrible and I suppose it couldn’t hurt to let it pass for a bit.
“Will there still be trees this close to Christmas?” I ask.
“Of course. People are lazy. Come on. Maybe they’ll have mulled wine.”
“I’m driving.”
“I’m not,” she sings and shoots me such an evil grin that I can’t help but smile.
“Fine,” I say, flicking my indicator on. “Christmas tree farm.”
She cheers as we turn off at the exit and five minutes later we pull up alongside a stretch of land backing onto a forest.
The place doesn’t look bad, actually. The way things are going today, I wouldn’t be surprised to rock up to some scraggly branches and get charged ten euro for the privilege. But it looks big and professional and there are lots of other people here too. They even have a few food trucks doling out burgers and churros, and while there’s no mulled wine, I spy a hot chocolate stand by the main booth.
Everyone is smiling. Everyone looks excited. A teenage girl decked head to toe in Christmas gear poses purposefully as her friend takes pictures. A young couple strap a tree to the roof of their car while their daughter plays with her dog. It has light-up reindeer antlers on its head. I immediately want them for Polly.
“Do you know what’s cool?” Daniela asks when we park.
“Trees?”
“Trees,” she confirms. “I think I’m going to get into trees.”
We hop out and approach an older man and a girl around our age standing by the booth.
“Welcome!” she calls as we approach. “Mind your step. The ground is a little muddy from the rain. Good for the trees, though.”
“It must be,” Daniela says, gazing up at the nearest firs. “How do you get them to grow like that?”
“Magic,” the girl winks, only for the man to huff.
