Page 44 of Unexpected Company
“Umm…”
“Not a trick question, Gare Bear.”
I eye the book in my hand. My eyes snagging on the author’s name.
Rhett Kingsley.
Rhett.
Gar-rett.
“Holy shit!” I exclaim, holding the book up. “This is you, isn’t it?”
His flush deepens, and he clears his throat, his head nodding.
“Well, ain’t I lucky?” Charles says from the front of the car. “Two celebrities in my cab today.”
I turn the book to the front and point to a line along the bottom, in black font.
“You’re way more famous than you let on.”
Garrett makes a sound in the back of his throat. “No. I’m really not.”
Tapping my finger over the font I say, “Thisliterallysays, ‘London Herald Best-Selling Author’. That’s a big fucking deal.”
He bumps his shoulder into mine. “You and your ‘literally’.”
“Alright, Mr Best-seller.” His cheeks flush again and I want to lick them. “I’ll have you know. I use that word in the correct way. Every damn time.”
“Christmas magic,” Charles beams from the front seat. “What a treasure.”
Mountain Pine Farm, a large sign reads as we pull into an open field cordoned off with wooden fencing on three sides. There’re dozens of cars parked in rows and people in high-vis jackets directing others into open spots. Charles follows the directions of one such person, pulls the car into a space and kills the engine.
“You two have fun,” he says, leaning back in his seat and picking up his book. “Mr Best-seller here has booked me for the whole afternoon, so take your time.” He pats the paperback in his hand. “I have a long way to go. Don’t hurry back.”
I smile, following Garrett out of the car.
“What is this place?” I ask, my eyes darting towards where a crowd of people are filing in through an arched wooden walkway. It’s a mix of couples and families – toddlers dashing around their parents’ feet and teens posing for selfies with the giant reindeer statue at the entrance. A few well-behaved dogs stick close to their owners’ sides and there’s the distinct scent of roasted chestnuts in the air.
“It’s a Christmas farm and lights trail,” Garrett says, one hand pointing to the giant lit up tree to our right. Behind it is a lush forest, and a tractor parked next to a small wooden hut. The sign above it reads “Find your perfect tree here.”
“This is amazing!” I declare, spinning to face my new favourite person, my hands landing on his hips. “I’ve never been to anything like this.”
“In that case,” Garrett pulls me closer. “I’m glad I brought you. Shall we pick our tree before we head down the light trail?”He leans closer, his beard brushing my cheek. “I hear it’sveryromantic.”
Fuck, how is this my life now? More importantly, how do Ikeepthis life and this man? Is that even an option? I don’t know when last I went on an actual date. Is that what this is? Is Garrett taking me on a date? I shake my head, acknowledging I’m getting carried away.
Garrett’s hands fall from their spot on my lower back, one moving to tangle with mine. Hand in hand, we head toward the pick-a-tree part of the farm. It’s late afternoon, the sun low in the sky as it tries to peek out from behind the grey snow heavy clouds.
“Welcome to Mountain Pine Farm,” a guy around my age says as we approach the booth. He’s wearing a branded fleece and beanie and holds out a pamphlet which Garrett takes. “Here are the prices and directions. We only grow Norway Spruce, but they’re great robust trees. Once you’ve made your selection, flag down one of my colleagues.” He taps the logo on his fleece. “And they will help you chop it down and prepare it for transport.”
“We can chop it ourselves?” I ask, my mind already picturing Garrett’s muscles bunching under his shirt as he swings the axe. The guy smiles. “We’ll give you an axe to use as a prop for photos, but then the tree is cut down with a saw. Chopping them down with an axe is hard work.”
My shoulders droop with disappointment. Not because we can’t actually cut the tree down ourselves, but because we have no way to capture these moments. We stuck by our ‘no phones’ rule and left them behind.
“What’s with the frown?” Garrett nudges my arm with his.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
