Page 75 of Seeds of Christmas
“You know what we need?” I say suddenly.
She doesn’t look up from the puzzle. “Data backup protocols?”
“A Christmas tree.”
That gets her attention. She looks up from the puzzle, eyebrows raised. “Carter, we’re in a research cabin in the middle of nowhere. Where exactly do you propose we get a Christmas tree?”
“We’re literally surrounded by pine trees.”
Her eyes widen. “We are not cutting down?—”
“Not a whole tree. Just a branch. A big branch. We could put it in that empty vase by the window.” I’m already standing, pulling on my boots. This is a good idea. This is a great idea. “Come on. It’ll take five minutes.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“This is festive.” I grab her coat, toss it to her. She catches it automatically, which I’m counting as progress. “You can’t spend Christmas Eve in a cabin with no decorations. That’s just sad. Someone wise told me that before.”
“I wasn’t planning to celebrate?—”
“Rhiannon Pierce.” I level her with my most serious look. The one that says I’m not backing down on this. “Get your coat. We’re getting a Christmas tree branch.”
She stares at me for a long moment. I can see her weighing it.
Finally, she sighs and stands, wincing slightly when her ankle takes her weight. “Five minutes. That’s it.”
“Five minutes,” I agree, knowing full well it’ll take longer.
The cold hits us immediately,but it’s the good kind of cold. Sharp and clean and smelling like pine.
“Okay, tree expert,” Rhi says, hobbling through the snow beside me. “What are we looking for?”
“A branch. A festive branch.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“It needs to have character.”
“Carter.”
“What? It does!” I’m scanning the trees around the cabin, looking for one with low-hanging branches. “We want something with good needle density. Nice shape. Maybe a little asymmetry for personality.”
“I can’t believe you have criteria for this.”
“I can’t believe you don’t.” I spot a perfect candidate—a large branch hanging low on a Douglas fir about twenty feet from the cabin. “That one.”
She follows my gaze. “That’s huge.”
“She’s perfect.”
“That’s going to take up half the cabin.”
“Perfect. More room for ornaments.”
“We don’t have ornaments.”
“Yet,” I say, grinning. “We don’t have ornaments yet.”
I trudge through the snow toward the tree, Rhi following more slowly because of her ankle. I feel a little guilty making her walk, but I want her to experience this. Also, I like that she’s here. That she’s letting me do this ridiculous thing even though it makes zero practical sense.
