Page 26 of Bad Boy Bachelor Christmas
She chewed her bottom lip and watched me before deciding how to proceed. To her credit, she handled the discomfort like a champ because she didn’t offer a plethora of apologies or looks of pity that always made me feel small and weak. “That’s really fucking unfair,” she said. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
I nodded solemnly, and I hoped it was enough to express my thanks. Talking about it had always been too hard, and I wasn’t going to start now with my twenty-four-year-old intern.
CHAPTER12
WINTER
North and I had been back in Maple Hill for two days. I’d been diligently working on acquiring decorations for the trees for the Cuthbert fundraiser, and North and I had already done two walks through the farm to select the perfect trees. And by perfect, I meant imperfect.
He’d resisted at first when I told him I wanted the sorriest looking trees on the property—ones with sagging branches, missing needles, weak spots, and crooked peaks. Charlie Brown trees, in other words. He insisted we could still throw together a millennial Christmas party without resorting to sad-looking trees, but I held fast. All the images in my pitch had included what he called “sad” trees, so we were going to stick to just that.
He still hadn’t folded and was still clinging to the idea that the main tree for the event would be a shining testament to his farm.
I hadn’t decided if I would bend for that yet. We still had time.
Halfway through the day, I decided I needed to go into town and do some in-person shopping. Online had great options, but I wanted to see what there was in terms of thrift stores downtown, so I called up to the house for a ride from my cabin to the estate. No answer.
North had been pretty insistent on me not walking through the fields, but I didn’t have any other options today, so I bundled up for the cold and set off through the trees, keeping an eye out for any I could mark for the Cuthbert party just in case we’d missed them.
I arrived at the house and discovered that North wasn’t home. Some of the staff were, and they arranged a ride into town for me. The driver dropped me off at the curb, and as soon as I got out of the vehicle, the cold bit into my cheeks. The same Salvation Army Santa stood on the curb up ahead shaking jingle bells, and I dropped some cash into his donation pail as I walked past.
“Merry Christmas.” I smiled.
“Merry Christmas!” he bellowed in return. “Ho! Ho! Ho!”
Grinning, I slipped down the sidewalk, passing pedestrians sipping hot coffees out of red cups with candy canes on them. It was the third of December, and Christmas spirit was in the air.
I stopped at a small shop with a Christmas tree in the window called Maple Trinkets. It smelled like cinnamon and oranges inside, and I paused to stomp salt from the soles of my boots on the mat at the entrance. A few other patrons wandered around, but it wasn’t all that busy, so I took my time moving through the shop admiring all the little odds and ends as I went. At the back of the store I discovered what I was looking for—ornaments.
Unfortunately, there were only a handful I could use. One was a retro plaid bauble. It was sparkly red with a green and gold plaid print on it. I selected a dozen of them as well as some little angels holding choir books, their mouths painted in the shapes of an O to mimic that they were singing. There were hedgehogs made out of corks that felt nostalgic to me, so I picked those too and brought my little treasures to the register. I paid for it all on the company card North had given me, thanked the shop owner, and spent the next hour wandering the streets of town, scouring every shop for nineties-inspired decorations.
When I passed a diner on a corner block, I was hit with a wave of burger-scented goodness. My stomach grumbled, announcing that it was time for lunch, and I sought refuge in the warmth of the diner. Michael Bublé Christmas songs played in the background and the windows were covered in drawings of a winter scene of kids skating. The ceiling of the diner was draped in multicolored Christmas lights. I smiled up at them as I took a seat at the counter and waited for the waitress with big curly hair to notice me.
She turned around from the peek-a-boo into the kitchen with plates balanced on her forearms and flashed a smile in my direction. “Be right with you.”
“Take your time.” I picked up a menu and scanned the burger options.
By the time she made her way back to me I’d made my decision. I put in my order, and when she brought me my soda, she leaned on the other side of the counter and watched me with big brown eyes. Her eyelashes were crazy long—the sort of lashes women paid for nowadays—and she shook her head every now and then to shake away curly strands of hair that got caught in them.
“Hi,” I said, wondering why she was staring at me so intently.
“You’re North Waylon’s intern, aren’t you?”
“How did you know that?”
She straightened with a disarming laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m not a stalker or anything. I’m good friends with the woman you replaced. Marge. She’s like a second mother to me. And Maple Hill is small. Working in a place like this means I know practically everyone who lives here, and you definitely don’t live here. How’s it all going so far? Has he warmed up to you yet, or is he still being his usual abrasive self?”
I snickered. “So, you know him well?”
“As well as he’ll let anyone know him. Sure.”
That was a unique but apt way of putting it. North definitely gave the impression of intentionally keeping people at arm’s length. Our conversation at the Italian restaurant when we were in Chicago had been the most vulnerable he’d been with me, and even then, he was still guarded, so I hadn’t pushed. Not that I wanted to push anyway. Widower territory was uncomfortable at the best of times, and we didn’t know each other well enough to have such conversations. It suited me just fine not to engage in a conversation with my hot lumberjack boss about his dead wife.
“It’s going pretty well so far,” I said. “I think he misses Marge a lot, and I definitely can’t fill her shoes, but I’m making the most of it.”
“North is a man of consistency. He misses Marge because she practically raised him, and he knew what to expect from her. Now don’t get me wrong, the woman has more talent in her pinky finger than I could ever dream of possessing.” She winked. “But in my opinion, he could do with some young, fresh blood around the house. And you’re really pretty too, which can’t hurt.”
I blushed.
