I shrugged. "I'm in no rush."
"I can pay you to work today. Or for however many hours you wanna stay."
"Trade for the room and breakfast sounds about right."
Greg looked like he was about to argue, but a woman in a gold coat pushed her way up to me and held out a plastic number tab. "Can you get mine? Please? I hate to be a bother, but I have to be home in an hour when my kids get dropped off."
I took the tab and went to work.
The sun was straight overhead sooner than it had any right to be, and then it started back down again. It was simple, repetitive work, which suited me fine. It didn't require more of me than I was capable of at the moment. My left shoulder complained, but when I carried the baled trees on my right side, that was okay. My back ached and my limp got worse, but it also felt damned good to be doing something productive for a change. All those months of PT had been worth it.
Besides, I was in paradise—a world full of Christmas trees. The little kid in me was over the moon. The place was beautiful, and the people cheerful. And why shouldn't they be? They were safe and cozy in the midst of Vermont snow, not in a war zone, and they were kicking off the Christmas season. For a little while, I could enjoy it too.
By the time there was no one waiting at the baler, it was just after three by my watch. Greg took off his work gloves and walked up to me. "Thank you." Held out his hand. "Looks like you rescued me today. I'm feeling pretty smart for stopping for you about now."
The words were teasing, but the thought behind them sincere. I took off my glove and shook his hand. It was surprisingly warm considering that we'd been outside in thirty-degree weather all day, and it was strong. My heart rate ticked up, and it was suddenly mid-July inside my clothes. "No problem at all, sir."
Greg gave me a funny look. "That sir stuff makes me feel old."
"Sorry, sir," I smirked. It was nice to feel a hint of my old smartass self.
Greg smiled. He had a wide mouth under that beard, with nice teeth—the two in front just slightly overlapping in a way that was endearing. The swoop in my belly was a warning. Or I was hungry. I rubbed the spot.
Greg's smile faded. "Hey, you must be starved. Concessions has soup—usually chili—and a few simple sandwiches. Or you're welcome to go back and help yourself to anything in the kitchen."
"I love chili."
Greg stuck a Be Back Soon sign up at the baler and led the way over to Santa's Milk & Cookies. Like everything else on the grounds, it was over-the-top cute. It was a plain white rectangle made with horizontal bead board and painted with a snowman and Santa. A large wooden flap opened up vertically and hung on hooks above. Inside was a petite teenage girl, her dark hair mostly hidden under a fuzzy pink hat.
"Hey, Mr. Cabot," she said brightly. "It's been a rush all day."
"I know, Lucy. Sorry you had to handle it by yourself."
"Oh, that's okay," she said shyly.
"Is there any chili left?"
She looked behind her. "Not much. But I think I can get you men a couple of bowls."
"What else is left?"
"Um… she placed her hands on the counter inside and looked underneath it. "The scones and cookies are gone, but I've got two egg salad sandwiches left."
Greg looked at me and raised one brow.
"Sounds good to me," I said. I'd already had four eggs that morning, but the thought of a sandwich still made my mouth water. I was starved.
"Get us two bowls of chili and two sandwiches, Lucy. And I'll take a coffee."
"Coffee for me too," I echoed.
"Coming up."
"Thank you, ma'am," I said.
"After that, you can close up, Lucy. Sounds like we're 'bout out of food anyway," said Greg.
Lucy beamed at him, clearly not fussed about the idea of shutting down early. "Cool. Thanks, Mr. Cabot!"
Greg turned to me as Lucy bustled around. "A small business owner's dilemma—trying to end the day with just enough food so none goes to waste. Days like this are hard to figure for."
"Is it always this busy?"
Greg rubbed his beard and looked around. He didn't meet my eyes for long—a fact I filed away. "Often enough, I guess. All weekends in December are busy, though today was a zoo. Nice weather, ya know."
Lucy put two paper cups on the counter. Greg took his and walked to the end of the counter where creamers and sugar and stirrers waited. I grabbed mine and followed. One creamer for me. Greg put a packet of sugar in his.
"I thought about putting a cookie oven in the stand, and a freezer. That way we'd never run out and less would go to waste. But I never got around to it. Now…." He stirred his coffee, mouth pressed in a line.
"Now?" I prompted.
Greg let out a small, discontented grunt. "I plan to sell the place after this season. So no use in doing much in the way of improvements."
Shit. Really? That sucked. I almost said so, but it wasn't my place to give an opinion. I kept my voice neutral. "You said in the truck that this place has been in your family three generations."
Greg sipped his coffee, looking away. "Well. Everything ends sometime." His chin went up decisively. "Anyway, some new blood here'd be a good thing. Someone with fresh enthusiasm for the place. Make it into what it could be again."
There was nothing wrong with the place now, as far as I could see. I wouldn't change a thing. I liked the old-fashioned appeal, and nothing looked run-down. The paint on the old buildings was fresh and bright. The abundance of lights everywhere all worked cheerfully and relentlessly, not a bad bulb to be seen. And there certainly were plenty of perfect trees to be sold. But I didn't argue with Greg Cabot.
As I looked around, I spotted a sign in the window of the store I hadn't noticed before. HELP WANTED. Multiple positions. Apply within.
"Order up!" Lucy called.
We took our paper plates, with a small bowl of chili and a sandwich on the side, over to a cement slab that held picnic tables and was covered by a huge red awning. There were stand heaters here, which felt toasty after a full day outside. We sat opposite each other at a table covered with a red-and-green checked plastic tablecloth.
"So you're on leave for Christmas?" Greg asked, digging into his chili.
"No sir, I'm out. Medical discharge. Just finished my tenth year in the Army, so I guess it was about time to move on."
Greg raised his eyebrows. "You don't look old enough to have served ten years."
"I'm twenty-eight. Enlisted when I was eighteen."
Sadness swept Greg's face, but he masked it quickly and took another bite of chili. "What're your plans now that you're out?"
"I'll enroll in some job training. Still looking at a few options. I figure something that'll have steady work no matter what—electrician maybe."
"Those guys make good money."
"Yessir."
The truth was, the future was opaque to me, and not just because of brain fog. The doctors said I could do anything. Well. Most anything. But whether or not I could, and figuring out what I wanted to do, was another matter.
We ate in silence for a bit. The egg salad was good—fresh eggs, not too much mayo, and bits of onion and celery. The chili was the best I'd had in ages, thick and meaty with a few beans.