It was ridiculous—the two of us going to opposite corners of the house every night, afraid to invade the other's space. I sighed, took a long pull of beer, and sat heavily on the sofa. I should make dinner for us. I knew he just grabbed a sandwich after work or something from concessions. But, after a long day, cooking a big meal was the last thing I wanted to do. Maybe I could heat up a frozen lasagna one night soon.
Honestly, it would be good for my mental health. When I went to bed early, all I did was lie there and brood. And think about regrets. And what should be.
I looked at the spot where the tree normally stood. I thought about young Robbie decorating a tree out in the woods because his dad was a douche nozzle. And here I was, a man about as rich in Christmas trees, and tree ornaments, as any man on Earth. Damn.
The next afternoon, when there was a lull, I left the baler and walked up to Robbie, who was fixing a leaning tree. I stuffed my hands in my pockets, feeling self-conscious. "Hey."
Robbie looked up and smiled automatically. And man, that smile made my heart beat a little faster. I knew Robbie struggled with some things. But his smile when he looked at me felt spontaneous and true, and it went down deep into his eyes. "Hey, boss."
I rubbed my beard. "I've, um, changed my mind about putting up a tree in the house. Wanna do me a favor and pick one out for us?"
Robbie's smile turned into a grin. "Really?"
"Sure. I kind of miss it," I lied.
Robbie stood up, grasping his hip as if it hurt, but the delight on his face didn't fade an inch. "That'd be great. What kind of tree do you like?"
"Anything. You said blue spruce was your favorite. Or whatever. You pick. Just keep in mind the ceiling is nine foot in the living room. Stay under that, and I'm happy."
Robbie looked around eagerly. "After work?"
"Well. No time like the present. It's slow at the moment. You can pick one out, if you want, and take it over there. Just set it up in the living room for now. We can mess with it tonight. Maybe get a pizza or something."
Robbie's eyes lit up, and he flashed me a look so warm it made my toes curl. Then he hurried down the row. Maybe he'd already mentally cataloged his favorite tree, because a couple of minutes later, when I was back at the baler, I saw Robbie walk by carrying a large blue spruce. It was maybe eight feet tall and had a fat base and exaggerated pyramid shape. A classic. Robbie stopped and looked at me, eyebrows raised in question.
I nodded and gave him a thumbs-up, and Robbie took off with the tree toward the house.
I forgot all about the tree when the afternoon rush hit. At 7, I said goodbye to Lucy, Tori, and Roscoe and put the chain across the entry road. Inside the store, I turned off the PA music and switched off the lot lights at the master switch, stuck the receipts in the safe, then locked up and headed home. It wasn't until I was at the side door of the house and saw a few stray pine needles that I remembered.
I found Robbie in the living room, just standing there looking at the tree. He'd put it in just the right spot in front of the window, but it was still on its wooden X tree stand.
"I would have put it in a real stand and watered it," he said, "but I didn't know where you kept your Christmas stuff."
I eyed the tree for a moment. It really was lovely and it fit the space perfectly. Robbie had a good eye. It was nice to see it there. I thought I would dread this. But I found myself buoyed, even after the long day. I was looking forward to making Robbie happy. And pizza. Definitely pizza.
"Everything's in the attic. Let's place an order for delivery. Then you can help me carry it down."
Chapter four
Robbie
I whistled, long and low. "Holy smokes."
Maybe I shouldn't have been surprised that a family who owned a Christmas tree farm and a store that sold Christmas ornaments would have a large personal stash, but I was. I hadn't seen a single Christmas decoration in the house, so I'd assumed it was the old chefs don't like to cook at home deal. But that was not the case. One entire side of a long attic was stacked with plastic bins carefully labeled for Christmas.
"Some of this stuff is really old," Greg said fondly. "My grandparents had stuff handed down to them and collected a lot in their lifetime. And then my mom and dad added to it. My grandma loved German glass ornaments and spinners."
"Spinners? Aren't those for salads?"
"Spinners are the ones with the little fan inside, and if you place it over a large bulb on the tree, the heat makes the fan spin." Greg demonstrated by whirling a thick finger in the air, which I found endearing. And weirdly hot. He was such a sturdy man, with the air of a lumberjack or farmer, but when he spoke, his voice was educated and gentle. It was a combination I was starting to realize was my kryptonite.
I crossed my arms tightly over my chest. I guess it was nice to know I'd recovered from my injuries enough to feel interest in a guy, but I wasn't here for that.
"So. Which ones do you like?" I gestured at the boxes. If it were up to me, I'd haul them all downstairs and spend hours looking through them to see all the treasures. But Greg would want to be more efficient.
He looked at the boxes and cleared his throat. "Let's see…." He bypassed a set of newer-looking boxes and went to the end of the row. "These are some of Grandma's favorites. Nice and traditional."
"That works." I grabbed the box on top.
I was totally jacked for this. I couldn't remember the last time I'd decorated a real Christmas tree. We'd had them on base when I'd been in San Diego, and even in Afghanistan, but they just sort of appeared and they were for everyone. The memories I had of decorating with my mother were more imagined than really remembered, I'd been so young. Yeah, this was the bomb, but I tried to act blasé about it. I was a grown man, after all, and a vet.
We got the tree into a sturdy-looking green stand and gave it water. First things first. Then Greg began opening the dozen bins we'd brought down. I opened one and saw a Styrofoam lid. Under it was a grid of Styrofoam, each section holding an old-fashioned glass ornament. They looked like antiques or something, real fragile, and they were beautiful. I picked up a glass snowman with care. These things were probably worth a bundle on eBay. Not that I would ever sell them, if they were mine. This collection was priceless. I carried it to the tree.
"Not yet," Greg said, pulling open a cardboard box. "The lights go on first."
"Oh. I suppose you think you're a Christmas tree expert or something?"
Greg looked confused for a moment, then got a bashful smile. "Something like that." Spots of red stained his cheeks, but his smile remained.
Really, I should mind my Ps and Qs and not tease the guy. But it felt good to even want to tease. I used to have a good sense of humor, but after waking up in the hospital, nothing seemed funny anymore. Having those quips even come into my head felt like… like I was healing, as my docs would say. Besides, I could swear Greg liked it. He looked like a little boy when I teased him, and I could stand to see a lot more of that.
I put the little snowman carefully back in the box. "Okay, tree man. So how do we do the lights? Teach me. I am a blank page."
Greg chuckled, still blushing. "So, um, it depends on what you prefer. All white or color? Big bulbs or small? Flashing or stay-on?"