Winter Wedding Bells: The Kiss / The Wish / The Promise

Julie’s proximity fired up his imagination. Her cascading laughter, snappy comebacks and quirky attitude reminded him of why he’d loved her...and why he needed to guard himself.

“A tree farm!” she squealed and pointed. “Let’s get one for your condo.”

He nodded and cranked the wheel, unable as ever to resist her enthusiasm. His tires churned up the white, snowy parking-lot entrance and the Jeep jerked to a stop beside a lighted sign that read Jingle Bell Tree Farm.

Julie swung herself out of the Jeep and threw her bag over her shoulder before he grabbed the keys from the ignition. She’d changed out of her snowsuit into a pair of stretch jeans that made her look slim and taller. Strands of hair slipped free of the braids pulled across each shoulder.

Her lashes fluttered against the setting sun as she stared at the smeared watercolor sky. She was built like a runner, lean limbs and long muscles. Chin always high, shoulders always back. No one had ever attracted him this way and she could break his heart into tiny pieces if he let her.

But he wouldn’t.

Not this time.

The evergreen-laced air curled beneath his nose as he joined Julie. Families and couples laughed and chattered around them, dragging trees to their cars, securing them with rope or bungee cords. A xylophone player accompanied a helium-voiced woman as she sang “Santa Baby” into a microphone beside a rickety card table and cash box.

A balding, barrel-chested man waddled up, his stomach straining the buttons of his padded flannel overshirt. He had a broad face that looked built to scowl and, beneath a bulbous nose, a thick mustache curled down to the corners of his mouth. As he rubbed his gloved hands and stomped his work boots, his cheek bulged with what smelled like cherry chewing tobacco.

“What can I do you for? Looking for pine? Spruce? Almost out of balsam, but still got a few in the back.” His fast mumble of words took Austin longer than Julie to decipher.

“Balsam, please. That’s our favorite.” Her smile flashed and the man stared before swatting the air and hustling through a thicket of cut trees.

“Did you see his buckle?” Julie whispered in Austin’s ear, her warm breath making him tighten in awareness. “It said Jingle This.”

They laughed softly into the circle of cold, still air between them. “He does have bells on his belt,” Austin murmured, Julie’s soft hair tickling his cheek as he leaned close. Her giggle made him feel like a fifteen-year-old with awkward limbs, sweating forehead and racing pulse. He lost himself in her brown eyes for a minute as they smiled at each other. How he missed this. Missed her, he admitted to himself.

“All righty. Here’s a dandy fellow.” The lot worker hefted a six-footer from a pile leaning against a tan trailer with a few pieces of its vinyl siding missing. “Got a bit of a bare patch in the back. Nothing a few ornaments won’t cover.”

Austin scrutinized the tree. It looked full enough.

“How much?”

He turned at Julie’s quick question, his stomach sinking as he remembered another thing about her that hadn’t changed.

The man turned and spat brown on the snow behind him. “A hundred bucks.”

Her features sharpened. A bloodhound on the hunt. Austin knew better than to intervene. Just sit back and watch the magic.

“Thirty-five,” she replied firmly. She popped in a piece of gum and glanced casually around the tree lot, her expression disinterested, though Austin knew better.

A phlegmatic cough erupted from their helper. It ended in a derisive laugh. “This ain’t no charity, ma’am.”

“Looks more like a con job to me, if that’s what you’re charging.”

He pointed at a hand-painted sign with sizes and prices listed. “Just going by the rules.”

Julie studied the sign, then turned back to the tree. “Says you only charge eighty for trees under six feet.”

The man sighed and shot Austin a “can you believe this” look, which he did not return. Instead, he moved closer to Julie, enjoying himself. “Let’s get out the tape.”

“This here’s over six foot or I’m Frosty the Snowman.” The wannabe lumberjack hooted, then shrugged under the weight of their combined stares, and headed inside the trailer.

Alone, Austin bent down, nearly touching Julie’s nose. “So how much are we really paying?” He ignored the electric jolt when her lashes tangled with his.

“Fifty.”

“Got it.”‘

The man returned, grumbling, with a yardstick. “Plenty of other places to go if you don’t like our prices.”

“Exactly,” Julie put in coolly. “And the stick begins at the trunk base, not the branches.”

Austin pinched the branch where the yardstick ended, ensured the bottom lined up to it again and watched as it missed six feet by an eighth of an inch.

“Holy—”

“—Night?” Julie interjected, her voice sweet, her grin warm and crinkly. “One of my favorite Christmas carols. Just for that, I’ll give you forty.”

“The price is eighty.” The man jabbed a thick finger at the sign, his ruddy face now resembling a tomato.

“I’m assuming you wrote those figures three weeks ago.” Julie tapped her cleft chin. The gesture reminded Austin of how he used to kiss that chin before capturing her mouth and...

“At the start of the season, correct?” Julie continued.

The worker studied her, skeptical, then nodded slowly.

“But with only three days until Christmas, and competition just down the road, as you pointed out, these prices should be reduced. Half price at least. I’m doing you a favor by offering you such a good deal.”

He sawed his scruffy jaw back and forth, the way a man did after taking a solid punch.

“Ma’am, discounts have to be approved by the boss,” he groused.

“And where is he or she?”

He pointed to the crooner in the front wearing a light-up Rudolph sweater and matching earmuffs.

“I see a resemblance. You must be her son. Someone she knows she can depend on to do all the heavy lifting while she has fun by the checkout, right?”

His chest rose and fell as he released a frustrated sigh. “She never comes back here unless it’s for cocoa. Doesn’t offer me none, either.”

Julie patted his arm. “Exactly. She’s not in touch with customers. Doesn’t know how to make a sale. Seal the deal. Strike a bargain. Give the green light. Play ball. So how’s fifty sound?”

The owner’s son blinked quickly at Julie’s rapid-fire words, his brain cells shuffling to keep up. Finally he shook his head and extended a hand, a gray tooth appearing in his crooked smile. “You got it, girlie. Let’s get her done.”

Thirty minutes later, Austin was still smiling at the memory of the singing owner’s stricken face as she watched them settle the bill and return her son’s cheery wave.

“Your condo is beautiful,” called Julie from one of the back rooms, her voice echoing in the empty space, bouncing off the newly painted walls and freshly laid wooden floors. “These views.”

“I got in early when I saw the plans a couple of years ago. Signed on for a top floor, rear corner. Best in the building,” he answered with pride. It’d taken him a while to accept that his job with the US team was permanent. That, although he’d continue wandering the world during the competition season, he could put down roots. All he needed was a partner, but he suspected he’d end up with the four-legged kind. Certainly not Julie. Lake Placid was too far from her home. How could he be confident she wouldn’t drag her feet or change her mind about joining him if he asked? In the end, she’d only flatten him again.

He poured water into the tree basin he’d unpacked from a box labeled Christmas, and stood back. “Ready to decorate when you are.”

She slid across his floor on her stocking feet, striking a Risky Business move à la Tom Cruise at the end of the short hall. “We’ve got the place to ourselves. Let’s get into trouble.”

She dimpled at him and he almost smiled. Clamped it back. Ignored the surge of excitement she always aroused in him. “Work. Remember? Not play.”

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