‘God, that would be … magical.’ I sit down beside Gizmo, who gets up and turns around, getting comfortable on his blanket until he’s leaning against my thigh. I scritch along the line between brown and white patches on his head while Noel picks up both mugs of tea and somehow manages to snag what’s left of the biscuit packet with his little finger and carry the whole lot across. He hands me my tea and flops down on the opposite side of Gizmo, leaning back against the bench and exhaling like it’s the first time he’s sat down in hours.
The song changes to Lady Antebellum’s cover of ‘Let It Snow’ and he holds the biscuit packet out to me. I take one, and he takes another one and puts the packet down on his other side, out of Gizmo’s reach. Gizmo thinks all food is meant for him and tries to clamber across Noel’s lap to get to the biscuits. When that fails, he climbs up his chest and tries to take the digestive right out of his mouth, his tail wagging like it’s the best game ever.
Noel’s laughing as he turns away from him, clamping his lips shut and swallowing quickly. ‘You can’t have that, my love, it’s got chocolate on it.’
Gizmo sits back down on his blanket with an annoyed huff. I’ve never seen a dog sulk before, but he may as well have folded his arms and stuck his bottom lip out. If he was a teenager, he’d have shouted ‘it’s not fair!’ and flounced out with a door slam.
Noel laughs when he tries to stroke him and he huffs and turns away, and I nearly choke on my own biscuit when he looks at me beseechingly and stands up again, wagging his tail as he puts a tentative paw on my thigh like he can have a bit of mine instead.
‘Giz, look.’ Noel whistles Gizmo’s tune from Gremlins to get his attention, and then digs around in his pocket. I watch the wide pointy Chihuahua ears go up and down at every movement of his fingers in the pocket of his slate-grey hoodie until he produces a tiny dog biscuit with a flourish and presents it to the little dog, who gets so excited about it that he nearly wags himself right off the bench.
He puts a paw on Noel’s fingers and pulls his hand towards him, taking the biscuit delicately and crunching it up.
‘Are you sure you’re supposed to feed him after midnight?’
‘What, because of Gremlins?’ Noel laughs and when he looks up at me, there’s something soft in his eyes that look closer to blue than green in the harsh light of the bare bulb above us. ‘You’re the only person I’ve ever met who loves that film as much as I do.’
‘It’s a Christmas classic. I used to watch it every year.’ I reach over and give Gizmo’s back a rub but he turns away from me, protecting his biscuit in case I want to steal it. ‘They turn into little monsters if they eat after twelve.’
‘Well, Giz is already a wee monster, aren’t you?’ He rubs the back of the dog’s neck and the affection in his voice is palpable as he hands him a few more biscuits and Gizmo returns the look of love as he munches them happily.
When he’s finished and checked us both over for signs of crumbs, he resigns himself to both his and our biscuits being gone and gets down from the sleigh to trot across the barn for a few laps from his water bowl. There’s a soft-looking basket filled with cushions and he climbs into it, turns in a few circles and then curls up. Noel puts his mug down on the bench, takes the fleece blanket that was between us, and goes over to cover Gizmo up with it. ‘He’ll have to have a lie in tomorrow to make up for the late night. He’d stay in bed all day if he could.’
‘I know the feeling,’ I mutter.
‘Oh, me too.’ He groans as he stands upright again and walks back over to the sleigh.
‘Don’t you have too early a start to be up this late?’
‘Yep, so do you.’ He jumps into the sleigh and settles back against the bench again.
I can’t help the nervous flitter at the thought. Or maybe it’s how close he’s sitting now that Gizmo’s not between us, or maybe it’s the fact that ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ comes on the radio and he’s humming along under his breath without realising it, or how the scent of sawn wood mixes with the charred cinnamon of his aftershave, and the proximity makes it even sexier. I suddenly want nothing more than to rest my head on his shoulder and breathe him in.
‘C’mere, you’ve got wood dust in your hair.’ I have to swallow a few times before the words come out without a wobble in them.
Instead of getting up and shaking it out like I thought he might, he shifts closer and turns slightly to the left so I can reach the back of his head.
His hair is thick and full of volume, with straight bits that stick out before they hang down and thicker wavy bits that give it its length. It always looks the perfect mix between scruffy and styled, and the temptation is too much to resist.
I slide one hand into the dark strands and brush away the little patch of dust from the wood he’s been sanding. It’s only a few grains and it disappears easily enough, but running my fingers through his hair feels surprisingly nice. Even when the wood dust is long gone and I should stop, I keep doing it. He’s cradling the mug of tea on his lap and he lifts it for another sip and his piercing clinks against the china, and if my fingers tighten in his hair, it’s a completely involuntary reaction. His eyes drift shut and he breathes out slowly, putting the mug down on the bench beside him. One hand drifts across until the back of his knuckles is resting on my thigh, and I take it as a sign that he doesn’t want me to stop yet.
I stroke his hair a bit harder, making it obvious that I’m stroking it rather than brushing out wood dust that was gone at least five minutes ago, and he sinks down against the bench and lets out the most ridiculously sexy moan that sends a tingle right the way through me.
‘What are you doing to me?’ he mumbles under his breath, his voice sounding ragged. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I keep losing myself around you, and it’s so unlike me, but I don’t want it to stop.’
I know exactly what he means. Everything is so easy with him, just being with him, spending time with him … When I’m close to him like this, when his walls aren’t up and he lets himself go a little bit, it is easy to get lost in the moment, to believe that whatever this is … it’s something that could be more.
His palm is facing up, open and inviting, and I let the index finger of the hand that’s not in his hair trail across it. His fingers close around it, entwining with mine. It makes me smile, and when I risk a glance at his relaxed face, the same smile has crept across his mouth too.
I realise I’m sitting here smiling at him for no reason, which is probably weirder than having one hand tangled in his hair and the other held in his fingers, and no matter how much I try to tell myself how weird it is, I can’t stop myself letting my fingers drift through his hair and shifting nearer to him every time he leans a bit heavier against me.
‘We should get together and watch Gremlins sometime.’ His voice sounds distant, like an ethereal whisper.
‘You could always come over one evening. Bring Gizmo and some of those pumpkin spice popcorn kernels you’ve been selling at the market. I haven’t seen it for a few years now and Gizmo makes me want to watch it again.’
He lets out a guttural groan of longing. ‘That sounds perfect. On your twelve-inch CRT TV. In black and white.’
I stretch out the fingers that are linked with his and use them to whack his leg. ‘It’s not black and white.’
He lets out a low, contented laugh. ‘How can you tell with all the lines and static you get?’
I nudge his leg with my knee. ‘The TV isn’t my priority. I need to read books about Christmas tree farming, not watch TV.’
‘It’s good you have books, but you can ask me anything. I’ll always be happy to help, no matter what. It’s nice to feel needed.’ He rolls his head along the back of the bench until he’s looking up at me and his hair flops over his face. ‘Even if you only want me for my Christmas tree knowledge. I know when I’m being taken advantage of.’
I know he was taken advantage of before, no matter how much he blames himself for
it, and there’s something underneath his playful tone of voice, a hurt that still hasn’t gone away, a silent plea that his knowledge isn’t the only thing I want him for.
I disentangle my fingers from his and reach up to tuck his hair back from where it’s fallen across his face. He lets out a breath and closes his eyes again, and my fingers go from tucking the same bit of hair back over and over again, to stroking across his earlobe, and trailing down the side of his face, my thumb brushing his stubble. I let the backs of my fingers dust across his cheeks, draw a line down his nose, my little finger tracing the outline of his lips, grazing across his piercing, and he shivers, but it’s definitely not in a bad way.
His lips part as he lets out a breath, his tongue wetting them, shifting the piercing, making it press against the skin of my fingers as I dance them across the curve of his upper lip again and again.
‘Please kiss me.’ His voice is barely a breath. I feel the words against my skin rather than hear them. It’s the most raw, vulnerable, unguarded thing anyone has ever said to me, and it makes my chest ache with longing.
I lean over and press my lips gently to his. My long hair falls across his face, surrounding him, and his hand comes up and tangles in it, pulling it back and using the grip on it to tug me closer as the kiss deepens. He sits up straighter and pulls me tighter against him without breaking the connection between us, urging me over until I’m straddling his lap, my knees pressing into the wooden bench on either side of his thighs. Both my hands are so tangled in his thick hair that I might never get them out, one of his is still holding my hair aside, the other is curled into my jacket like he can’t hold on tight enough, his fingers rubbing my back where they touch, constantly pulling me closer than it’s possible to get. I know my whimpers of pleasure are mixing with his moans as we kiss for what seems like ever.
I’m panting by the time we pull back, and he releases his hand from my hair so it falls in a messy curtain around us again, caging us in as I lean my forehead against his and we both try to get our breath back.
I untangle my hands from his hair, fully expecting to come away with a few handfuls given how tightly I’ve been holding it. I go back to stroking it gently, unwilling to remove my hands from him or move from where I’m still straddling his legs. His hands are running up and down my back, his fingers gentle but his wrists are pressing tight, holding me there.
‘I bet a sleigh has never been used for this sort of thing before,’ he murmurs.
‘Oh, I don’t know. Santa and Mrs Claus must have feelings too. Certain … desires … that they feel the urge to act upon. When the reindeer aren’t looking.’
He lets out such a burst of laughter that it reverberates through me too. ‘Ooh, yeah, can you imagine kissing Santa? I bet there are crusty bits of mince pie in his beard and sticky chunks of half-sucked candy cane …’
‘You can’t say that about Santa!’ I kiss him again to shut him up. ‘He smells of sugarplums and washes his beard with the sparkly tears of elves every day.’
‘He probably bathes in reindeer droppings. That’s why no one’s ever seen him – because the stench makes everyone’s eyes water so much that they’re blinded whenever he approaches.’
You’d think it would be hard to laugh and kiss at the same time, but somehow we manage it, and when we pull back to pant for breath this time, I force myself to shift off his lap before this doesn’t end at kissing. Even so, I love the noise of disappointment he makes, and the way his hand clamps onto my thigh, like he can somehow hold onto me for a little longer.
I sink down on the bench, the whole side of my body pressing against his, and he lifts an arm and drops it around me with a heavy thud, tugging me into his side. I drop my head onto his shoulder, feeling lighter than I have in months. Everything feels so right here, whether it’s Noel or Peppermint Branches or Scotland in general, or just having a completely fresh start away from the rut I was in back in London.
‘What are you thinking about?’ he asks when we’ve both got our breath back.
‘About fate. About the auction. About my mum and dad and you, and if there was some external influence driving me to win that auction because I was somehow supposed to come here.’
He presses a kiss to my forehead, which makes me melt so much that I nearly slide off the wooden bench. His arm tightens around me and his head dips down to rest against mine.
‘I can’t describe the fog of grief I’ve been living in for the past two years, and the way you talked about it, the way you normalised it and made me feel understood … Having someone that I’m not afraid to talk to makes so much difference. Everything feels different. I love it here. And I’d have run away that first night if you hadn’t found me and made me stay.’
‘Nah, you wouldn’t. You had to stay just to prove how much of a twat I was on that first day.’ He shifts his head and looks down at me. ‘That was my plan all along, you know.’
I reach over and rub along the fraying seam of his butter-soft jeans that are so worn and faded they look like they could fall off at any moment. And there’s a thought for another day.
‘You gave me something back too, you know.’ He reaches over with his other arm and lifts my hand, his fingers playing with mine.
‘A second job that you don’t get paid for?’ I ask, because he’s been helping me out so much.
‘My heart.’
I try to look up at him but he doesn’t budge so I can’t make eye contact.
‘I’ve been dead for ten years.’
I almost laugh at the deadpan tone in his voice. ‘Well, you’re looking remarkably good on it. Sexiest zombie I’ve ever seen. Do brains taste nice?’
He bursts out laughing again. ‘See? I laugh now. I didn’t laugh before. And I know people around here will tell you that I’m pleasant and friendly and I help them out where I can, but all of my interactions have been superficial. Every time I give them a smile, it’s surface only, inside I’ve felt nothing. I always picture my heart as cold, dark, and hard, like a lump of coal, and the only thing that’s made it glow again in the last few years was getting Gizmo, and then you came along and made me laugh about drunken trees and something lit up inside me.’
‘When did you get him?’ I ask, mainly to distract myself because the idea that I could make anyone’s heart glow when I’ve felt so cold and detached for the past couple of years is making me feel so fluttery and overheated that I might actually be in danger of throwing up, passing out, or both. And that’s really not the way to end this amazing night, with this amazing man who makes something inside of me glow too.
‘I didn’t get Gizmo, Gizmo got me. He picked me out as his new dad the moment we saw each other. Evergreene always donated a tree to the nearest animal shelter, and I went to deliver it. Walked into reception and one of the volunteers was about to take this little Chihuahua out for a walk. I had the tree over my shoulder so she stopped to let me through the door, and he ran over and put his paws up on my leg. It was love at first sight.’ He’s getting choked up as he speaks. ‘I had no intention of getting a dog, and if I had then it would’ve been a working farm dog, not a toy handbag dog. I used to laugh at little dogs like him walking along the road in their jumpers and coats. But the moment I saw him, I dropped the tree and picked him up, and there was never a moment of doubt that he was coming home with me. I made the woman wait while I registered and reserved him and then went out for the walk with them, and honestly, I was in tears most of the way. It was this wave of emotion that I never thought I’d be capable of feeling again. That was seven years ago and he still makes my life better every day.’
There’s something about a man who isn’t afraid to admit how much he loves his dog that makes him seem like a genuinely good person. And completely irresistible. I squeeze his hand and move until I can get my lips somewhere near his, but I just end up smashing my mouth against the side of his face, halfway between his eye and ear.
He laughs and moves until we can kiss properly again
. Time fades away to his mouth, the occasional extra sensation of the cold silver of his lip piercing, his stubble, his hands, how good he makes me feel, and I quickly realise we could sit here all night, completely lost in kissing, and we’ll both regret it when the alarm goes off tomorrow morning.
It must come across in my body language because he pulls back with a reluctant noise. ‘Why do I know what you’re thinking?’
‘Because you helped me stack all those trees on the driveway earlier and you know as well as I do that they’ve got to be loaded into the back of your truck at silly o’clock in the morning, and you’ve got a competition to win, and I care about you too much to not let you get any sleep tonight.’
He sinks back against the bench and lets out a groan. ‘You think I can sleep after that?’
I giggle nervously because sleep is the last thing on my mind too. But given how much I want to straddle him again and pick up where we left off, I force myself to be the sensible adult that I supposedly am, and tear myself away. ‘Come on. I can see how tired you are and it’s well past two o’clock now. My alarm’s set for five and I know you well enough to know that yours will be even earlier.’
He grunts as I disentangle our hands and place his gently back on his lap before I push myself upright and step out of the sleigh.
‘I’m not sure if I love you more for making me feel like this or for taking care of me.’ His head is still resting on the back of the bench, his eyes are closed and his voice is slurred and sleepy.
The empty mugs clang together as I gather them up, the noise making me jump as much as the words do. Obviously it’s just a figure of speech. He doesn’t love me at all, not for either reason. We’ve only known each other for a few weeks. I chew my lip as I stand there watching him, waiting for him to jump up and frantically backpedal, but he doesn’t move.
Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm Page 23