Finn smiles. “Sounds like a plan.”
He runs the tap so she can wash her hands in the farmhouse-style sink, while I fill a glass with cool water from the fridge. I put Gran to bed and leave the glass where she can reach it, then return to the kitchen.
“She was out the second her head hit the pillow,” I tell him, picking up where we left off on the ginger cookies. “I wish I’d noticed her fading sooner.”
“Dory knows her limits.” He slides the pan of dough balls into the oven. “What you said to her earlier, that was really good.”
His praise enfolds me like a warm hug. “I just wanted her to know that I’m proud of her, too.”
We finish baking the ginger cookies and then move on to the chocolate-dipped shortbread—Gran’s favorite. Finn washes the mixing bowls and spoons while I take care to score the shortbread dough into thin, uniform rectangles, so they’re easier to cut once they come out of the oven.
“It’s a shame we don’t have a real tree this year,” I say. “Gran loves the smell of a real tree.”
“We could go get one.”
I eye him dubiously. “Really? Where?”
“It’s Vermont.” He shrugs. “Somebody’s gotta be selling Christmas trees within a few miles of this place. We can ask the main office.”
I picture Gran’s face lighting up at the sight of a real tree in the living room. “But all our lights and ornaments are already on the fake tree.”
“We’ll buy new ones.” He dries his hands and then comes over to wrap his arms around me from behind. “What do you say we start making our own traditions?”
His lips brush my neck. I love the idea of surprising Gran with a real tree, but I’d be lying if I said the thought of us getting some time to ourselves wasn’t also a factor in my decision-making process.
As soon as the shortbread’s out of the oven, we pack away the cookies, pull on our jackets, and leave a note for Gran in case she wakes up before we’re back. Thankfully, Finn’s rental is a pick-up truck, so we shouldn’t have any trouble transporting the tree to the cabin.
Down at the main office, Noelle mans the front desk with an older man I haven’t seen before. He looks enough like her husband, Sawyer, that I wonder if the two are related.
“Hey, there,” Noelle says. “What can we do for you guys?”
“Do you know where we could find a real Christmas tree?” I ask.
“You looking for pre-cut or a cut-your-own operation?” the older man asks.
“Pre-cut,” Finn says. “Something that won’t lose all its needles by tomorrow.”
The man scrubs his stubbled jaw. “They should have a few pre-cut ones left at the hardware store in town.”
“Do they carry ornaments?” I ask.
“They do,” Noelle says. “And string lights.” She offers to pull up a map to the store on my phone.
As Finn and I thank them and turn to go, the older man wraps his arm around Noelle’s shoulder and kisses her—on the mouth. I force myself to look away and keep my lips buttoned until we’re back in the truck.
“Did you see that?” I whisper-hiss, though they definitely can’t hear me.
“See what?”
“That man kissed her.”
“Yeah, I saw it,” he says. “So?”
“So, I’m pretty sure she said she was married to the chef who cooked our dinner last night.”
He glances at the office door. “Seriously?”
“Don’t look! But, yes, seriously. She literally introduced the other guy as her husband.”