“It’s tradition,” he said, “can’t argue with tradition.”
With dainty fingers, I extracted a single one from the bag. He frowned and shook it again under my nose, and I took two more. With a grin to match his own, I popped them into my mouth as we continued unloading the car.
Who was I to argue with Larchwood family tradition?
While I started stacking the empty cupboards with the food we’d bought, Tom went out onto the porch and returned with an armful of logs. A minute later, a roaring fire was crackling happily beneath the mantle. I finished quickly in the kitchen and came to stand in front of it, warming the tips of my fingers, when something soft came down upon my hand.
“What the—”
I whirled around with a ridiculous kung-fu gesture at the same time that a fluffy cotton ball dangled down past my face. I peered around incredulously to see Tom standing by the sofa, wearing a Santa hat of his own—and a huge, goofy grin.
Oh, be still my melting heart.
He was just too perfect. A band of white fur around his forehead. His dark hair—messy now—peeking out from underneath. The smile of a five-year-old child.
...And an ax.
He grinned. “Come with me if you want to live.”
I snorted with laughter as he raised the weapon above his head to illustrate his point.
“This was my nightmare, you know. All except for the Oreos.”
“Oh no,” he grabbed another handful, “the Oreos are a must. But we still have a few more traditions to uphold—and the first one happens to be outside.” He glanced down at my fancy designer flats before cocking his head toward a closet. “I have some boots if you—”
“Who do you think you’re talking to?” I teased. Without another word, I unzipped my bag and pulled out my hiking boots—quickly hiding a lace garter from sight. Tom raised his eyebrows but said nothing as I yanked them on and stood up triumphantly. “There, ready.”
He pursed his lips and flicked the cotton ball from my face. “You look adorable.”
I laughed.
He smiled. “If you’ll follow me.”
We must have walked for miles out there in the snow. There were times when it grew so dense, that I had to follow behind in his tracks. Another time, he had to literally pick me up out of a deep bank that came up to my waist. But I hardly noticed. I hardly even realized it was snowing. I was too busy listening to Tom.
If he’d been quiet before in the car, he certainly made up for it now. It was like I was seeing a whole different side of him. In light of the holidays, he’d put the businessman away, and all that was left was a thirty-year-old with a sports car—thrilled to be out in the snow.
He rambled on about childhood memories as we walked, occasionally picking up a handful of powder and tossing it back my way. He told me stories about him and Michael as children, stories that had never been published in the papers. He was just regaling me with a tale of how a twelve-year-old version of himself with a younger Michael had stolen his grandfather’s Mercedes and went joy-riding around Central Park when he stopped dead in his tracks.
The look on his face sent chills down my spine as he stared intently over my shoulder.
“Jenna...don’t move.”
Without thinking, I leapt into his arms.
“What-is-it-a-bear?!”
He blinked in surprise, catching me gracefully—despite the ax—and staring down with a smile into my flushed face. Then, quicker than I could see, he kissed the tip of my nose.
“I think I found our Christmas tree.”
He set me down gently on my feet and I turned around with him to stare at the giant Douglas fir. It was indeed, the perfect tree. Leave it to Tom to find it. Even someone who had little attachment to the idea of Christmas trees had to admire its beauty. Its needles were a deep emerald green, set on perfectly arched branches and tilted up in sharply scented points to the sky.
“Alright Jenna, here’s your big moment.”
I looked around to see him offering me the ax. For a second, I just stared between the heavy blade and the tree. Was he kidding...?
Then he threw back his head with a loud laugh. “Shit—you should see your face.”
He started slicing at the trunk, still chuckling to himself, as I shook my head sarcastically and stared up at the sky. It was snowing even harder now, with big, fat flakes spirally slowly out of the winter clouds. I opened my mouth to catch a few, smiling as they melted on the tip of my tongue. Tom continued hacking away, and before I knew what I was doing, I fell straight down onto my back.