Trevor fell asleep with Haylee in his arms, and she was still there when he awakened the next morning. He wasn’t accustomed to sharing his bed, and he was surprised to realize that he didn’t mind her being there. No, it was more than that—he wanted her there. Not just this morning but every morning, for the rest of their lives together.
He’d already thought about making the room directly across the hall into a nursery, so it would be easy for them to hear and tend to the babies when they needed anything. Though she hadn’t said anything about staying in Haven long-term, he refused to consider any other possibility. And he hoped that, after last night, she’d realize their babies were only one of the many reasons she should stay.
She shifted in her sleep, sliding her leg over top of his, snuggling so that her breasts were pressed against his chest. Yeah, he could definitely get used to falling asleep with Haylee in his arms and waking up with her beside him. And because she was there, and conveniently naked, he let his hand skim from her thigh to her hip to her breast. He loved the softness of her skin, the curves of her body, the roundness of her belly where their twin babies nestled in her womb. He found her breast, brushed his thumb over her nipple. She sighed softly, then her eyelids flickered and slowly lifted.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” she echoed, a little shyly.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Very well,” she said. “And you?”
“Same.” He dipped his head to brush his mouth over hers.
Her eyelids drifted shut again as he deepened the kiss. And when he shifted so that she was beneath him, she opened for him not just willingly but eagerly, and their bodies began to move, finding their rhythm and release together.
* * *
“You had sex,” Finley said, during a Skype call with her sister the following afternoon.
“I’m almost six months pregnant and it wasn’t an immaculate conception, so why do you sound surprised?” Haylee wondered.
“I mean you had sex recently,” her sister clarified.
“How could you possibly know something like that?” she demanded.
“You have a definite glow, and before you remind me again that you’re six months pregnant, I’ll point out that you weren’t glowing quite so much when we chatted just a few days ago.”
“Okay, yes. I had sex.”
“Now hold up your hands.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I want to see the ring.”
Haylee sighed and shook her head. “You’re almost as pushy as he is.”
“So there’s no ring?” her sister asked, sounding disappointed.
“There’s no ring.”
“I don’t understand,” Finley said. “Why are you still refusing to make wedding plans when it’s obvious that you’re head over heels in love with the guy?”
She didn’t bother to deny it. Her sister had always been able to read her like an open book. “It’s not my feelings that are in question,” she said.
“You doubt his feelings for you?”
No, she had no reason to doubt his feelings. She knew exactly what they were and what they weren’t. He cared about her, but he didn’t love her, and he’d made it clear that he never would.
And she couldn’t marry a man who didn’t love her.
“Take a leap,” Finley urged. “Tell him how you feel.”
“I’ll think about it,” Haylee said, but only to get her sister off her back.
Because the truth was, she had no intention of leaping and going splat.
* * *
“Hey,” Haylee immediately protested, when Trevor pulled back the heavy curtains, filling the room with bright sunlight. “It’s Saturday.”
“It is,” he agreed.
“I get to sleep in on Saturday.”
“And you did.”
She reluctantly opened one eye even as she pulled the covers up under her chin. “What time is it?”
“Eleven thirty.”
She jolted upright. “It is not. It can’t be.”
He pointed to the clock beside the bed.
“I honestly don’t remember the last time I slept so late,” she told him.
“I didn’t want to wake you, but the farm closes at three o’clock.”
“Farm?” she echoed dubiously. “Like with cows and pigs and stuff?”
He smiled. “Like with Christmas trees.”
“Really?” There was joy in that single word and light in her eyes.
“Really,” he confirmed. “If you can be ready in half an hour, we’ll even stop for lunch on the way.”
“I can be ready,” she promised.
True to her word, twenty-nine minutes later she was tucking her feet into her boots. Trevor was more interested in the rest of her and noted with appreciation the denim leggings and knit turtleneck sweater that hugged her curves.
He’d never been one of those guys who thought all pregnant women were beautiful or that they glowed from the marvel of life growing inside them. Maybe it was because Haylee was carrying his babies, but Trevor thought she looked stunning.
They grabbed a quick bite at the Sunnyside Diner, because despite it being lunchtime, Haylee wanted breakfast. After they’d fueled up with pancakes and sausage, they headed toward Comet’s Christmas Tree Farm, fifteen miles past the Dusty Boots Motel on the highway leading out of town.
“Did your family come here to get Christmas trees when you were a kid?” Haylee asked, as he helped her out of the truck.
“Nah. We usually just chopped one down at Crooked Creek,” he told her. “But this is the top-rated local Christmas tree farm on Yelp.”
“Out of how many?” she wondered.
“One,” he admitted. “But the reviews were all positive.”
She started toward a fenced-in area beneath a banner that advertised Precut Trees arranged in groups by height. But Trevor caught her shoulders and turned her in the opposite direction.
“If we’re going to get a tree, we’re going to get the whole tree experience.”
She glanced at the signs that guided visitors toward the Cut Your Own Tree section.
“Did you bring anything to cut a tree with?”
“Didn’t have to.” He pointed toward a covered market-style stand, the back wall of which was hung with saws of various sizes. “We can borrow what we need, including a sled to haul the tree back with us.”
“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go get a tree,” she said.
After he’d signed out the required tools, they headed toward the self-serve section of the farm. There were several other couples and families wandering through the trees, discussing and debating options. Despite some heated disagreements about color and size, it was readily apparent to Haylee that this was a happy tradition for everyone there.
She paused when she spotted a man and woman with a couple of little boys who might have been twins—seven or eight years old, she guessed. The mom stood on the sidelines, her mitten-clad hands wrapped around a travel mug, watching as the dad helped the boys saw through the trunk of the tree they’d selected.
“Look, Mom!” the boy in the dark blue coat called out. “We’re doing it.”
“We’re cutting the tree,” his brother, wearing a matching gray coat, added.
“I’m looking,” she promised. “You’re doing a great job.”
“When we go see Santa, can we tell him we cut the tree?”
“Of course.”
“And then we can tell him what we want for Christmas, right?”
“You can tell him about one thing on your wish list,” she said. “But remember, he’s got a lot of gifts to deliver to a lot of kids, so there are no guarantees.”
“But we were really good this year.”
“Except when you were fighting,” the boys’ dad chimed in.
“Yeah. ’Cept when we were fighting.”
“Haylee?”
Still smiling at the exchange, she hurried to catch up with Trevor again.
“Did your family go out into the woods hunting for the perfect tree when you were a kid?” he asked, as they walked around the lot, examining various specimens.
She shook her head. “We went to the local hardware store and picked a tree from the lot.”
“Well, it’s kind of the same thing,” he said. “So take a look around and tell me which tree you think will look best in the living room.”
“Where, in the living room, are you planning to put it?”
He shrugged. “Beside the sofa, maybe.”
She wrinkled her nose.
“Or a much better location that you’re going to suggest,” he said dryly.
“I was just thinking, if you put it beside the fireplace, you’d be able to see it when you’re sitting on the sofa,” she pointed out.
“Okay, we’ll put it beside the fireplace,” he agreed.
She liked the way he said “we,” as if she and Trevor really were a “we”—even if it was only a temporary situation.
“But then you’ll have to move the recliner.”
“So I’ll move the recliner,” he said. “No one ever sits there anyway.”
“True,” she acknowledged.
“Now we know where it’s going, but we still have to pick the tree.” He pointed to one nearby. “How about that one?”
She looked at the tree, then at him. “It’s perfect…if you’re looking for a prop to stage a production of A Charlie Brown Christmas.”
He perused the tree more closely. “I guess it is a little sparse,” he acknowledged.
“And crooked.”
“What about this one?” he asked, moving on to the next evergreen.
She did a slow walk around the specimen. “I think it could work.”
He retrieved the saw from the sled.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Haylee asked.
“Stay out of the way, so the tree doesn’t fall on top of you.”
“I can do that,” she agreed.
She could also appreciate the scenery—and she indulged herself in doing just that. Whether he was wearing chinos with a shirt and tie to go to the office or jeans and flannel to hang out at home, Trevor always looked good. Today, in deference to their outdoor venture, he was wearing a leather jacket over a chunky knit sweater and well-worn jeans that hugged his thighs and butt. Even through the various layers of clothing, she couldn’t help but appreciate the breadth of his shoulders and the power of his muscles as he sawed through the trunk of the tree they’d chosen.
And yet despite his obvious strength, he’d been a patient and selfless lover, ensuring that she experienced a pleasure she hadn’t even known existed. Which was definitely something she should not be thinking about right now, she realized, as her blood warmed and her body temperature began to rise.
She unzipped her coat and loosened the soft wool scarf she’d wrapped around her throat in an effort to cool the heat in her veins.
When the tree was strapped down on the sled, they retraced their steps toward the sales office to finalize their purchase.
The young man working at the toolshed measured their tree and gave them a slip, directing them to the barn to complete their purchase.
Haylee had been so focused on finding a tree that she hadn’t even glanced toward the barn when they arrived. But she did so now, and noted that the wide doors were flanked by potted fir trees wrapped in red ribbon and decorated with shiny red balls. Evergreen boughs were tacked over the entranceway and similarly decked out.
The inside didn’t look much like a shelter for livestock. The space was open and brightly lit, with signs hanging from the rafters to identify designated areas, such as Craft Corner and Cookies & Cider.
Curious, she took a few steps toward the Craft Corner where a teenager, dressed like an elf, was sitting at a child-sized picnic table with a couple of young children, helping them decorate paper plate wreaths. At another table, a trio of preschoolers were occupied with fat crayons and holiday-themed coloring pages. The on-site activity center was obviously designed to keep kids occupied while their parents browsed in the gift shop at the back.
Looking around, she noticed that all the employees of Comet’s Christmas Tree Farm were dressed like Santa’s helpers, complete with jingle bells on their shoes and pointy hats on their heads.
Haylee breathed in the scent of pine and… “Do I smell apples?”
“Hot apple cider,” he said, nudging her toward the area designated Cookies & Cider. “Do you want a cup?”
“Yes, please.”
He held up two fingers to the young woman—also dressed like an elf—who was stirring the spiced cider in an enormous pot. She ladled a portion into each of two cups, then passed them across the counter.
“Enjoy,” she said, with a smile. “And make sure you try the cookies, too. They’re made fresh every day.”
“Try the cookies,” Trevor repeated to Haylee.
She surveyed the artfully arranged assortment. “I shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve already gained twenty pounds.”
“Those twenty pounds look good on you.”
“You’re only saying that because half of them are spilling out of my bra.”
He had to fight the smile that wanted to tug at his lips. “Are they? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Liar.”
He was chuckling as an older woman with gray hair neatly secured in a bun at the nape of her neck and wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose came over to replenish the display of cookies.
“Mrs. Claus?” Haylee guessed.
“Oh no, dear,” she said, with a conspiratorial wink. “Mrs. Claus is at the North Pole, helping Santa get ready for Christmas. We’re just some of Santa’s happy helpers here.” She tapped the tag fastened to her red vest. “I’m Meg.”
“Did you make these cookies, Meg?” Trevor asked, selecting another from the tray. “Because they’re delicious.”
She nodded. “I did.”
“Spritz cookies are one of my holiday favorites,” Haylee said, giving in to temptation and reaching for one in the shape of a snowflake sprinkled with blue sugar. “But the shapes never hold for me when I make them.”
“Because no one ever told you the secret trick,” Meg guessed. Then she dropped her voice to a whisper and said, “Chilled cookie sheets.”
“Really?”
The older woman nodded. “I promise, it makes all the difference.”
“I’ll give it a try,” Haylee said.
“But right now, we need to pay for our tree,” Trevor said, brushing cookie crumbs off his fingers.
“Did you get a receipt from Lewis at the toolshed?”
Trevor pulled it out of his jacket pocket.
“The cash register’s in the gift shop,” Meg said.
“Of course,” he said. “Just like at Disneyland—exit through the gift shop.”
The older woman smiled. “In addition to trees, we’ve got everything you need to decorate them and your home. We also have a variety of personalized ornaments, handcrafted gifts and toys.”
“I’m going to take another cookie and go do some shopping.”
But as they made their way around the gift shop, it was Trevor who seemed to be on a mission.
“What are you planning to do with all those lights?” Haylee asked, as he dropped several packages into his basket.
“Put them on the tree.”
“You don’t think you have enough at home?”
“I don’t actually have any,” he admitted. “I’ve never put up a tree or decorated for the holidays before.”
“Why not?”
“Because I usually spend Christmas Day at my parents’ house.”
“But what about all the days and nights before the holidays?” she asked.
He shrugged. “It just always seemed like more bother than it was worth.”
“So why is this year different?”
“Because I want our first Christmas together to be perfect.”
Our first Christmas.
Haylee liked the sound of that.
But still, she was afraid to hope.
“Look at these,” he said, holding up two knitted stockings in traditional Nordic designs. One was blue with snowflakes and mittens and the other was red with Christmas trees and reindeer.
“For the babies?” she guessed.
He nodded.
“They’re certainly big enough for Santa to fill with lots of goodies.”
He grinned. “That’s what I was thinking. There are green and gray ones, too,” he told her. “Maybe we should get one in each color.”
Of course they’d need four stockings for their babies, she realized. One set for Christmas at Mommy’s house and one set for Christmas at Daddy’s. And though she knew he was only being practical—maybe even thoughtful—the reality of their situation put a sudden pall on what had been, up to that point, a near-perfect day.
“Haylee?” he prompted.
She had to clear the tightness from her throat before she could reply. “Sure. One of each would be good.”
Then she turned away, feigning an interest in the pine cone ornaments displayed on one of the many tabletop trees set up around the shop.
* * *
“What do you think?” Trevor asked, after he’d finished securing the trunk into the base that they’d also bought at the Christmas tree farm. He tilted his head. “Is it crooked?”
“It’s perfect. Or it will be, when you put all the lights and ornaments on it that you bought at the tree farm.”
“What was in all those packages you bought?” he asked.
“I got handmade ornaments for Colleen, Finley, my grandmother and—because it was irresistible, a dated ‘Baby’s First Christmas’ ornament for Colton.”
“You obviously believe in getting an early start on your shopping,” he noted.
“You think this is early?” she asked incredulously.
“It’s barely December.”
“It is December,” she said. “And Christmas is less than three weeks away.”
He shrugged, obviously unconcerned. “It doesn’t take long to buy gift cards.”
“That’s the extent of your Christmas shopping? Gift cards?”
“What’s wrong with gift cards?” he wanted to know.
“Nothing,” she said, though her tone suggested otherwise. “They’re a perfectly acceptable gift for a coworker or pet sitter or mail carrier, but not your parents or brother or grandfather.”
Or girlfriend-slash-fiancée-slash-wife, he guessed, though she didn’t mention any of those.
“I’ve never heard any complaints.”
She shook her head. “Why don’t you skip the card purchase and just wrap the cash? Better yet, save the wrapping and use Venmo.”
“This seems to be a hot button for you,” he noted. “Did your ex-boyfriend give you a gift card last Christmas?”
“No,” she denied. “Although that would be a valid reason for the shift of status from boyfriend to ex.”
“Note to self—buy Haylee an actual present.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she protested.
“You don’t want a gift?”
She huffed out a breath. “Can we get back to focusing on the tree?”
“Sure,” he agreed. “I’ll start with the lights while you pop the corn.”
“No one actually strings popcorn anymore,” she told him.
He chuckled. “It’s not for stringing. It’s for eating. Decorating is hungry work.”
He was right, and the big bowl of popcorn she made was empty long before they’d hung the last ornament on the tree. But still there were more holiday decorations to be put up, including the stockings Trevor had bought.
“Which one do you want?” he asked, holding them up for her inspection again.
“You’re letting me choose?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll take the red and the green, if you don’t mind.”
“The traditional Christmas colors,” he noted. “I always suspected that you were a traditional girl at heart, but you only get one—so is it red or green?”
She frowned at that. “Why do I only get one?”
“Why do you need more than one?”
She sensed that there was a miscommunication happening and was eager to clarify. “Didn’t you get four so that we’d each have a set for the babies?”
He dropped his arms. “That’s what you thought?” he asked, sounding surprised—and maybe a little bit disappointed.
“What else was I supposed to think?” she said.
“That there will be four of us—you, me and two babies.”
“Oh.”
He shook his head. “Apparently I’m the only one of us who hopes that our first Christmas together isn’t also our last.”
She didn’t know what to say to that—she had no experience with relationships. She knew she’d hurt him, however inadvertently, but she didn’t know how to make it right. And before she could come up with a reply, she heard the back door slam.
He was gone.
And she was left behind. Again.