Even seven years in, I was still considered an outsider in a small town. While I had plenty of people from out of town coming in for our trees, I understood that word of mouth was king in Turnbull.

  A touch mercenary, I supposed, but I’d been raised with business in mind, thanks to the mighty Lucas Winslow. My father had been a disappointment as far as the elder Winslow was concerned. He was forever lost in his bookcases and papers or traveling the world researching his next book.

  I’d been groomed to take over the company since I was sixteen. My grandfather didn’t really understand my need to run a Christmas tree farm along with everything else I was in charge of, but he loved Turnbull enough not to give me too much grief about it.

  “Well, what do you think?” Laverne asked Rachel.

  Rachel peeked in the bus windows, then tried the handle. It wasn’t quite rusted shut, but it was damn close.

  “A little WD-40 and it’ll fix it right up,” Beckett offered up.

  Laverne rolled her eyes. “You think that spray fixes everything.”

  “Keeps our machines running, Aunt Laverne.”

  Rachel handed me her cup and climbed in. “It’s surprisingly spacious.”

  “It was my baby for a lot of years.” Laverne sighed wistfully. “Before I got married, I drove this from New York to California with a sweet boy who had even more wanderlust than I did.”

  Rachel peeked out. “You did?”

  “I may love the orchard, but I was a wild child once upon a time.”

  Rachel’s blue eyes sparkled. “I’ll be needing some of those stories.”

  “You might just get them.” Laverne climbed into the bus with her. “Time hasn’t been kind to the old girl.”

  “Well, I’ve been watching some of those van-life videos. I might be able to get Justin to help me. He loves them just as much as I do.” She hopped out and brushed her hands on her jeans. “We can gut it and set up a little station in there.”

  I tried to remind myself that Justin was a relative, but I couldn’t stop my shoulders from tightening at her decree. It had been my idea, dammit.

  I shook off my annoyance and sipped from the cup Laverne had offered. “Does your liquor license allow for outside sales? Maybe we could set up a little station for your cider too.”

  “Now you’re thinking.” Laverne pulled out her phone. “I’ll make sure we can. I don’t think it should be a problem. We have outside allowances for the concerts.”

  “Sounds like we might be in business.” I glanced at Rachel, who was nibbling her lower lip. “Sounds like you have a lot of ideas. Why don’t we go over them with a pizza?”

  Her big eyes widened even more. “Like…a dinner meeting.”

  “Have a problem with that?”

  “No.” She took her cup back from me. “Maybe I should try the whiskey too.”

  Laverne tipped a little into her cup. “I knew this would be a good idea.”

  I held my cup out too. “Here’s to great ideas.”

  I hoped I wouldn’t regret this decision.

  Chapter 6

  Rachel

  The Escape

  I should have kept walking.

  What the hell had I been thinking saying yes?

  I wasn’t even sure what had happened. All of a sudden, I’d been in the middle of a damn tree farm, which was bad enough because it was adorable, but the VW Bug waiting for me? Damn my Aunt Laverne. She was far too clever.

  Part of my specialty had been making use of alternative spaces. It was my stock in trade…then. Not now. That wasn’t—couldn’t be—me.

  Not anymore.

  My hand shook and my Apple pencil tapped frantically against the glass of my iPad. I fisted my hand, then tossed them both on the couch next to me. This wasn’t New York. This was an orchard and Christmas tree farm in tiny Turnbull.

  Not a contract for two hundred people.

  I could back out of this entire venture at any time.

  No one would blame me. Well, except me.

  Nope, I wasn’t going there at all.

  And to top it off, now I had to eat pizza with him. We’d agreed to meet at a place in town and now I had to borrow a car. Turnbull was fairly progressive for a small town, but it wasn’t Uber progressive.

  I really needed to rethink the whole car thing. If I was going to be working out at the tree farm—even part time—it would require me getting around between the bakery and the café for supplies. Partly because I was hoping I’d want to go back to New York City. This was just supposed to be a little way station to recuperate.

  And now I didn’t know what it would be—what I would be.

  I rubbed my palms together. That was enough of that kind of thinking.

  My phone buzzed against the table. I reached for it and flipped it open with a frown. Not many people had my number. It was a flip phone, for God’s sake. It wasn’t like I would be doing the old school kind of texting.

  Picking you up in twenty.

  I stared at the readout. Unknown number.

  I was about to put the phone back down and ignore it, when it buzzed again.

  How do I get there?

  It had to be a wrong number. I tossed it back on the table when it started ringing. I picked it up and flipped it open again.

  “You have the wrong number. Bye now.”

  “Wait, Rachel?” The rich baritone wasn’t one I would soon forget.

  I didn’t say anything, but I gnashed my teeth together so hard my jaw hurt.

  “So, it is right.” His voice slid a little deeper. “You don’t have to talk, I know it’s you. Beck gave me the number.”

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  “Later. We have plans to go over. Wear something warm, the temps are dropping at sunset. I’ll get the directions from someone.” Then he was gone.

  Dammit. I slapped the phone closed, but it wasn’t quite as satisfying as me being the one to hang up first. I’d be trapped in his car or truck with him and that seemed unwise.

  I didn’t like people in my space anymore. I valued my quiet and he was too…everything. Outspoken, far too attractive for his own good, and bossy.

  I folded my arms and stared at the pumpkins strewn across my small coffee table. Distractions were what I needed right now. I was not going to fix myself up for him.

  Nope.

  Just me and my oatmeal sweater, jeans, and cranberry long sleeve shirt was fine. And my sweater wasn’t oatmeal anyway. It was a perfectly pretty neutral beige.

  I glanced down at the fraying cuff. Okay, so maybe I’d been wearing it a lot lately, but it was comfortable. I ignored the urge to go upstairs and change.

  It wasn’t a date.

  Where did that come from? Oh, God.

  He was making me crazy already. This whole thing was such a bad idea. I should stay at the gift shop. My elbow bumped into my iPad and it turned on. The sketches I had been working on flashed for a second before the screen went dark again.

  Dammit, I really was excited about that old rusty bus. It would require a lot of hours to gut it and fit it with something even half usable for a hot chocolate stand.

  I pulled my iPad back on my lap and scrolled through my sketches. After we moved the bus to where it should have gone all along, it would give me room to sell some ornaments from the shop overflow. A perfect impulse buy to remember that year.

  Maybe I could even get some dated for this season. Or…

  I flipped to a new page on my digital sketch book. I could even have a small table set-up for kids to paint little wooden ornaments.

  Hmm.

  Maybe that was too much. It would get really busy with the hot chocolate. But maybe I should ask my aunt about that for the main house. We could do a special kids’ day or something.

  I made a few more notes about it then went back to my original idea. There were plenty of local crafty types who were always trying to get the store to carry their work.

  I remembered three or four names off the top of my head. I started a checklist for dated ornaments, or ones that maybe could be the actual Christmas tree farm.

  Did it have an actual name? I scribbled furiously to ask Clay about that.

  I glanced back at the pile of pumpkins on the table in front of me. Maybe I could even offer up some of my own crocheted items for a few bucks. I could use the money to put it back into the truck for cool supplies. Specialty chocolates for some bourgeois hot chocolate for those who liked the good stuff. Maybe some candy canes in different flavors.

  It had only been a few hours since I’d been volunteered for this project and I already had several notebooks in my app full of notes and sketches. I hadn’t meant to make so many, but my old organizing skills had tumbled out.

  I had a list of supplies, a call into my cousin Justin who lived for a puzzle project like I did, and I’d already binged on dozens of Van-Life videos on TikTok since I’d been home.

  “Don’t go too crazy,” I reminded myself.

  Gary meowed, pulling my attention away. He was under the table rolling in a pile of scrap yarn. The bowl I tossed them into was sideways, beside him. His fluffy white face was covered in orange, pink, and gray yarn. I laughed as I set my tablet aside.

  “What did you do to yourself?”

  Gary kept batting at his face, trying to get it off, but the frayed strands kept getting tangled in his paws.

  “Wait a second.” I bent down to reach him.

  His annoyance turned to panic as his huge ears fluttered in distress.

  I scooped him up. “Would you just let me help you?” He kept squirming, trying to get away from me and the yarn. He did a backbend that only a cat could do—hello, spinal cords shouldn’t bend like that—and bounced onto the table then onto the couch to try to get the yarn off.

  I sat down to help him, but he just hissed and leaped over the back of the couch.

  “Hey!”

  In his panic, he started zooming around the place, bouncing from the couch to the floor only to roll onto his back, trying to fling away the yarn. Kitten needle claws were not meant for yarn. It stuck like glue.

  I got up and chased him around the couch. The room was so freaking small, I only had a few inches from couch to table. The only other bit of furniture that fit in the room was a club chair, and of course I banged my knee into the wooden frame. I stumbled into the table trying to not trip over the bundle of fur, sending the pumpkins flying. They scattered like we were in our very own ball pit. It was the perfect storm of a distraction. Gary leaped for a small pumpkin, rolling with it back under the coffee table.

  I followed, but the the table was short. I twisted to reach him as he scampered back, because of course the little fool noticed the yarn was stuck to his nails again. I wiggled forward to try to get to him and got wedged under the table.

  I tried to inch back to get my shoulder free, but it was no use. I got stuck between the legs of the table since it was made for the miniature fairies this cabin was built for.

  Okay, so I loved this little cabin most of the time—except right now.

  A sharp knock on the door startled me enough to bump my head, which set off another chain reaction. Gary hissed and scrambled to get free. I brushed the tip of his tail and got clawed to crap for my troubles.

  I yelped and the door rattled.

  “Rachel?” Clay’s deep voice came right through the door.

  “Shit,” I hissed back at the cat. “Hang on,” I called out. Of course Mr. Annoying Bossman was prompt.

  Gary swiped at me again, this time drawing blood. I growled. “Dammit, cat. I’m just trying to help you.”

  The door rattled as Clay knocked. “I’m coming in.”

  “No!” I yelled but it was too late.

  Gary zipped around the couch and I knew he was heading to freedom. I played goalie most days, trying to keep him inside.

  I couldn’t see what was happening, since I was still wedged under the damn table. One of my pumpkins rolled my way and I sighed as my blood stained the bright white and pink yarn. All my pretty vee stitches looked like a crime scene.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Tell me you didn’t let my kitten out,” I asked from the floor.

  “That was a kitten? His head was huge.”

  I sighed and pressed my forehead to the carpet. “Does that mean he’s outside?”

  “I’m guessing he isn’t an outdoor cat?” The table suddenly lifted off of me. “Can you get up?”

  My long absent pride decided to rear up. This was definitely not a cute look. Not that I cared what I looked like—okay, I couldn’t even pull off that lie in my head.

  No one wanted to look like an idiot in front of anyone, let alone a man as attractive as Clay. I was splayed out on the carpet with my hair in my face. Thank God, I wasn’t wearing a dress.

  “Do you need help?”

  “I’m fine.” I shook my hair out of my face. “Can you just go look for my cat?” I tried to look over my shoulder, but there was just too much hair.

  “Me?”

  I managed to push myself onto my knees, brushing the yarn off my shirt. “Never mind.” I turned to see him holding my coffee table like it was no heavier than a notebook. He had aviator sunglasses on and a black leather jacket with a red scarf. I would not notice how his arms bulged at the weight of the table.

  Nope.

  Hello, Gary?

  I popped up. “Thanks for the…assist.” I didn’t know what else to say for a, “thank you for lifting a table off me, sir” type situation. I slid past him, out the still open door—naturally—and raced down my porch stairs.

  “Rachel, it’s cold out there,” he called after me.

  I ignored him and shouted my cat’s name. He’d never been outside before. I twirled, but there was nothing but leaves and brush around me.

  A few older birch trees spired into the blue sky with long craggy fingers since the leaves had long since fallen off, creating a perfect blanket of hiding places.

  I was at the top of the hill and the orchard lay sprawled beneath me. He could be anywhere.

  My eyes stung, but I kept calling his name as I thrashed through the leaves. The crunch of leaves behind me had me whirling around, but it was just Clay. He held out my jacket and rattled a treat bag.

  “Maybe this will help?”

  “Genius!” I grabbed the treats and left the coat. “Gary? Sweetie, it’s okay, I know you’re scared.” I rattled his treats. “Mama has treats for you.”

  “Did you say Gary?”

  I frowned at him. “Yeah, what’s wrong with it?”

  He held up his hands. “Nothing.” But his lips were twitching.

  I narrowed my eyes at him, then shouted my cat’s name in his face before stalking off, rattling his treat bag.

  Clay laughed, but then added his booming voice to the rescue party. He cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting the kitten’s name as well.

  “You’re going to scare him. Call him with a friendly tone.”

  He gave me a deadpan look.

  “Would you be shouting like that for a child?”

  “Yes. And I’d be adding an Amber alert.”

  “Unfortunately, we don’t have such things for cats, but that would be a good idea.”

  He shook his head. “You are an odd woman.”

  I rattled the bag again, ignoring him once more. We split off and he checked behind a few of the smaller bushes along the side of my cabin. I slid my feet through the leaves to kick them up in case he was hiding in a pile. Maybe it would startle him into moving.

  The longer it took, the more panic crawled up my neck until my shoulders were so hunched, my muscles ached.

  “Rachel.” His voice came from behind me. It was soft with kindness, which made me clench up even more.

  I fisted my hands at my sides. “Just keep looking,” I whispered. I wasn’t too sure I could take kindness right now. I blinked away tears and scanned the surroundings. It all looked the same.

  Where was he?

  “I will.” He moved closer and suddenly, he draped my coat over my shoulders. “It’s getting dark and cold.”

  “I know that.” I sniffed. I was about three seconds away from bawling.

  He slid the end of my ponytail out of the neck of the jacket before smoothing a light hand down my back, then the crunch of leaves told me he’d taken a step back. “Does he have a favorite food besides his treats?”

  I sniffed. “He’s fussy.”

  “Tuna?”

  “I don’t have any.”

  “I’ll buy you a case.” He tucked his sunglasses into his pocket and slowly turned in a circle, his dark eyes scanning the trees.

  I followed his gaze. I hadn’t thought of looking up. He was so little, but he was nimble on just about every surface in my place.

  “Do you think he climbed up?”

  “Would he?”

  I buried my frozen fingers into my pockets as I sniffed and cleared my panic away to think. I looked up at him. “He might. He likes to hide on the top of my cabinets.”

  He pulled his scarf off and wrapped it around my neck twice. The cashmere was warm from his skin and smelled like pine. “We’ll find him.”

  I nodded and stepped back, but I couldn’t stop myself from tucking my chin deeper into the soft fabric. Then I spotted a tuft of white on one of the birch tree branches. The peeling white bark looked extra chewed up.

  “Gary?” I walked slowly toward the tree. His long whiskers twitched and his green eyes were wide with fear. “Oh, it’s okay, sweetie.”

  His little body was shuddering with fright and from the cold, as he wrapped himself tighter around the thin branch. It was too small for me to climb up to him. I’d break the branch, but it was too high for me to reach.

  “Will he freak if I try to reach for him?” Clay’s breath warmed my ear. He’d sneaked up behind me.

  I stilled. “Probably.” I turned and God, he was close. I bumped into him and all that warm pine scent hit me in the face. It was the real deal, not some chemical version.