“If you’ll take the tree stand, I’ll carry the tree out for you.”
I took the stand, which was heavier than I expected. He grabbed a ball of twine, got my tree, and followed me to my car. As I unlocked my front door, he stopped about ten feet behind me.
“That’s your car?”
I was used to people taking jabs at the size of my vehicle. “Yes.”
“It’s a little . . . little.”
“I prefer fun-sized. Besides, it gets forty miles to a gallon and I can park it anywhere.”
“That’s good,” he said, “because parking it would be a lot safer than driving it. You could hit a squirrel and total it.”
I bit back a smile. “Now you’re mocking me.”
“Mocking aside, tying the tree to your car isn’t going to work real well. And by real well, I mean it’s not going to work.”
“Well, it’s all I’ve got. Maybe I should have gone with one of those fake trees you can pull apart.”
He shook his head. “Fake trees are for underachievers. Do you know anyone with a truck?”
“The FedEx guy.”
A smile flitted across his face. “Where do you live?”
“About four miles from here. Over by the Target.”
He glanced back at the lot. “We close at eight tonight. If you don’t mind waiting, I can drive it over after we close. If that’s not too late.”
“How much will that be? To deliver it.”
“A cup of coffee.”
I liked the price. “Deal.” I wrote down my address and handed it to him. “I will see you between eight and eight thirty. After that, I’m indisposed.”
The corners of his mouth rose. “Then I’ll try to be there before you’re indisposed.”
I got in my car, glanced at him in the rearview mirror, and pulled out onto the slushy street. I was glad he was coming to my house.
Chapter Twelve
I invited a man over for coffee. His name is Andrew. He is a pleasant stranger.
—Maggie Walther’s Diary
Indisposed? Where did that come from? I’m not sure why I said that. It’s not like I had plans. I supposed that I was protecting myself, but I wasn’t sure from what.
I stopped at the grocery store on the way home and bought some coffee, chocolate biscotti, and a few other necessities I’d put off buying. Actually, I ended up with a cart full of groceries. I hadn’t really been shopping in a while.
I went home and put everything away, then straightened up the house in anticipation of his arrival, even lighting the candle my neighbors had brought me. It made my front room smell like wassail.
I dragged an upholstered chair from the corner of the front room to make space for the tree, then went out to the garage to see if Clive had left our tree stand there. I couldn’t find it, so I placed the new stand about where I figured the tree would go.
I thought about the man at the tree lot. Andrew. He was beautiful, really. But especially his eyes. There was something mesmerizing about his eyes. They were clear but soulful, maybe even sad—an irony in light of his obvious sense of humor and contagious smile.
I made myself a vegetable omelet for dinner, started a fire in the front room’s gas fireplace, then picked up a book and sat down on the couch to read as the grandfather clock in the foyer chimed six.
It was two hours past dark when a red truck with a yellow snowplow stopped in front of my home, backed up, and then pulled into my driveway. I could see Andrew inside. I opened the door and walked outside without my jacket, my arms crossed at my chest to keep myself warm. Andrew looked up at me, shut off his truck, and climbed out.
“You found me,” I said, my breath freezing in a cloud in front of me.
“I’m glad you came out. I wasn’t sure I had the right place. It’s kind of hard finding addresses when the curbs and mailboxes are covered with snow.” He walked around to the bed of his truck and dropped the gate. “Should I bring it in through the front door?”
“Yes. Do you need any help?”
“No, I’ve got it.” He lifted the tree from the back of the truck and carried it up the walk to my front porch.
“Come on in,” I said, stepping inside. “You can just put it there in the corner. Where I put the tree stand.”
He stamped his feet on the mat. “I’m going to get your carpet wet. Should I take off my shoes?”
“You’re okay,” I said.
He carried the tree in, leaving a light trail of needles in his wake. He lifted the tree onto the stand’s metal peg and moved it around until it fell into place. Then he stepped back to inspect it. “Perfect.” He turned back to me. “It just needs some decorations.”
“I can handle that. Thank you for bringing it. How much do I owe you?”
“I think I quoted you a cup of coffee.”
I smiled. “Would you like to come into the kitchen while I make it?”
“Sure.”
“This way.” He followed me into the kitchen. “You can sit at the table.”
He pulled out a chair and sat down. “You have a beautiful home.”
“Thank you.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“A little over three years. I’m going to miss it.”
“You’re moving?”
“Eventually. This house is too big for just me.” I took the pot and poured two cups. “How do you like your coffee?”
“Cream and sugar.”
“I’ve got half and half,” I said.
“Even better.”
I carried the cups over to the table. I retrieved a pint carton of half and half from the refrigerator and a tin can with sugar cubes from the cupboard next to it, then brought them over to the table and set them next to the cups. I sat down across from him.
“Thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome. How often do you make deliveries?”
“Not often.”
“Here’s your sugar.” I slid the tin can to him. “Then I’m lucky.”
“Yes, you are.” He lifted a sugar cube out of the can. “They’re pink. And heart-shaped.”
“I made them with rosewater. Then dyed them.”
“You make your own sugar cubes?”
“Doesn’t everybody?”
He laughed. “I don’t even know anyone who uses them anymore.” He lifted one between his thumb and forefinger. “These are . . . awesome. Definitely Martha Stewart.”
“By awesome, do you mean an utter waste of time?”
He grinned. “They’re art. No time creating art is wasted. They almost look too nice to use.”
“They’re not,” I said.
He dropped two hearts into his cup.
“So, what do you do when you’re not selling Christmas trees? Or is that a full-time gig?”
He smiled. “No, it’s something I’m experimenting with. It’s only ninety days out of the year. This is my entrepreneurial side. By profession I’m a financial consultant. Or was. I used to own an investment firm, but I let that go when I moved to Utah.”
“Where did you come from?”
“Colorado.”
My thoughts bounced immediately to Clive’s extraneous Colorado family. I pushed the thought away.
“Why did you come to Utah?” I asked.
“A change of scenery,” he said. “I had some bad things happen to my business, followed by a painful divorce.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “We’ve got that in common. At least the divorce part. Where did you move from?”
“Just outside Denver. Thornton.”
What are the chances? I thought. It was the same town where Clive’s second family lived. I wondered over the vague possibility that he knew the woman. Again I pushed away the thought. “So how is the Christmas tree business?” I asked.
“It’s all right. I’m not going to pay off the national debt with my profits, but I’ll put a little away. Then onto the next thing.”
“And what is that?”
“I’m not sure yet. I’m thinking of starting my firm up again.”