Page 77 of Snowed In with Benefits

So I say nothing, and his hand stays. I want to put my hand over his, to let him know that I feel him there and I appreciate it, but I’m afraid to break the spell. I catch his eye instead, giving him a small, warm smile meant only for him. His lips twitch behind his beard in return, and I feel the last bit of tension melt away from around my heart.

Everything really is okay. There was no tornado. Grinning with relief, I dig into my breakfast with renewed vigor.

When breakfast is over and Emmett is clearing plates, I wander over to the window and look out at the snow-covered trees. A dozen or more Christmas cards arrange themselves in my head as I take in the landscape around the cabin, photos I would capture if I were in the business of designing Christmas cards.

“Wow,” I breathe. “You guys must not have any trouble finding Christmas trees.”

Hunter chuckles.

Beau explains quickly. “We don’t do Christmas trees. Never have.”

I turn and stare at them, shocked. Something deep down inside, maybe my child self, is crying out in dismay. Christmas is the best holiday by far, how could they not have a Christmas tree?

“That can’t be right,” I insist. “It’s almost Christmas! You live in the middle of a forest! How can you not have a Christmas tree?”

Emmett raises his eyebrows, running a hand over his beard. Beau’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly. Hunter outright grins at me, his eyebrows slanted like he’s caught between sympathy and amusement. I want to stamp my foot and demand that they participate in the holiday, but I settle for staring back into Hunter’s twinkling eyes instead.

“Would it make you feel better if we got a tree?” Hunter asks, half-laughing.

“Yes,” I say without an ounce of amusement. “Yes, it would.”

“I don’t know,” Beau says, but his eyes are twinkling. “These are technically Emmett’s trees. Emmett?”

I turn to look at Emmett, pleading with my eyes. He gives me a long, contemplative look.

“Please, Emmett,” I wheedle. “It’s Christmas!”

He breaks with a small chuckle. “Okay,” he says slowly. “But you have to pick the tree.”

Squealing, I clap with delight, which makes them all laugh. I don’t even care, they can laugh all they want, as long as they bring a tree into this house.

“I’m grabbing my camera,” I declare, breathless with excitement. I hear them banter after me, but I’m not paying attention to what they’re saying. I’m on a mission now. Camera. Double socks. Flannel over my t-shirt. Giddy, I hurry back downstairs to find the guys already suiting up.

“You didn’t seem like you were in a waiting mood,” Hunter explains with a laugh.

“I’m not,” I say, beaming. “Whose boots am I using?”

A pair gets shoved at me and I stuff my feet into them. Beau gives me his coat, the one I’ve been using most often, and I cinch it around my waist with my belt. Warm, surrounded by men, and armed with my camera, I lead the march out into the back yard. The guys pause on the covered porch just long enough to grab a saw and an axe, then they follow me out into the snow.

“That’s a tree,” Emmett says, pointing.

I shake my head. “It’s interesting,” I admit, snapping a picture. “But it’s twisted to the left. Christmas trees don’t twist unless they’re in Tim Burton films.”

Hunter laughs at that and we move on.

“That one’s not twisted,” Beau points out, gesturing at another tree.

I snap a picture, then another. “No, but it’s almost bare on one side. Christmas trees are more symmetrical than that.”

“Picky, picky,” Beau grumbles. I stick my tongue out at him.

“How’s this one?” Hunter asks.

“Way too big. How would we get it in the house?”

He deflates, then laughs helplessly. “I hate to agree with Beau⁠—”

“More than anything,” Beau interjects.