Page 52 of Life’s Too Short

“I’ll get a fake one.”

I blanched and he laughed.

“A fake—that is so not even the point of this exercise. My God, you’re Scrooge,” I said, navigating the sidewalk. “I need you to smell pine when you come home. It’s part of the thing.”

He opened the door of Pottery Barn for me to a whoosh of warm cinnamon-scented air. I went in, then turned to face him in the entryway. “I can be agreeable to two throw pillows and one blanket,” I said. “But I pick the centerpiece, and you get a Christmas tree. A live one.”

He put a hand to his chin like he was thinking about it. He paused in his fake musing. “Are you having dinner with me at my place tonight? Because I’m not setting any of this up on my own. You come over and help or we don’t have a deal.”

I scoffed. “I mean, yeah, totally. Of course I’m coming over. What kind of question is that?” I didn’t let him see it, but I seriously liked that he’d asked it.

I was officially in crush territory. There was no more denying it. I liked him. A lot.

I couldn’t do anything about it. My dating rules were my rules. Plus, my good days were likely numbered now—and the number was low—and it wasn’t like he was available anyway. He wasn’t dating, so it probably wouldn’t have made one difference even if I could have pursued him. But I was crushing on him just the same.

He smiled. “Okay. We have a deal.”

I smirked, walking into the store.

“I’m waiting,” he said from behind me.

I stopped at a sleek leather recliner and picked up a pillow with Rudolph on the front that I knew he’d hate. He had a red bell for the nose. “I like this one,” I said, wiggling it so it jingled. “What do you think?”

He took it from my hand and set it back on the chair I got it from. “Your part of the bargain first.” He crossed his arms.

I twisted my lips and smiled. “I was a receptionist for a paper company.”

His arms dropped. “Oh, come on. Like Pam Beesly from The Office? Here I was, ready to buy a damn Christmas tree—”

I looked him in the eye. “I am dead serious. I was.”

He walked away from me toward tablewares.

I followed him, pushing the stroller. “I’m not making this up,” I said to his back.

“Deal’s off,” he said over his shoulder.

“I have prooooof,” I sang.

He stopped at a table with a Christmas dinner setup and pretended to look at a napkin ring, but I could tell he was waiting for me. I punched into my phone and then waved it at him. He glanced up and arched a playful eyebrow at me.

“They used to call me Van Beesly,” I said.

He snorted. “Fine. I will momentarily entertain this farce.” He put his hand out.

I smacked my phone into his palm. “That’s me, three years ago.” I’d pulled up the album called Work Christmas Party. “It’s called Paper Waits Cards. We sold cards, invitations, envelopes, and craft paper. I worked at their home office in Edina.”

He flipped through the pictures of me dressed in office casual. Then raised his eyes to mine. “Van Beesly?”

“Yes. And you’d better not call me that if you want me to answer.”

He looked like he didn’t believe me.

“Okay, you need more proof. Fine.” I took my phone from him. “I will call an old coworker. I’m willing to make the ultimate sacrifice because I think you need a Christmas tree in your life and I’m a giver. I give. It’s what I do.” I scrolled through my contacts, found the number, hit Send, and put the call on speaker. I held the phone between us as it rang, staring at Adrian’s face. Someone picked up and a man’s voice came through the line. “Van Beesly!”

I hung up. “There. Now do you believe me?”

Adrian nodded at the phone. “Who was that?”