“It’s perfect, Maggie. Just imagine all the stuff you can haul around in that bed.” She slips into the passenger seat next to me and scrunches up her nose. The cab has a weird funk to it—a mix of peanut butter and mothballs—and I’ve Febrezed it four times already, but can’t get it out. Could be worse, I suppose. “Let’s go pick out a tree!”
I get the truck in gear, even though the handle sticks a little, and slip out of the parking lot onto the main country road that connects our campus to the outskirts just beyond. “You sure you want to hang around here for the break, Cora? You don’t want to go home?”
She shakes her head and her blonde curls bounce along her shoulders. “No. Chris is still deployed and Mom and Dad plan to go to Aunt Jenny’s. Believe me, it will be much more relaxing to hang out here than to go to her house for the holidays.”
“I thought Jenny was single and doesn’t have any kids?”
“Yeah, she is, but she’s got like 25 cats and I’m crazy allergic. I can think of many other ways I’d rather spend the break than stocking up on Kleenex and lint rollers. Plus, there are a few others on our floor that are hanging back, so we’re planning our own pepperoni pizza Christmas feast.” Cora twirls her hot pink gum around her finger three times and then slurps it back into her mouth. “You sure you don’t want to stay with us? It’ll be fun.”
“No. Thanks though.”
We drive for about five more minutes until I see the turn off for the tree farm up ahead.
Cora angles toward me as I make a hand over hand right turn. “Isn’t your dad working? What about Mikey—what will he do?”
“He’ll be with Sadie’s family.” I see the lot of trees about ten yards up ahead, and an enormous, inflatable Santa Claus with an overly large midsection bobs in the wind just outside the entrance.
“I bet they are so relieved she’s not knocked up.” The truck breezes past Santa and the rush of it nearly pushes him completely backward like he’s doing the limbo. Once we’re out of range, he pops back up and continues billowing in the wind. “That would have been a messy situation.”
To say the least. When Sadie’s period came two days after Mikey’s confession, I’d never seen him more relieved about anything in his entire life. Even when the doctors originally told him his tumor removal was mostly a success—that look on his face was nothing compared to the sheer relief he displayed knowing that he wasn’t going to become a father before he was ready. I just hope he remembers that emotion—the feeling of being off the hook, of being given another chance—and doesn’t do anything to screw it up. I love Sadie and all, but motherhood is not something she’s prepared for. It’s strange how that seems to be the case for a lot of the mothers I know.
“I measured and we’ve got about this much to work with.” Cora holds out her hands with the small stretch of space between them indicating the size of tree we can accommodate in our dorm room.
“That’s not much, Cora.” I fit the truck into a spot in the dirt lot, but have to back up and re-park it twice before I’m certain I won’t sideswipe the vehicles next to me. Becoming familiar with the size and shape of the truck is going to take some getting used to.
The truck finally fits snuggly in its place, so I crack open the door and head toward the entrance. A family with two young children squeezes past us, and a twenty-something guy wearing a red and white striped scarf follows on their heels with an impressively large evergreen slung over his shoulder.
He lifts his chin our direction. “I’ll be right with you ladies as soon as I get this dropped off.” The guy flashes Cora and me a dimpled grin and the blond curls of his hair escape from under a snug, knit beanie. Like watching a slow motion replay, Cora’s head cranes all the way around in owl-like fashion to follow him to the parking lot.
“Um…hello,” she breathes, still walking forward, and slams into an elaborately decorated display tree at the mouth of the entrance. Five or six from the hundreds of red crystal ornaments rattle off their branches and Cora attempts to catch them all like she’s juggling, but one crashes loudly to the gravel floor. “Crap.”
“Hey.” The blond boy jogs up to us, pine needles covering the flannel on his right shoulder. “I can get that for you.” He bends down to scoop up the shards of red glass that litter the walkway and bumps heads with Cora at the same time. Dazed, she lifts her head up to him and I can’t help but laugh because it looks like a scene straight out of a romantic comedy movie. “Hi,” he mouths, fulfilling that leading-man role to a T.
“Hey,” Cora whispers, locking her gaze with his. She wobbles on her legs as they both straighten up slowly in unison. “Hey,” she says again.
Well this is ridiculous. I audibly clear my throat. “So.” I pull the glass remains from Cora’s hand and deposit them in a nearby trashcan. “Can you help us find a tree for our dorm? It can’t be bigger than three feet in diameter.”
“Yeah, of course,” he nods, not looking at me at all though. He’s still staring at Cora like she’s the only person in the lot full of trees, even though there are at least twenty others coiling in and out of the rows of greenery. “Let’s see what we can find.”
The trees gradually get larger the further into the depths of the lot, so I stay close to the front and start perusing their inventory here. Cora and the tree lot worker hang back, and he’s busy describing something about the variations in plant species in a silly attempt to impress her, I guess, so decide to leave them to their conversation. Looks like Cora might have found her flavor of the week with this one.
“How about this?” I call over my shoulder. The tree standing before me is modest, not too Charlie Brown-ish, and should fit well in the limited amount of space we have available. “Cora?”
The echo of her flirtatious laugh bounces off the wall of trees surrounding us, and I notice her press a bold hand onto the workers chest right where his scarf drapes. “I never knew trees could be so fascinating,” I catch her say. Geez. She’s really laying it on thick.
I decide to abandon them and slip out into another row of Christmas trees to further continue the quest for the perfect one. I peel off several needles from a few and try to break them in half, assuming if they bend rather than split that it’s a good selection. But I don’t know the slightest thing about trees, so I’m sure I look absurd as I pace up and down the gravel aisles, de-needling the trees as I go. Maybe I should have paid attention to tree-boy’s spiel but the unabashed flirting is a little nauseating.
Then I see it. It’s not too tall, not too short, and bows out perfectly at the bottom, tapering to a beautiful point at the top. In my mind, it’s the perfect tree.
“Found one!” I hear Cora yell across the lot.
I pop my head out toward the sound. “Me too!”
“Mine’s better!”
Well, we’ll just see about that. I hike up my sleeves and roll the cuffs, preparing my arms to do some heavy lifting. I assess the tree to figure out the best way to get it from its current home to the back of my truck, and while I’m vacillating—wondering whether to drag it by its trunk or the point—another worker sidles up to my side. He has to be the other guy’s twin, because he’s the spitting image of him, only he has a plaid red and white scarf as opposed to a striped one.
“Can I help you with that?” he asks, those same dimples replicated on his cheeks. He has charming green eyes that smile just as much as his mouth, and when he reaches out toward the tree, my fingers unintentionally brush his skin.
“No,” I reply. “I’ve got it taken care of.”
His mouth opens like he’s about to challenge me, and then thinks better of it after seeing how prepared I am, sleeves rolled up and all.
“Thank you, though,” I stammer, feeling a little like I might have insulted him.
He wrings the back of his neck with his hand and gives me a low chuckle. “Okay. So when you come to the front claiming that this tree attacked you and that your arms are butchered, don’t say I didn’t offer to help. Dad will get upset if
he thinks we’re not doing our jobs.”
I look down at my bare arms and then to his fully covered ones and realize just how stupid I must appear. Christmas trees aren’t necessarily the friendliest of plants out there. Why on earth didn’t it occur to me the amount of gashes I’d sustain by trying to wrangle it sleeveless?
“I see your point.” I push down my shirtsleeves but haven’t given up on my quest. Widening my stance around the tree, I bend my knees slightly and wrap it in a bear hug, lifting it about six inches off the gravel until my muscles tremble and I have no other option but to set it down gently before it crashes loudly to the ground. “Should I pay for this first?” I ask, creating an excuse and a reason for my forfeit.
“Yeah,” the worker says, smiling an I-told-you-so grin. “Tell Dad it’s a six footer.”
“Got it.” I slip my wallet out and turn toward the entrance. Cora and the other twin are pressed closer to one another than they need to be, and I can hear him trying to upsell her on some flocking service they offer here at the lot.
“Which vehicle is yours?” The boy who’s been helping me calls out from behind.
Without turning around, I sag my shoulders and answer, “The blue Ford Ranger,” and make my walk of shame toward the cashier. I still don’t understand it—I’m not sure I ever will—but at some point, I need to learn to accept the help offered from others. I just wish life hadn’t made that so hard for me to do.
Both my tree and Cora’s outrageous, fake snow-covered one are strapped into the truck bed. I’ve been waiting patiently for her and striped-scarf boy to finish up their flirt-fest, but it’s getting dark and I really would like to head back home before the moon makes its nightly debut. At this rate, I’ll be lucky if I’m even home in time for Christmas.
The two are leaning up against the passenger side of the truck, still talking about trees if that is at all humanly possible, when I push my hand forcefully into the center of the steering wheel. Cora lifts about ten feet in the air, and when she grounds herself, punches an angry fist into the truck’s metal frame.
“Are you serious, Maggie?” she seethes. Tree Guy is doubled over in laughter and I can see the venom in her eyes when she takes notice of his obvious entertainment in her overly dramatic reaction.
“Here.” He hands her a paper that I assume has his number scribbled on, and actually bends over to brush a kiss on her cheek. Any annoyance Cora had slips from her as she presses on toe and plants one full on his mouth. I just about gag on my own bile, but force my gaze forward, so as not to intrude in their impromptu make-out session. This is all so very Cora.
Despite my frustration and eagerness to get home, I let about three more minutes go by before I hover my hand over the horn a second time. Luckily, they’ve wrapped up their parking lot kiss and she’s climbing back into the cab before I have to sound the horn again.
“Wow!” she exclaims, sliding low into her seat like she’s Jell-O. “That was hot!”
“That was not hot,” I disagree. “You don’t even know the guy, Cora.”
Her eyes bug out. “Uh, right. That’s what makes it so hot. Don’t be jealous because you’ve known Ran what—like two months—and he still hasn’t kissed you.”
“Well, you’ve only known that guy like two minutes,” I defend, pulling the truck out of the lot and onto the country road toward campus. “And I haven’t really known Ran that long. I mean, yeah, the accident happened back then, but it’s not even like we’re dating.”
“And you think that guy and I are?” She crumples up the paper he’d given her between her perfectly manicured fingers and chucks it to the floorboards. “He’s not really my type. I think talking about trees turned him on more than talking to me did. Weird-o.”
“Then why on earth were you two just making out on the side of my truck?” I shout. Inflatable Santa bobbles at my periphery like he’s waving goodbye.
“You don’t have to be in love with someone to make out with them, Maggie. You should try it, it’s freeing.”
“I’ll pass, thanks.”
We drive the remaining distance—which isn’t much—in comfortable silence. Cora keeps tracing her fingers over her lips like she’s reliving the memory of the kiss, and I keep playing her words over and over in my head. What’s my problem? Why do I think it’s weird that she just kissed a completely random guy in a parking lot? His brother wasn’t so bad. And he seemed to talk less about trees than Cora’s make out partner did. Maybe I could have flirted a little and done the same thing she did, too. No strings attached…
What am I saying? I obviously think it’s weird because it is weird. That’s not how I work; I don’t just hook up with complete strangers. And what would Ran think? Wait—what does Ran have to do with any of this? It’s not like we’re dating. Honestly, up until a week ago I thought I actually hated the guy. I still don’t even quite know what these feelings I have for him are. He’s confusing, to the point that it makes my brain hurt to think about him. To think about any of it.
“Maggie?” Cora’s voice funnels into my ears like she’s talking through a toilet paper roll. “Earth to Maggie?”
“What?” I snap out of my reverie and the truck swings to the left with my over-emphasized movement. The bumps from the dividing yellow line vibrate under the tires. “What?”
“You missed our turn,” she giggles, pointing a finger toward the dorm parking lot we just whizzed past.
“Crap.” I flip the vehicle completely around in the middle of the street, practically taking it on two wheels.
“Geez!” Cora hangs on for dear life, pressing her feet against the floor and gripping the handle on the ceiling as the truck makes a 180. “You in a hurry or something?” she screams. “Got somewhere to be?”
“Yeah,” I answer. “I do.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Maggie.” Ran’s not wearing a shirt. I hadn’t planned for that, because if I had, I would have practiced keeping my eyes held open at an appropriate size so they don’t fall out of my head. There is no other way to describe what I’m doing right now other than gawking. Slack-jawed, stunned gawking. “What are you doing here?” he asks, the side of the front door in his grip.
Cora alluded to the notion that Ran had an incredible stomach, but I don’t think her washboard example was a fair description for his abs. As my eyes rake over each individual muscle, it’s like I can feel the ridge of them under my fingertips, just by staring. The tattoos that peeked out from his shirt earlier snake fully across his upper arm and onto his chest—a colorful mosaic of designs and patterns twisting into a beautiful work of art on his perfect body. Just below his collarbone, woven into the ornate design on his upper half, is the word ‘Ransomed’ etched in flawless, black cursive.
“Maggie? You alright?” A German shepherd joins Ran at the door, his large body swinging back and forth with the playful momentum of his tail.
“Yeah.” I shake my head so hard I get an instant headache. “Here.” I shove a large carton of goldfish crackers his way. “These are for you.”
He steps out onto the porch and pulls them from my hands hesitantly when he views my truck over the top of my head. “Maggie, did you get a new car?”
“Yeah. I finally got the insurance money from the accident.”
Ran switches glances from the truck back down to me and then says, “I like it. And my bike will fit in the back. Nice choice.”
He still doesn’t have a shirt on. Well, obviously. But it’s all I can think about. Like all of my years of schooling, all of my time on the debate team learning how to speak confidently in front of an audience, even my kindergarten teaching where I was taught how to sound out my first words—that’s all robbed from me when I look at Ran, standing there, his bare muscles inadvertently flexing under the porch light. It’s all gone. All of my faculties for speech have been stolen away.
“You want to come in?” Ran side steps and holds out an ushering hand toward the inside of his townhouse.
> I close my eyes and try to form a sentence. “I brought you a tree.”
He cocks his head. “You brought me a Christmas tree?” He looks past me again toward the truck. “Shoot. That completely shows up my earlier attempts at gifting room décor.” Ran disappears into the house and when he comes back, he’s got a long-sleeved Henley on and suddenly I’m able to think, breathe, and speak again. He skips down the steps toward the vehicle and slides the tree out of the bed, hoisting it over his shoulder, and presses past me on the sidewalk to enter the house. “Thank you, Maggie.” With the enormous tree still balanced on his broad shoulder, he slouches down toward me and gives me the faintest peck on my check before crossing the threshold. Everything in me goes instantly hot.
He’s already slipping the netting off the tree and looking around the room for a place to set it up, when I realize I’m standing outside in the freezing cold, but I’m still noticeably warmed by the shock of his kiss. When his dog bounds out the front door toward me, like he’s retrieving me to bring me inside, I bend down to pet him and follow him back into the house.
“Goldfish crackers and a Christmas tree,” Ran says, pulling out a tree stand from a hall closet. “Two very random, but very welcome, gifts. And you showing up on my doorstep unannounced. That’s random gift number three, my favorite.”
“The goldfish are for the tree,” I explain, sliding out of my jacket. I hook it over the back of one of the dining chairs. “I thought maybe we could make garland out of them or something if you have a needle and fishing line.”
“How very crafty of you, Maggie.” Ran rights the tree and settles it into the stand just to the left of the fireplace, which pops and crackles with an orange glow. “I think I have both of those.”
“You know what, Ran?” I help him balance the tree with a magazine under one of the stand’s legs. It still leans to the left just a little, but not as badly as before. “I was thinking of what we could use to decorate it and how we could make it personal, and I realized I hardly know anything about you. All I know is that you have a weird thing with lonely goldfish.”
Demanding Ransom Page 14
