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His smirk turned into a humble smile. “What I meant to say was, I’m not trying to be an ass, but when I’m around you, my mouth and my head disconnect. I feel like I’m back in junior high, trying to impress the girl of everyone’s dreams. But instead of being suave, I’m more like the class clown.”
His candor and humility took me by surprise, especially considering this town had always hero-worshipped him and his family. By all accounts, he had been the most popular person throughout school. Regardless, he was right about one thing. “You are a clown.”
“The world’s biggest,” he admitted.
“I’m glad we got that straight.”
He looked down at his boots. “Yeah.”
For half a second, I felt this tug of remorse for being so cold toward him, even if he was asking for and deserved it. It’s the worst when you hate the person you love. It causes too much inner turmoil.
“Hurry! We need to sing the song,” Quinn yelled, saving me from being alone in his presence.
I broke away from Tristan and ran to Quinn through the snow, my hiking boots weighing me down. But not as much as my wildly beating heart. The turmoil raged inside me.
When I reached Quinn, I took her hand, needing her to ground me in reality. I had come back here for her, not to fall right back into Tristan’s arms. Maybe he was acting so strangely because he was high on holly or mistletoe. The holidays can do weird things to people. Perhaps if we could just get past the holidays, all this madness would stop.
“You ready to sing, honey?” I asked, out of breath. It had nothing to do with running to her. Physically, I was in great shape. I was still using all my mom’s old Leslie Sansone Walk Away the Pounds videos she had gotten on clearance at Walmart forever ago. Emotionally, though, I was anything but in shape.
“I think so. I’ve been practicing.”
I smiled at her. If ever there was a perfect kid, it was Quinn.
Tristan joined us and took Quinn’s other hand. The little traitor let go of both our hands and moved to my other side, smiling evilly as she went. “Aunt Calista, you need to be in the middle because you’re the best singer.”
Oh, what a devious little imp she had become.
Before I could disagree with her, Tristan shrugged like he had no other choice. He took my hand and gripped it tightly, like he had just taken the reins of a bucking bronco and knew he was in for a wild ride.
I whipped my head toward him—not pulling away from him, mind you. “What are you doing?”
He batted his luscious lashes at me like some pinup girl. “You heard Quinn: you’re the best singer, and we have to hold hands to sing the song. It’s tradition.”
“Maybe it’s time for a new tradition.”
“No,” Quinn cried. “We all need to be together.” There were no ulterior motives in her voice, just a plea to have what she was longing for.
She totally obliterated all my defenses.
Tristan gripped tighter, silently begging me not to pull away.
My fingers itched to intertwine with his. The little traitors. I warred with myself about what to do until Tristan crisply and clearly sang, O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum, wie treu sind deine Blätter! Just like my mom had taught him. It made my resolve weaken, and I surrendered to my dang fingers that were all too happy to get tangled up with his.
Feeling more at home than I had in a long time, I set my sights on the beautiful tree glistening in the sun, the snow on its boughs sparkling. Tears filled my eyes as I sang the song my mom had looked forward to singing every year. She’d hoped one day I would teach it to my children. She’d wanted those children to be Tristan’s. Sometimes I thought she’d loved him even more than I had. She would tell me it was important to look at his heart and not where he came from. Never did she want me to judge anyone by where they lived or how much money they made. Sadly, I had been guilty of doing exactly that. Maybe Tristan had a genuine reason to worry I wouldn’t have accepted him if he’d told me he wanted to take over his family’s business and live the lifestyle of the rich and famous.
But that was all in the past. Tristan was my past.
Then why, for a fleeting moment, did I want this memory of the three of us together, singing our hearts out to the prettiest tree, to last forever?
TRISTAN
TRISTAN COVERTLY SNAPPED A FEW pictures of Calista and Quinn hanging the last beaded star ornaments on the tree they’d chopped down and set up at Stella’s place. He wanted to capture the perfect moment. The women he loved most in the world were singing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” along with the radio. So far, it was turning out to be just that: a very merry Christmas.
While Calista and Quinn debated where the ornaments should go, Coco and Poppy were curled up next to him on the couch, purring away as the snow gently fell outside the window. Quinn couldn’t stand the thought of leaving the kittens behind, so they had come with them. A fire blazed in the stone fireplace. Mugs with the remnants of homemade cocoa littered the coffee table, along with scraps of white paper they’d used to cut out snowflakes. The place smelled of pine and cinnamon. It was just as it should be. Except he and Calista were no longer a couple.
He swore for a moment while they sang in front of the tree that she’d held on to his hand like she never wanted to let go. It gave him some hope, until she’d immediately pulled away once the song was over and sawed the tree down in no time flat. Acting like if she stayed any longer on his ranch, something bad would happen to her. Then she’d refused his invitation to go into his cabin to warm up and grab something to drink. Maybe it was for the best. Having Calista in his house would have him acting even more foolishly.
Quinn waved her arm out like a The Price Is Right model, showcasing the tree. “What do you think, Uncle Tristan?”
