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11

YURIY

We pulled into Pine Hollow Tree Farm, tires crunching through packed snow as carols drifted from the loudspeakers by the main lodge. The place looked like every Hallmark movie I’d ever avoided—families in matching hats, kids pelting each other with snowballs, and dogs leaping through drifts like they’d been waiting all year for this.

I rolled my window down halfway. The scent of pine hit like a punch to the face. Everything was way too domestic. It would be so easy to give in to the illusion that Stas and I were just a couple buying a Christmas tree. Very normal.

We were anything but.

We found a parking spot and stepped out, the cold biting straight through my sweater. A line of people snaked from the check-in booth, where an older woman in a bright red parka and a Santa-print scarf manned the counter. Her name tag read “Betty.”

When it was our turn, she gave us both a once-over, then pasted on a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Name?” she asked.

“Orlov.” Stas handed her the gift card Yelena had slipped him before we left. She’d paid for the tree using her married name, and it was way too easy imagining that Stas was an Orlov.

If I had a man like Stas, we’d be unstoppable. Too bad neither of our families would support such a union. Whatever was brewing between us could only last the two weeks we planned to be in Kansas City.

Betty’s gaze flicked between us. “Orlov.” Her tone stretched the syllables. “You two brothers?”

Before Stas could answer, I flashed her a grin. “Nope. He’s my better half.”

Her hand paused midwrite. “Your what?”

“My man,” I chirped. “We’re here for our first real Christmas together. Gonna pick something tall, thick, and easy to trim.”

Stas went rigid beside me. “We’re⁠—”

I slipped an arm around his waist. “Excited. He’s shy about public affection. Isn’t that right, snookums?”

The look she gave me could’ve peeled paint. “Well, that’s… not what we usually see around here.”

“Really?” I feigned surprise. “What do you usually see? Straight people? Must get boring.”

Her nostrils flared. “I don’t judge, young man, but this is a family establishment.”

“And gay people can’t make families?” I said brightly. “Well, what do you know, babe? That explains why, despite all my lovemaking, I haven’t been able to knock you up yet. Aww, shucks, but don’t worry. I’ll keep trying, babe.”

“Stop calling me that,” Stas muttered under his breath. The high color in his cheeks could be from my words or the cold. I liked thinking it was the former, that deep down he actually liked being called “babe.”

Poor guy’s probably never been called that a day in his life.

What a pity.

Betty huffed, scribbling furiously on her clipboard like she couldn’t get rid of us fast enough. “Please spare me the unsavory details. Cut, tag, and drag it back for wrapping. Merry Christmas.” The “merry” sounded like a curse.

I took the saw and tag from her with a smile sweet enough to rot teeth. “Thanks, Betty. I’m sure we’ll find the perfect tree to sip eggnog and make love under later tonight. Can’t keep my hands off my hunky boyfriend.”

I patted Stas’s ass. Beside me, he made a choking sound, but I tightened my arm on his waist.

Betty’s lips thinned. “Move along, please.”

We walked off toward the trail that led into the pines, snow crunching underfoot. Stas tapped my hand, still clutching his waist.

“If you don’t remove your hand, I’ll break your fingers.”

“Whoops.” I dropped my hand. It had felt too natural holding him like that against me.