Holidate by Monica Murphy

Author:Monica Murphy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: EM Publishing

I pull into the Sullivan Tree Farm parking lot at four-thirty on the dot, and Charlie is nowhere to be found.

Figures.

The lot is half filled with cars, and when I climb out of my own, I watch a family of four pass me, followed by a Sullivan employee hauling their beautiful, freshly cut tree propped onto a shiny red wire wagon that is shaped perfectly to carry it. The little boy—he looks about three—is skipping/running and chattering about the tree nonstop, his mother gently scolding him to watch out for cars as they walk by.

My Christmas-loving heart warms at seeing this.

Actually my Christmas-loving heart can barely contain itself as I watch the open tree farm in action. Christmas music plays from overhead speakers, some jazzy version of “Jingle Bells”. It’s been cloudy all day, and the lights strung everywhere blink and shine in the rapidly growing darkness. The giant white pegboard that was covered with a variety of wreaths for sale when I saw it earlier this morning now stands half empty. And in the distance, I see the store’s double doors propped open, with plenty of people milling inside.

Charlie wasn’t wrong. It’s super busy. I can practically smell all the money they’re currently making.

Or maybe I’m confused and that’s the pine trees I’m smelling.

“Hey, Dolores.”

I turn to find Isaac Jones smiling at me. “You know that’s not my real name, Jonesie.”

He rests a hand against his chest. “And I think you know I kind of hate that nickname, Dolores.”

We laugh and I shake my head. “Looks busy here today.”

“It’s been busy. A good busy, though.” He holds out his hands, every one of his fingers dark. “I hate it when I get sap on my fingers.”

I make a face. “Don’t you use gloves?”

“Sometimes.” He shrugs. “And sometimes they get in the way and it’s easier to use my bare hands.”

“How do you remove the sap?”

“Cooking oil mostly does the trick. Or peanut butter, though I’m not a fan of using it. I tried toothpaste once. It worked, but only so-so,” Isaac says.

“That sounds messy.” I wrinkle my nose.

“It is.” He stands up straighter. “I’m guessing you’re looking for the boss.”

“I am. Where is Charles anyway?” I look around, but of course I don’t spot his familiar, tall frame.

Isaac chuckles. “I’ll call him on the radio.”

Not wanting to overhear Charlie cursing over my arrival, I touch Isaac’s arm and say, “Tell him to meet me in the store.”

“Will do. See you around, Miss Candice.” He tugs on the brim of his ballcap and walks away, the crackle of the walkie-talkie sounding as he asks for Charlie to respond.

I make my way to the store, glancing at my phone to see what time it is. Four thirty-five. I gave myself a half hour to gather Charlie up and get us out of here because I knew 1) Charlie wouldn’t be easy to find; and 2) he definitely wouldn’t be ready to go.

He’ll need to change. I’m sure of it. Probably needs a shower as well, but I don’t know how we’re going to make that happen.

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