18. Monty

Chapter eighteen

Monty

“What do you mean, you’ve never cut down your own Christmas tree?” Okay, fine, maybe I’m exaggerating the look of shock on my face just a little, but really? How has she been deprived of this experience for so long?

Lark just shrugs, her eyes wide with wonder as she takes in the cheesy decorations, the crackling fires, and everyone wandering around with smiles on their faces and handsaws under their arms.

Fuck, I love Christmas tree farms.

“We always had artificial trees. Three of them. Mom didn’t want the mess of a real tree.”

“The way you say that, so matter-of-fact, it makes me question your sanity, Birdie. Like a few pine needles on the floor was a good enough reason to never let your kid feel the joy of running through rows of Christmas trees, the thrill of hunting for the perfect one, and experience the flawless aroma of a fresh cut fir.”

If her eyes could roll any harder, I’m sure they would. “You’re the one who’s insane, Dan. There’s nothing wrong with artificial trees.”

My hands clutch my chest. “You wound me.”

Lark ignores my antics, but she’s smiling. And that’s all I need. She lets me take her hand and lead her toward the wooden stall where we check in and get our dull handsaw. I take it in one hand from the young kid working. There’s no chance in hell I’m letting go of Lark. Not when it feels like fucking heaven just holding her hand.

It makes today feel like more than just two friends having fun together. It makes it feel like…a date.

How long have I fantasized about simple moments like this? Honestly, it probably makes me sound kinda creepy, imagining all the ways I wanted to be with Lark. Except, thanks to my complete lack of experience, very few of those ways were sexual. Most of them were things like this. Going through life, having fun together, the way we did as friends but more.

And now that more is reality. Holy fucking shit.

I guess I’m squeezing her hand kinda tightly because Lark leans into me with her shoulder. “Everything okay?”

I look down at her with a grin. “Everything is peachy keen, Birdie.”

She smiles back at me, and I start to loosen my grip, but then she tightens hers. “Good.”

Fuck, I love this woman.

I want to shout it out to everyone around me. The girl of my dreams, the only woman I’ve ever felt any sort of anything for is here with me. Holding my hand. Making me feel like the king of the entire goddamn universe.

We wander through the trees, kids darting around us, hollering for their parents. Lark hasn’t stopped smiling and my own cheeks are starting to hurt because I haven’t, either. Then she pulls me to a stop.

“What about that one?”

I look to where she’s pointing. It’s a small tree, maybe six feet, but that’s being generous. A little lopsided, since it’s still got its natural shape and hasn’t been trimmed to perfection like most of the trees here. But when I glance at Lark, her face is glowing with excitement, and I know I’ll do just about anything to keep that look on her face.

“That one? It’s perfect.”

We walk over to it, and despite not wanting to let go of her hand, I do. And just to play up the cheesy moment, I make a show out of walking all the way around, examining the tree, and making random noises of approval.

Lark’s eyes are dancing, her hands clasped together as I come back to stand in front of her.

“You ready, Birdie?”

“For what?”

I hold out the saw. “You’re doin’ it.”

She takes it from me, holding it gingerly. “I’ve never done anything like this, Dan.”

I can hear the nerves in her voice, so I crouch down, and beckon for her to join me. Once she’s next to me, I wrap my arm around her, still kind of in awe that I can do this. “I’ll help you get it started.”

Together, we place the saw against the trunk. Covering her hands with mine, I exert enough pressure to show her how to move it back and forth, and we slowly start cutting into the tree. It’s not a sensual action, not at all. But being like this, wrapped around her, our bodies moving in unison, is making me hard.

Guess I really am a fucking teenager again, getting hard at the slightest breeze.

“This is harder than I thought it would be,” Lark comments, and I don’t have the heart to tell her I could have done it in five seconds.

“But are you having fun?”

She nods, turning her head over her shoulder to smile at me. “So much fun.”

I can’t help it, I lean in and peck a kiss to the tip of her nose, red from the cold. Once again, I’m filled with so much goddamn wonder that I can do shit like this.

Her cheeks, already pink, darken.

“Focus on the saw, Birdie,” I say roughly, my eyes not leaving hers, despite my instruction.

“Kind of hard to do when you’re right there, looking so hot in that toque.”

I chuckle. “That’s what does it for you? My toque? It’s the pom-pom, isn’t it?”

Her giggle is adorable. Light and so damn happy. “Definitely the pom-pom.”

I tilt my head toward the tree, where we’ve completely abandoned sawing the trunk. “C’mon, let’s finish this, and then I’ll treat you to some hot chocolate.”

That gorgeous smile of hers grows impossibly wider. “With marshmallows?”

I lean back and pretend to be outraged. “Of course, with marshmallows. How could you even ask that? What kind of monster would I be to get you hot chocolate without marshmallows?”

We turn our attention back to the tree, Lark seeming invigorated by the promise of hot chocolate. A few minutes later, I hear the telltale creak that we’ve cut most of the way through the trunk and pull Lark to stand. Then, putting my hand on the tree, I give her a wink and push it just enough to allow it to fall over.

She claps her hands in delight, and it’s so goddamn cute I might keel over from it. “Alright, let’s get this beauty paid for and loaded up.” My voice is rough, and I hope she doesn’t ask why. I’m not ready to tell her how overwhelmed with happiness I am.

Once the tree is in the back of my truck, Lark automatically takes my hand in hers again. And for the billionth time today, I feel my heart swell at her easy affection. I’ve wanted this with her for so damn long, it feels like I’m living a dream. We wander around the farm, standing by the bonfire for a few minutes, sipping our hot chocolate.

But this place has one more surprise for Lark, and I can’t wait to show it to her. Taking her empty hot chocolate cup, I toss it in the trash can and gesture to the barn. “You have to see something before we go.”

She lets me lead her over to the large red building, and we step inside.

“Oh my God,” she half whispers, half squeals, dropping my hand and darting over to the pen. “Look at them!”

We lean over and stare at the adorable baby goats wandering around the pen .

“These babies were just born a week ago. We named them after Santa’s reindeer.” Someone wearing a hoodie with the farm’s logo on it comes over and opens the latch on the pen. “Have you ever cuddled a baby goat?”

Lark’s mouth falls open. “No.”

I nudge her with my hip. “Go on, Birdie.”

She stumbles into the pen after the farm worker and holds out her arms as they place a brown and white baby goat in her embrace. Turning slowly, she gives me a tremulous smile, her eyes shining with joy. “Dan. I’m holding a baby goat,” she whispers.

I lift my phone up and snap a few photos before answering. “Lucky goat.”

She giggles and brings the goat closer so I can give its head a scratch. “This is the most amazing day ever.”

Yep, that fills me with pride. I might have no dating experience, but that doesn’t matter as long as I can make one woman happy. This woman.

After a few more minutes, Lark sets the baby down and leaves the pen. We wander around looking at the other animals — bunnies, pigs, chickens, and sheep. And at the very end, in a large indoor paddock, stands a massive horse.

“Holy crap.”

“He used to pull the carriages around Stanley Park,” I tell her, familiar with the horse’s history from years of coming here with my parents. “The farm bought him when he retired, to let him live out his years being loved on by everyone who comes to visit.”

Lark reaches out her hand and strokes the long nose of the giant who has ambled over to greet us .

“He’s gorgeous.”

It does something to me, seeing Lark fall in love with the place I’ve come to for so long with my family. My memories of coming here are nothing but happy, and if I can give her that, then my work here is done.

When the horse wanders off to greet some kids who have approached his paddock, we take that as our cue to leave. The water at the handwashing station outside the barn is freezing cold, and after using it, Lark starts to rub her hands together to try and warm them up.

I lead her over to one of the bonfires and take her hands in mine. “Let me.” I rub them briskly. Lark steps in close, her body almost touching mine. She pulls our hands into her chest and rises up on her toes.

“Thank you, Dan.”

That’s all she says before her lips land on mine. Tasting faintly of hot chocolate, and a sweetness that is all her own, Lark Miller kisses me.

I release her hands so I can cup the back of her neck, holding her to me as I take a chance, teasing her lips with my tongue. Conscious of the fact that there are a lot of kids around, and the fact that I don’t really know what I’m doing, I keep it light, taking things only slightly deeper. But the feel of her body pressed against me, her soft lips under mine, the fucking magic of this entire day has my dick starting to harden, yet again. And I know she feels it when she pulls her head back and gives me a coy smile.

She opens her mouth to say something just as a big white snowflake lands on her nose .

“Oh my God, it’s snowing,” she says, casting her gaze upward in delight. She might be staring at the snow starting to fall, but I can’t stop staring at her.

And when her head tilts back down, and she beams that smile my way, I know there will never be another woman for me.

Lark is my lobster. My swan. My penguin.

I lean down and kiss her again as snow falls around us. And the only reason I manage to eventually tear myself away from her is the knowledge that this isn’t a dream, and there will be more chances to kiss her.

That and the fact that my toes are going numb.