Chapter 4

D owntown Aspen is like Christmas drank too much Christmas cheer and then threw it up.

It’s how I imagine a Hallmark movie set would look on the most Christmassy movie ever. Even poor Chanel, with its classic black and white branding, has been wrapped up like a present. There’s a light dusting of snow falling, making me feel like I’m in the middle of a snow globe, plus twinkly lights causing my eye to twitch, a live Christmas jazz band that’s not helping my headache, and a light-up Santa on his sleigh pulled by eight reindeer.

It’s all here. There’s nothing forgotten.

It’s perfect. If you like that sort of thing.

I want to go back to bed and hide until January. Instead, I grit my teeth and plaster on my best smile. For Lando.

“Okay, boys. What type of tree are we getting.” Miles rubs his hands together with a level of glee I’ve never been able to reach at any time of year.

“A green one?” I reply.

Next to me, Lando chuckles. It’s a dark, gruff chuckle, but at least it’s something . He hasn’t said much in the hour it took us to get dressed and leave the house, but he doesn’t look quite as murderous as he did yesterday. Or as drunk. The sadness is still there though. Maybe I should smile less.

I honestly thought he’d flat out refuse to get a tree, which would give me the perfect excuse to stay behind, but in a surprising turn of events, he thought it was a great idea. If you could take his yeah, whatever response as thinking it was great. Miles did, anyway.

“I think I like Aspen,” he mutters.

“Don’t say that too loudly. Miles wants to buy a cabin here.”

“Hmm. Maybe.”

I should have kept my mouth shut, although I suddenly catch a whiff of ginger and cinnamon filtering through the frosty air, and saliva pools under my tongue. Up ahead there’s a pale pink storefront with two dancing gingerbread men wearing light-up waistcoats, who look like they’re monitoring the long line of people weaving out of the shop and down the street. The least intimidating doormen ever.

It’s easily the longest queue I’ve seen, reminiscent of Disney rides when little men carry signs that tell you there are still four hours to go before you reach the front.

“We drove past here this morning and the queue was double.” Hendricks turns around to Lando and me, then nudges Miles. “We have to come early tomorrow. There must be something good inside if the queue is that long.”

“I was too hungry to wait.” Miles points to the end of the long row of stores. “There’s the Christmas tree place.”

The Christmas tree place is not what I was expecting. I thought it would be like the wooden fenced pen Mr. Giles sets up in our village of Valentine Nook every December first. It is, in fact, just another storefront; possibly the most Christmassy storefront, with huge wreaths hanging on the windows—big enough to decorate the gates at Burlington. More twinkling lights are wrapped around the panes, a dark green sign juts out from the brick and reads Wylder Trees , and a little gold bell hangs above the door.

I hadn’t noticed on the approach, but the side of the store is penned in—just like Mr. Giles’s. This is where all the trees are, separated according to size going all the way up to twenty feet. Snow from the blizzard yesterday is resting on branches, and with the way they’re lined up, it feels like I’m peering into Narnia.

Every memory of my childhood—good and terrible—hits so hard my eyes immediately sting with the warning of tears.

I turn away before I allow any to fall.

Christmas is the worst.

“How high d’you think the ceiling is? Twenty feet, thirty?”

I swipe a hand under my nose. “Milo, we’re not getting a twenty-foot tree.”

“Why not? They deliver.” He points to a sign that says exactly that.

“How are you going to reach the top?” Lando asks, sensibly.

“Not to mention we already have a giant tree in the main room,” I snap, harder than I mean to, but I’m not decorating a twenty-foot tree. “Just get a regular-size tree, for fuck’s sake.”

“I’m going inside to get help,” Hendricks calls behind him as he marches into the store, under an archway of holly and ivy that’s twined with glitter-covered twigs. A bundle of mistletoe hangs in the middle.

My jaw twitches. Christmas Trees. Mistletoe . Glitter.

I turn to see Miles put his arm around Lando and guide him off, leaving me alone, literally standing in my worst nightmare. How long do I have to be here before I can go home and pretend Christmas doesn’t exist?

I don’t bother to catch up with them.

Miles is no doubt trying to convince Lando why we should invest in land here, while also persuading him to buy the biggest tree, like a festive dick-measuring contest. They’re walking around, heads bent in a whisper, and every few seconds, they stop in front of one and peer up to its top, then down to its bottom, as though they’re some kind of tree connoisseurs. I watch as Lando says something to Miles that has him throwing his head back with a roar of laughter, and for a split second he looks so like our dad that I can’t breathe.

Blowing some warmth into my hands, I spot a bench to sit on while I wait for everyone. Spying a lone Christmas bauble hanging on a nearby branch, I watch it swing back and forth with each flick I give it. It’s so hypnotizing I almost manage to forget the anxiety churning in my gut along with the lump in my throat.

“I’ve brought help.”

I spin around to find Hendricks walking under the glitter mistletoe arch next to the help . The lump in my throat immediately vanishes.

I honestly wasn’t sure if I imagined her in my drunken haze or if we’d actually met. Then I remember those vivid green eyes flashing at me in amusement as she told me to try the eggnog, just like they’re flashing at me now.

It’s almost the last thing I remember.

Fucking eggnog.

She pauses midstride before a smile stretches across her face and lights up every single one of her features, crinkling her cute button nose. The green eyes widen under a thick fan of sooty black lashes resting on rosy cheeks. They’re so pink, round and perfect, it’s as though someone’s drawn them onto her.

Seriously, she is stunning.

“Oh, hello, again. The Slipknot fan…”

I jump to my feet. For no reason at all, my mouth drops. So does my gaze. It coasts down to her winter boot–clad feet and slowly back up. Really slowly. An apron is wrapped around her waist, accentuating the most incredible curves I’ve ever seen, full and luscious. She’s an hourglass come to life. Most of her dark blonde hair is piled on top of her head and there’s a pen sticking out of it, and maybe a bulldog clip, and perhaps a bit of that glittery branch stuck in a loose tendril.

It would probably be weird if I removed it, right?

My eyes dart to her face again before I tear them away and make the mistake of attempting to read the words on her apron. Except I need to peer closer to make out Wylder Ranch stitched across the front, before realizing I look like I’m staring at her boobs.

Not my fault. Shouldn’t have the logo in the same bloody color, should she?

Christmas Tree green, just like her eyes.

And Jesus, what I wouldn’t give to see those berry-red lips wrapped around my cock.

How is she even real? She looks like she should come with wings and sit on top of the tree. I could give her something to sit on. Oh dear god. What the fuck is the matter with me?

An inhale of cold air gets stuck in my throat, which I manage to cough away before I start choking.

“Um, do you two know each other?” Hendricks frowns as Miles and Lando return from their tree assessment.

I’m still staring at her too hard to answer, too jolted by my reaction, but when her eyes dart away, a look of confusion fogs her face. It’s the same one everybody gets the first time they meet the twins.

“I’m the younger and better-looking one.” Miles winks, before she can say anything.

It’s his standard line, and I roll my eyes at Lando, who’s mouthing the words. Another line we’ve heard a thousand times. It usually ends up with the girl giving him her number, but if Miles thinks he’s getting one this time, he’s sorely mistaken.

I saw her first.

“Milo, not now,” snaps Hendricks, his finger flicking between me and the eggnog girl, who I can’t seem to stop looking at. “I want to go back to this. Something’s going on.”

My audience of three are moving their heads back and forth between us. Whatever the something is, it’s weird and hot. The air crackles around us.

“Look, Al’s blushing,” Miles announces to everyone and no one. The candy he unwrapped—which was, in fact, the crackle in the air—is thrown in his mouth.

Behind me, Lando snorts.

I hate my brothers. I hate Christmas.

“I have the worst hangover I can remember,” I say finally. “And it’s your fault.”

Eggnog girl throws her head back with a laugh so loud and genuine I can’t help but join in. I also want to hear it again.

“Martha’s eggnog?”

“Yes—”

“How do you know about the eggnog?” Hendricks interrupts.

“She’s the one who recommended we try it,” I answer without breaking my gaze.

“That stuff was incredible. We need the recipe.”

She shakes her head, annoyingly turning her attention to the twins. “No dice. That recipe lives and will die with Martha, I’m afraid.”

“I’m happy with that arrangement,” I reply, making her laugh again.

Yes.

Pushing her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, she rocks on her boots. I don’t know if she’s realized she’s just pushed her boobs closer to me. Probably not wise to point out either.

I just need to stop wondering what they’d look like with my dick sliding between them.

Spectacular is my guess.

“So, you’re looking for a tree? Is this one of your things to do this week?” She smiles, giving my brothers far too much ammunition.

Not that they need any, but the three of them are wearing identical grins that say I’m going to hear about it later. Miles’s eyebrow has disappeared under his flop of hair.

I never thought to mention her to them, but it’s clear this girl wasn’t just someone recommending a drink.

Three heads, six sets of eyes, all track in sync and wait for my answer.

“Something like that.”

“Okay…let me show you what we have.” Her eyes crinkle again as she laughs.

“Hang on,” Miles says, blocking the way for anyone to get past. “Introductions first…that’s Lando, I’m Miles, this is Hendricks…” He jabs his thumb toward each of them, then throws his arm over my shoulder and slaps my chest with his spare hand. “And this fine specimen of an English gentleman is Alexander. But I see you already know that.”

Lando snorts again, louder this time. Miles is smiling like he’s just won Olympic gold in smugness, and this girl’s cheeks are definitely pinker than they were a second ago.

“Actually, we never got around to names. Just a mutual dislike of shouty music. I’m Haven Wylder.” She lets out a giggle, and her gaze slices around the four of us before landing on me again, where it stays like she’s trying to decide for herself if I am a fine specimen. “Welcome to Wylder Trees.”

“It’s Alex, just Alex,” I say, shrugging Miles’s arm off. “Hello, Haven. Please lead the way.”

We all let her go first, but before Miles can follow, I grab his arm and hiss, “Stop being a dickhead” in his ear.

“But it’s so fun,” he claps back, hurrying after the rest of them.

Haven guides us through the makeshift forest as Miles and Lando direct her to whatever it was they’d seen on their earlier investigation. We stop in front of one that’s thankfully what I deem a regular size, and not one that would take all week to decorate. I can’t tell if I’m a little disappointed when Miles announces it’s the one he wants, because it means we’re done and I won’t get to spend any more time in Haven’s company.

“So, tree shopping today, what else do you have planned for the week?” Haven asks as I go inside the store to settle the bill because it gives me an excuse to spend more time with her.

Predictably, I’m followed closely by the twins, watching me like they’re only missing popcorn.

I lift a shoulder, jerking my head to Hendricks and Miles. “These two are the cruise directors. Lando and I are along for the ride.”

“Tomorrow we’re going heli-skiing,” Hendricks replies, watching for my reaction.

Surprise flashes across my face. Surprise and delight. I fucking love heli-skiing. We all do. The rush of landing on a deserted mountaintop and whizzing down fresh powder is unmatched. It’s one of my favorite memories I have of being with my dad, when he’d decided I was old enough and experienced enough to go with him.

It’s still the best day of my life. Just me, Lando, and Dad in St. Moritz.

“Are we?”

Now that I can get on board with. Snow and mountains. Nothing fucking Christmassy about that. Just winter being winter.

“Yeah, don’t worry. We’re planning things with the Grinch in mind too.”

My chest deflates.

Haven turns back to me, eyes bright in amusement, and she bites down a smile. “Grinch?”

Miles drops his arm over my shoulder again. “Yeah, Al here hates Christmas.”

For Lando. For Lando. For Lando , I repeat, while promising to also disown Miles.

I once again shrug his arm off.

“You hate Christmas?”

Fuck. Haven’s eyes are cartoon wide. My belly twists on itself; it could be the eggnog, but it feels a lot like…shame. It’s weird. My hatred of Christmas is legit, even though I don’t tell anyone why, because I never care what people think. It’s no one’s business, but the look on her face is similar to the look Hendricks, Miles, and Clemmie always give me.

“And I thought you only hated Slipknot,” Haven mutters from the corner of her mouth, only audible to me, and I decide that maybe I don’t hate Slipknot after all, because they gave me the best opener with this insanely hot girl.

“Hey, look at all these decorations…” says Hendricks, thankfully changing the subject.

The three of us stand there, taking in the store and its Aladdin’s Cave–esque quality; drawers full of brightly colored baubles and ribbons, wreaths, paper chains, knitted stockings, snow globes, nutcracker statues, glittery objects, stars—a plethora of Christmas paraphernalia. It’s everywhere.

Wylder Trees is not just a tree shop. It’s a Christmas shop. This girl, Haven, loves Christmas.

“Wow, it’s amazing,” I say, truthfully, because it is. There doesn’t seem to be a surface un-Christmassed. It’s just not my taste, though thankfully I’ve not broken out in hives.

Because that’s happened.

“Yeah, I love it here,” she replies with a smile that hits right in the center of my chest. “And that’s the greatest compliment from a Christmas hater.”

I don’t correct her, I’m too preoccupied watching Miles try not to laugh, and when Haven turns to help Hendricks, Miles mouths Grinch .

Yeah, he’s definitely getting disowned, but before I can tell him, he runs off again to wait with Lando, who’s guarding our tree from any prospective other buyers. They each take hold of one end and guide it onto the street.

I stay where I am—too scared to touch anything—and wait until Haven and Hendricks come back to the till, both their arms laden with decorations. Everything’s dumped on the counter. From the looks of it, this is all to take back to Max, his son.

“You know”—he points to the giant nutcracker statues—“I’ll take them, too, but can you deliver the tree, and then we can take these back in the car?”

She nods. “Of course. I can have the statues shipped express to England if it’s easier for you, we can get them there before Christmas.”

“Oh no, that’s fine, thank you. We can manage,” he replies, because they’ll come on the plane home with us. “Just getting the tree to the cabin is all we need.”

“You got it.” She picks up a large pair of scissors, scoring it through a huge roll of Bubble Wrap, which is when I notice her fingernails.

Alternate red and green with tiny drawings of Santa and candy canes, and all things Christmas . Before I can stop myself, the image of her lips around my cock is replaced by those Christmas nails.

“So are you boys tree decorating today? Or hitting the slopes?”

I stare at her mouth. I know she just said something, but for the life of me, I didn’t hear it because my mind is elsewhere. Somewhere way south of the gutter.

“Al…” The confusion on Hendricks’s face is valid. I’m confused too. Jolted, even. “Haven asked what we were doing today.”

“Oh. Sorry. Slopes first, then the tree this afternoon. I need to shake off this hangover.”

Haven giggles. “Go to Aspen Mountain. After yesterday’s blizzard, the snow will be amazing.”

“How often do you go up there?”

“As often as I can, but I haven’t been for a couple weeks.” She gently places the first few things she’s wrapped for Hendricks into a large store bag and smiles at him. “You picked some really cute ornaments. Some of my favorites.”

I decide to leave them to it and wander around the store myself. It is pretty cool, I can’t deny it. Our mother would buy out the whole place if she were here. It’s the sort of shop we should have in Valentine Nook , I think, while also keeping one eye trained on Haven and the way she’s laughing at Hendricks.

I pick up a bauble to distract myself. I don’t want to see Haven laughing with anyone else. I want all her laughs.

By the time she’s done wrapping up Hendricks’s stuff, I’ve picked up so many distraction baubles that I need both hands to hold them. I’m also not quite sure where I got them from.

“Al…what’re you doing?”

Haven peers at my full hands. “Did you want me to wrap them?”

“Um…” My eyes flick to Hendricks, whose brow is quirked. “Yeah. Yes. I’ll take them home for Mum and Clemmie. That’s my sister,” I add quickly, and totally unnecessarily .

“Cool. That’s nice of you.”

“And you know what…I’ll take that too.” I point to a star sitting on a shelf. It’s the biggest, most glittery and opulent one I can find, and it costs four hundred dollars. Fuck Christmas. “It can go on Miles’s bloody tree.”

Hendricks says nothing. He doesn’t need to, he’s trying too hard not to laugh.

“You got it, Grinch .” Haven winks.

Why does it sound different when she says it?