15. Brooke

The moment we stepped out of the lecture hall, Bradley released my hand. A wave of disappointment washed over me, unexpected and unsettling. I understood the gesture, the need for distance in the open, yet I couldn"t help but feel a pang of loss at the absence of his warmth.

As we emerged into the cold, the sharp bite of the air took me by surprise. My skin prickled with goosebumps, a reminder of my punishment for defying his orders. Without my panties, the cold seemed to seep into my bones, a physical shock that mirrored the emotional dumpster fire I was experiencing. It didn't help that, as I walked, I could feel his essence spill out of me, exactly how he said it would. My face heated, but it did nothing to eradicate the chill.

The campus, with its festive decorations and bustling students, suddenly felt alien, the festive cheer at odds with the chaos of my current situation.

Bradley led me to his car, his movements decisive, unlike the confusion swirling within me. As he opened the door for me, he glanced over, and his expression shifted to one of concern at the sight of my discomfort. "What?" he asked, his voice softening. "What is it?"

"Are you sure you want me to go with you?" I asked, voicing the fear that had been gnawing at me since we left the classroom. "What if people see?" The thought of being seen together, of inviting more speculation and gossip into my already complicated life, was daunting.

"I don't care about that right now," he said, his tone firm, leaving no room for argument. "Get in."

"I have a class—" I started, but he cut me off.

"Get in," he insisted. "Let's get out of here."

I didn"t know why, but in that moment, I listened to him. Despite the myriad reasons I should have hesitated, the potential consequences that could follow, something in his demeanor convinced me.

Stepping into the car, I closed the door behind me, sealing us away from the outside world. As we drove away from the campus, the reality of what I was doing began to sink in. Yet, amidst the fear and uncertainty, there was an undercurrent of something else—relief, perhaps, or maybe even anticipation, at the thought of escaping, if only for a little while, from the weight of expectations and judgments that had come to define my existence.

As I settled into Bradley"s pickup, I was immediately struck by how neat it was, far neater than I had expected. The interior was immaculate, with not a single piece of trash or clutter in sight, definitely not like the chaotic whirlwind of emotions I was currently navigating. I shifted in my seat, adjusting my skirt as I glanced out the window. The sky outside mirrored my feelings, overcast and brooding, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

"Where are we going?" I asked, breaking the silence that had settled between us.

But Bradley didn"t answer my question directly.

"I"m sorry you had to deal with that," he said instead, his voice low, his gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead.

For a second, I was confused, uncertain what he was referring to. Then it clicked.

"You mean her walking in on us again?" I asked, needing clarification, even as the memory of Sarah"s intrusion and her subsequent outburst flashed through my mind.

"No." He paused, a hesitation that was unlike him. "Well, yes. But...she shouldn"t have said that stuff to you."

"Oh." The surprise must have been evident in my voice. I wasn"t sure how to respond, how to process this unexpected show of concern. "Thank you."

My words felt inadequate. Glancing over at him, I took the moment to study his profile, the lines of his face, the set of his jaw. He was both striking and unsettling, with sharp features and an intensity that was both compelling and a little intimidating. My heart skipped a beat at the sight, an involuntary reaction that left me questioning what exactly was going on with me.

I looked away, something like anticipation swirling within me. Shaking my head internally, I tried to dismiss the burgeoning feelings, to attribute them to the stress and the surreal nature of the situation. Yet, the more I tried to push them away, the more persistent they became, a silent acknowledgment of something shifting, something I wasn"t quite ready to confront.

Bradley steered the pickup into the gravel lot of Evergreen Acres Christmas Tree Farm, a quaint and sprawling expanse of land dotted with meticulously cared for Christmas trees of every shape and size. The farm, situated directly across from the same pumpkin patch we"d visited in autumn, seemed to be in full festive swing, with families milling about, choosing their perfect trees under the watchful gaze of the overcast sky.

As we parked, I turned to Bradley, my eyes widening in surprise and a flicker of excitement I struggled to contain. Despite my efforts to remain guarded, the sight of the Christmas tree farm stirred something within me, a sense of wonder and nostalgia for simpler times. Despite that, the uncertainty of his intentions, of what game he might be playing by bringing me here, tempered my enthusiasm.

We sat in silence for a moment; the engine idling softly before Connor finally killed the ignition. I waited, unsure of what was expected of me.

"Well?" he prompted, an expectant look on his face. "Don"t you like this stuff? Isn"t that what you told me? Something about how your birthday and Christmas are in the same month, so it feels like everyone is decorating for your birthday?"

His words took me aback, not just because he remembered my offhand comment about my birthday and Christmas, but because it hinted at a thoughtfulness I hadn"t anticipated from him. For a moment, I was at a loss, the gesture disarming me, dissolving the barriers I had meticulously built around myself. The realization that Bradley had brought me here, to a place that encapsulated so many of my childhood joys, as a way to perhaps offer solace or distraction from the tumultuous events of the day, left me grappling with a complex mix of emotions.

"You remember that?" I asked, a hint of wonder lacing my words, surprised that he"d recall such a small detail about me.

Bradley"s brow furrowed, a clear sign he wasn"t as comfortable with the sentimentality of the moment as I was. "Let"s not make a bigger deal than it is," he said, somewhat dismissively. "Let"s grab a tree and get out."

I couldn"t help but smile, touched by the gesture, however gruffly it was presented.

My smile seemed to catch him off guard, his gaze lingering on it longer than either of us expected. On impulse, I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. He stiffened under my embrace, clearly taken by surprise, but after a moment"s hesitation, he relaxed slightly, his face tilting into the crook of my shoulder. The warmth that merged between us in that simple embrace was a stark contrast to the cold air around us, a moment of connection that felt both unexpected and right.

"Do you have decorations?" I asked as we pulled apart, the practicalities of our impromptu Christmas tree expedition coming to mind.

"Decor-what?" Bradley asked, almost scoffing as he opened the car door. "I never said anything about—" His protest trailed off as I pointed out the obvious.

"But we need decorations if we"re going to have a Christmas tree," I insisted. "Even a Scrooge like you knows that."

Without giving it much thought, I linked arms with him, tugging him towards the entrance of the farm. The action was spontaneous, a natural extension of the camaraderie that seemed to develop between us, despite the complexities of our situation. It was a minor rebellion against the roles we"d been forced into, a moment of genuine connection amidst the chaos of our lives.

Evergreen Acres Christmas Tree Farm was like stepping into a winter wonderland, a picturesque scene straight out of a holiday postcard. The air was crisp and cold, filled with the scent of pine and earth, a natural perfume that invigorated the senses. Rows upon rows of Christmas trees spread out in every direction, their branches heavy with the promise of bringing holiday cheer. Families meandered through the aisles, laughter and chatter merging with the occasional sound of a saw cutting through wood, marking the selection of yet another family"s perfect tree. Above, the overcast sky lent a soft, diffuse light to the scene, making the vibrant greens of the trees seem even more lush and alive.

As Bradley and I made our way through the entrance, I couldn"t help but be captivated by the vibrancy of life around us. Children ran ahead of their parents, pointing excitedly at trees that caught their eye, while couples walked hand in hand, debating the merits of one tree over another. It was a community brought together by the simple joy of the season, a reminder of the warmth and connection that Christmas could foster. The farm itself was adorned with festive decorations—garlands wrapped around fence posts, and a small hut at the entrance was draped in twinkling lights, the warm glow inviting and cheerful.

The further we ventured into the farm, the more I felt the stresses of our situation slip away, if only for a moment. The magic of the place, with its endless sea of trees and the genuine happiness of the people around us, offered a respite from the complexities of my life with Bradley. Here, amidst the simple beauty of nature and the anticipation of the holidays, it was possible to imagine a world where our troubles didn"t exist, where the spirit of the season could heal and bring peace. It was a fleeting fantasy, perhaps, but in the heart of Evergreen Acres, it felt tantalizingly within reach.

Wandering through the rows of trees, I found myself drawn to one in particular—a majestic fir that stood taller and fuller than the others around it. Its branches spread wide, a testament to years of growth and care.

Excitedly, I pointed it out to Connor. "That one. I want that one."

He looked at the tree, then back at me, skepticism written all over his face. "It"s too big," he stated flatly, a hint of annoyance creeping into his tone.

I pouted at his response. I wanted that tree, not just for its beauty, but for the sense of normalcy and joy it represented amidst the chaos of our lives.

Bradley"s irritation was palpable as he sighed deeply, but after a moment"s contemplation, he finally relented. "Fine," he muttered, "if only that means we get to leave sooner." His concession was grudging, but it was enough for me.

Overwhelmed with happiness, I clapped my hands and jumped up and down in a rare display of unguarded joy. Impulsively, I kissed Connor on the cheek, a spontaneous thank you for letting me have this.

But as I was pulling away, he caught my wrist, pulling me closer with a firmness that sent a thrill through me. "If that"s what you give in exchange for a tree, what"ll you give if I get you those decorations?" he whispered, his voice low and unexpectedly inviting.

A shudder ran down my spine, a reaction that surprised me with its intensity. It wasn"t from the cold—no, this was something else entirely, a spark ignited by his proximity and the charged words that hung between us. In that moment, standing close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, I realized our dynamic was shifting, evolving into something I hadn"t anticipated but couldn"t deny.

Before I could even formulate a response to Connor"s provocative question, a couple of helpers from the farm approached us, ready to assist with cutting down the tree I had chosen. They worked efficiently, sawing through the trunk before wrapping the massive fir in netting and securing it in the bed of Connor"s pickup. Standing back, I realized just how big the tree was—its branches pressed snugly against the sides of the truck.

While Connor went to settle the bill, I found myself browsing the smaller items for sale near the cashier. On a whim, I managed to convince him to add a wreath to our purchase—another win, but one that brought me an unexpected sense of satisfaction. The clerk, an older woman with a kind smile, completed our transaction. As she handed me a mini candy cane, her eyes twinkled with a warmth that reminded me of Christmases long past.

"Don"t encourage her," Connor half-joked to the clerk, his voice carrying a hint of mock exasperation.

The old woman chuckled, her gaze shifting between us with a knowing look. "Christmas needs no encouragement, just unrelenting joy," she said, her words carrying the weight of wisdom and experience. She winked at me then, a gesture of solidarity that somehow made the moment feel even more special.

As we left the farm with our tree and wreath in tow, I found myself enveloped in a genuine sense of happiness—a feeling I hadn"t expected but was immensely grateful for. The events of the day, from the tense confrontation with Sarah to the simple joy of picking out a Christmas tree, had taken me on an emotional rollercoaster. Yet, standing there, candy cane in hand and a wreath to call our own, I realized that, despite everything, I was actually happy. It was a surprising revelation, one that made the cold air feel a bit warmer and the overcast sky a bit brighter.