Page 20 of My Boyfriend Marks Trees

“Oh dear, will they be upset?”

“Only because their flight is tomorrow, meaning they won’t have much time with Greta.” He winked.

Charlotte smacked him in the arm. “You’re a brat.”

“I know. Shall we?”

Ares watched as she climbed into the driver seat and, before the door shut, heard Greta chirp, “Old Mac Ares had a farm…”

Damn, he wished he could be singing along with them.

Instead, he had to drive his truck, keeping his speed sedate, watching in his rearview to make sure he didn’t lose Charlotte. They headed out of Arnprior into a more remote area. Calabogie, also known as cottage country, catered a lot to seasonal tourists offering summers by the lake or skiing in the winter for those who wanted a break from the city.

As he drove, he gave his mom a shout.

“Hey, sweetheart. How was the concert?”

“Awesome, but there was an issue after. Just a warning. I’m bringing Charly and Greta to stay for a few days.”

“Is everything okay?” His mom’s tone held concern.

“Neighbor’s place caught on fire, and everyone’s been kicked out of their place until they give the all clear.”

“Oh dear. How awful. You tell them they are welcome to stay as long as they need. Should Selene and I postpone our trip?”

“Don’t you dare! The tickets are nonrefundable. I’ll be fine.” That, and he wouldn’t mind some alone time with Charly.

“I know you will be, but I’m excited to meet your ladyfriend and her daughter.”

“You don’t have to leave for the airport until early afternoon. Plenty of time to bake cookies with Greta.” Because he knew his mom.

“Are they hungry? I’ll whip up something for when you arrive. Should I give Greta the daisy room or the honeybee one?” Mom had a theme going in the two guest bedrooms. The five-bedroom farmhouse was made for large families.

“Honeybee has the queen-sized bed, which might be better. I imagine she’ll want to sleep with Charly since it’s a new place.”

“Oh, Charly’s not bunking with you?” Mom’s less-than-innocent query.

“Mom!”

“What? You obviously like her.”

“I am not discussing this with you.”

“Such a prude.” His mom laughed. “I’ll see you shortly. I’ve got stuff to do.”

And by stuff, she meant hanging more than a wreath outside their front door. He arrived to see the bay window lit up with lights and, on the sill inside, her collection of ugly nutcrackers. Her most prized ones. She had too many to sit them all on the ledge—blame him and his sisters. They spent a few years trying to out-ugly the other by hunting for the most ridiculous nutcrackers they could find. The mermaid one with a Santa hat. The pirate with the peg leg. Tropical Santa. At last count, Mom had over thirty of them.

He pulled in first and hopped out as Charly parked behind him. A wide-eyed Greta emerged and exclaimed, “It’s a real farm.”

“It is.” He pointed. “There’s the barn where we keep the goats in the winter. And that there beside it is the chicken coop.”

“Real chickens?” Greta squeaked.

“Yup. We’ll visit them tomorrow and see if they have any fresh eggs for us.”

Greta clapped her hands. “Yay!”

“We might even get a chance to milk a goat.”