Page 5 of My Boyfriend Marks Trees
“I don’t know if you should,” Charlotte stiffly replied. “I don’t have anything for it.” Not a pot, or a stand, or even decorations.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got you covered.” He winked at Greta. “You let me know where I’m putting it.”
Pretty much anywhere, seeing as how they lacked furniture, the love seat in the living room being the only thing of size. Their small television sat on a battered dresser she’d grabbed from the curb on garbage day. Charlotte kept meaning to paint it.
Greta bounced and clapped in the small entryway. “Oh, Mama. Look. A tree. A real one. It’s a Christmas miracle.”
While Charlotte hated charity, and the fact this stranger had somehow found them, she wasn’t about to crush her daughter’s happiness. Time enough to put this man in his place. And if he tried anything… She wore a switchblade on her beltloop for a reason.
A woman couldn’t be too careful. Having been a survivor of violence, and hating that helpless feeling, she’d taken self-defense classes. She also went on YouTube and studied how to fight with more than just her fists. Because ifheever found her, she needed every advantage she could get.
“Where am I putting it, little princess?” asked the man as he returned with a tree much bigger than the scraggly remnant she’d expected.
“Right there. In front of the window.” Greta pointed.
“A most excellent spot. Let me park it here for a second, though, while I grab the stand. I’ll be a few minutes. It’s in my truck parked at the church.”
He must have jogged there and back because it took him less than five minutes to arrive with the stand. It proved to be a metal basin placed within a cube built of two-by-fours.
“How fortuitous you had all those things in your truck,” Charlotte drawled, not hiding her suspicion he’d carefully plotted his invasion of her home.
“Some people like the idea of a tree but don’t have the stuff to put it up. So I always make sure I’ve got a few stands and bucketsjust in case,” he tossed over his shoulder as he planted the tree in the contraption. “Fill the basin with water to keep it lasting longer. If it gets dry, the needles will start falling.”
“I’ll get some water!” Greta ran to the kitchen.
It gave Charlotte a chance to ask questions. “Exactly how did you find us?” Because she was unlisted for a reason.
“Once I found the mitten, Carrie, the lady doing the giveaway for a stuffie, kindly let me sift through the ballots to see if I could match the name. Didn’t find a Greta Dawson, but there was a Charlotte Dawson.”
A plausible explanation and more trouble than she’d have expected a man to go through just to return a mitten. What did he really want?
Greta returned with a bowl full of water, which slopped despite her careful steps. Charlotte used her socks to mop the spill rather than leave him alone in the room with her daughter.
The tree man helped Greta pour it in. “Okay, stand back now.” He pulled a knife, and Charlotte stiffened. The guy grinned at Greta. “Ready for the fluff?”
“Yesss.” Greta rocked on her heels with excitement.
The knife slashed the twine, and while it wasn’t a window-smashing event like seen in movies, the tree definitely exploded, branches springing out, bulking the tree.
“Oooh.” Greta’s eyes went wide, and Charlotte wished she could have been the one to bring wonder to her face. They just couldn’t afford anything more than rent and food right now. Given she couldn’t afford daycare, she could only work while Greta went to school or when the elderly neighbor next door watched Greta in exchange for Charlotte cleaning her house. She’d been scrimping just to make sure she even had a present for Greta on Christmas morning.
When they’d fled, it had been with nothing to their name. Charlotte hadn’t dared to hit her place to pack a suitcase ofclothes. She’d left her furniture and life behind. Hightailed it clear across the country, from the Rockies to Ontario. She might have gone farther, only she had limited cash left by that point. Only enough to put down a first and last months’ rent. Hence why they stayed on the outskirts of Ottawa, in a small town called Arnprior, where a person who wasn’t too picky could rent a place that only took two weeks of pay to cover. The other two weeks went to food, which had gotten astronomical in price, plus essentials like clothes for a growing kid and a small emergency fund in case they had to run again.
Greta chatted with the man as he showed her how to fluff the branches. It was when he asked for paper and scissors, which sent Greta scurrying, that Charlotte crossed her arms and said, “What are you doing?”
“Bringing joy?” he offered with a crooked grin.
“Seriously?” She arched a brow. “Exactly what is your game? I have nothing to give you.”
“Not asking for anything.”
“I’m not putting out either. So if you’re expecting any favors because of that”—she pointed to the tree—“then you’ll be disappointed.”
His lips pursed. “I’m not that kind of man. Listen, I know this might be hard to believe, but I genuinely just wanted to spread some happiness. It’s how I was raised.” He stood and held out his hand. “It occurs to me that we’ve never properly met. I’m Ares McMurray, and before you think I’m lying or a serial killer, here’s my card.” He handed over a black-embossed business card with the titleAres Artisanal Cheese, a website address, and a phone number.
“You make cheese?” She couldn’t help sounding a little incredulous.
“Yeah. The best you’ve ever had,” he boasted. “But since it’s not exactly bringing in the big bucks, I also work at a garage.”