“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else other than here.”
I turned around and met Nicholas’s blue gaze. “What gave it away?”
“Couple things. Mostly the look of absolute fury on your face.” He grinned, adjusting his scarf. “Is it that bad?”
“Christmas shopping? It’s hell. Look at this place. I got elbowed four times trying to get a cookbook, for God’s sake.” I stepped to the side so a woman with a determined expression could get past without ramming me with her cart.
She looked like she needed a drink. Or a vacation.
I cocked my thumb in her direction. “See? Is it necessary?”
“You’re being a little Grinch.” Nicholas mirrored my previous step to let someone else pass.
“Is it any wonder?” I grumbled. “Did you go to the farm yet?”
He shook his head. “I thought I’d buy my mom’s presents first. What are the roads like?”
“Great for dog sleds. Not bad for trucks. Terrible if you’re on a bicycle.”
“Why would anyone cycle to the farm for a Christmas tree?”
“I don’t know. Nobody has. It was just—never mind.” I shook my head. “All this festive happiness is killing my brain cells. I need to pay and get out of here.”
“I’m done. Come on, I’ll protect you from those damn Christmas lovers.”
“You are hilarious.” I rolled my eyes, ignoring how he grinned at me like a fool. Partly because I liked it. Partly because if I watched him grin at me, I was going to grin back, and I wanted to keep my resting bitch face for a little longer.
It wasn’t really resting at this point. It was really quite active, but you know. Semantics.
Nicholas looked back at me. “Come on, Azazel. Let’s go.”
Ugh.
I was going to kill him over that nickname.
***
“It’s a tree,” I said. “They all look the same.”
Michael scoffed. “You know they don’t look the same, Quinn. Stop being a grinch.”
“Stop being a grinch, Quinn. Like Christmas, Quinn. Get a little festive spirit, Quinn,” I mimicked. “I’m dressing as a female fucking Santa Claus and working in a grotto every single day. I think I’m festive enough, thank you very much.”
“Not very jolly, though,” Nicholas mused, tilting his head back to look up at a nine-foot-tall tree.
“You’re Santa. That’s your job.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “If you want me to be a holly jolly fucking festive delight, you’ll slip a little vodka in my water bottle, and I’ll see what I can do.”
My brother-in-law wrinkled his face up. “Drinking on the job. Are elves allowed to do that?”
“Call me an elf one more time. I dare you. See what happens.”
“I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t take that dare,” Nicholas mused, moving on to look at another tree. “Is this six?”
Michael looked at me for a moment before he stepped up next to him. “Mm, six and a half, I think.” He checked the tag. “It says seven, but by the time you chop it for a topper, you’re under six and a half. What are you looking for?”
“Six feet,” Nicholas replied. “I don’t think taller will fit in the cottage.”
Right. His Grandma’s house. Cottage was a bit of a stretch—it was bigger than a cottage but smaller than a regular house, and hey, she’d raised six kids in it, so it really wasn’t all that small.
Granted, the ceilings were a bit short, but still. So was my patience. There were no problems there.
Depending who you asked.
Michael bent down and lifted the lower branches. “No problem. We cut the trunks a little longer than we need to so you can trim it to fit.”
“You think this will go to six feet?”
“Yeah, easily. Six to eight inches off the trunk and a few from the top. No problem at all.”
“Great. Are we done here? I don’t even know why I’m here,” I asked, tugging my zip up as far as my thick, knitted scarf would allow it to go. “I’m freezing my ass off.”
Nicholas looked at me with mischief in his eyes. “You’re here because you were with Michael and then I assume you stayed to offer an opinion we didn’t ask for.”
Wow.
He was right, but wow.
“That’s a little rude.” I sniffed. “I didn’t offer nearly enough opinions to make this level of freezing worth it.”
“All right. How do you like the tree I’ve picked, Azazel?”
“If you call me Azazel one more time, I’m going to bend you over and shove that Christmas tree so far up your ass that you’ll be picking pine needles out of your nostrils for three months.”
Nicholas looked at Michael. “I think she likes it.”
He nodded. “Best you’re gonna get.”
Was it really a shock I didn’t like people?
Michael waved one of the younger guys over. “This is sold. Can you get it over for wrapping?”
“Sure thing.” The young guy who looked like he should be studying math in high school, not selling Christmas trees, grabbed another guy. “Delivery or taking now?”