Darkness is descending; the little farm is now bathed in warm yellow Christmas lights. Only the stragglers are left hauling trees and wreaths back to their cars. My parents are up at the house with my aunt and uncle -all of them falsely promised an imminent return about 30 minutes ago.

I take a quick break and pour myself a cup of cider from the jug on the gift shop counter. I desperately need to warm up.

I video chat with the Js as the wait in the security lines at JFK Airport. Deja calls me to ask when I'm coming back and the odds I last until Christmas. We spend 20 minutes bashing Preston's latest swimsuit selfie.

An hour later, I have about 40 ribbons of all horribly uneven shapes and sizes. I carry them outside to the wreath station and discover someone already standing there.

"Kit?" I ask, looking at the back of his jeans and snowy work boots. "Did you grow since two hours ago?"

He turns like molasses, but I already know who it is. I see the beard first.

"Oh, it's you," I grimace.

Nik smiles politely as he strings two wreaths together with zip ties. I swear he's humming O Christmas Tree under his breath.

"It's you," he replies. "Hand me the clippers, will you?"

I look at the clippers on the ground next to the spool of wire.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, folding my arms tightly.

"My job. What are you doing here? Trying to burn it down?" Nik teases.

"Ha-ha," I fake laugh.

"Better not give her any ideas," Kit says, striding up to the wreath rack.

He drops down a ton of cut and broken branches.

I hand the corroded metal clippers to Nik. They're bulky and I stumble a little while holding them.  I'm very aware of the cider buzz.

"Come to join us on wreath duty?" Kit asks. He sniffles beside me; his nose is as red as Rudolph's.

"I was sent," I tell him. As if I would choose this. "But I better make at least one, or I'll never hear the end of it."

"That's the spirit." I think I see Nik's eyes crease from a smile, but he turns away too quickly.

Kit hands me a stack of tree odds and ends. I sift through the pile, separating the clunky sappy branches from the wispy bristles and twigs.

"Not those ones." Nik warns me not to use branches with brittle looking needles.  

"Clearly." Even my word rolls its eyes.

"Sorry, you don't look like you've woven many wreaths-" Nik stops, shaking his head.

"How hard can it really be?" I ask. I eyeball the spool of thick wire uncertainly.

"The trick is to get the shape right first," Nik says, looking at me. "Like this."

Nik's nimble hands fold and bend the steel wire into an almost-perfect circle. He makes the hard metal look as malleable as a pipe cleaner!

He hands it to me to use for my wreath.

"Thanks," I mumble, taking it from him.

I start vigorously sticking pieces of tree between the wires. It fills out quickly once I add gold bulb ornament things and snow-dusted pinecones. This reminds me of tree-decorating in Preston's apartment last year; we had the exact same gold baubles.

"Yes!" Kit almost screams at me.

"Wha -Oh," I say, looking down at the remnants of what seconds ago was a pinecone. "My bad."

"Just take it easy, OK?" Kit laughs, brushing snow over the shattered pinecone. "Nik, you going to do deliveries today?"

"Planning on it. Right after I finish this one," Nik answers. I look at the wreath he's tying together. It's so large it could fit around the local water tower. He casually lifts it with one hand -half a hand, really.

"Deliveries?" I can't help myself but ask.

"Tree orders, wreath orders, all the orders," Nik says. His eyes fall to a wagon filled with wreaths and garland.

"Let me guess, sleigh delivery?" I roll my eyes.

"Sometimes, but it's almost too dark for it today." Nik looks upward.

"Shit man, I didn't bring my truck today," Kit says apologetically.

"I can ask Mr. Trodder to use the tractor," Nik suggests, shrugging.

"Or, you can use our truck-" My mom materializes at the wreath stand.

"Our truck? As in the one I drove here?" I ask.

"Yes, that one, Noelle. Why don't you drive Nik into town with the truck?" She asks.

"Plenty of room in the back for the wreaths," my dad says.

Jesus-!

"I-I am-" The stutter is real as I look between my parents and steal a quick glimpse at Nik.

"Going in that direction anyway," my mom finishes.

I recognize defeat.

Kit starts hanging new wreaths and Nik drags the wagon's handle up to his waist.

"Oh, the truck is just up at the top. Noelle will bring it down, just wait here."

I shoot my mom daggers but start trekking back up the hill to the farmhouse.

I hear her whisper when I pass. "Be polite, Noe."

"How did I get stuck doing this?" I sigh to myself.