My feet hurt. My hands are numb with cold (the cheap gloves I bought at the beginning of the seasons are finally starting to fail me). My back aches from standing all day. And I'm covered with a disgusting amount of tree sap. Like seriously, a gross, exaggerated amount of tree sap. White Spruce, Virginia Pine. Douglas Fir, Fraser Fir, Balsam Fir. All the Firs. I'm like the slutty cheerleader that all the Fir Brothers just passed around. Merry Christmas! Ho Ho Ho.

I want a large hot chocolate (extra marshmallows), a scalding hot shower, and a pair of cozy socks. Oh, and I want to forget that it's Christmas Eve.

Which is why it is so mind bogglingly annoying that someone is at the gate, yelling and carrying on. As if it isn't nearly nine p.m. on Christmas Eve. As if he's the only one in the world that's forgotten that he should be home, snug as a bug in a rug, sipping hot toddies by a perfectly made fire. There are no cars on the street right now. The air smells dangerously of snow. Why the hell is someone trying to buy a Christmas tree now?

"Hi. We're closed. Sorry." I clunk over toward the gate, my boots heavy on my feet. My good will towards mankind left about three hours ago when a family of six came in and all the children collectively. screeched for forty five minutes.

"Fuck. I know you're closed. But please. You're still here. I just need a tree." The voice is as heavy as my Christmas spirit, and it is thick with an accent. Australian? No. British. Some sort of muddled, thick tongued British. He's slightly out of breath, leaning against the gate to catch up. I can't see his face, but it doesn't really matter.

"Closed." I say, as if this is an answer to his pleads. Because really, it is.

"Please." The voice is forlorn, and the man behind it is nearly draped over the big metal gate that leads to the "Tree Farm" (which is really just a sad lot full of precut trees, all leaning up against temporary metal railings).

"Dude. It's Christmas Eve. It's 9pm. Do you really not have a tree?" I straighten up, tucking my cold hands into my jacket. I tilt my head to the side, trying to get a better look at this intriguing person. He could be a drunk. He could be a homeless guy. Or just your run of the mill Holiday serial killer. The jury was still out. But my gut instinct told me he was none of those things.

"I just need a tree. Any tree. Miss--?" He waits for my name, and I bristle at the idea.

"Cane." I sniff. "Candy Cane." I laugh at my own joke.

He straightens up then, completely. His face coming out from the shadows of the big gate. He's bigger than I had expected. And Jesus Christmas. He's hot.

Not like in a "Oh that's a good looking human" hot. More like a "D-D-damn, I forget my own name" sort of hot. Perfect messy dark brown hair-- just the right length to look like he's permanently rolled out of bed in the most wonderful, sleepy way. Dark eyes of somewhat indiscernible color (brown? Maybe green?). Big, broad shoulders under a simple black coat. Jeans. Boots. He's like a goddamn Christmas Miracle.

"Well, Miss Candy Cane." He smiles then, a small, slightly crooked smile, and I swear I feel my uterus wail in needy agony. I don't want a baby. But I wouldn't mind tryin' with him. He's laying the charm on thick, and maybe it's because my brain is half frozen, but it's kind of working. Kind of.

"Sorry, dude. We're closed." I manage.

He looks struck then. Like I've actually hit him, and called him a mean name or something.

"Oh for fuck's sake." I grumble under my breath, kicking at the crumbled rock pathway at my feet. I look up at him, and point a stubby, glove covered finger at his chest.

"You've got two minutes to convince me why I should open that gate and let you grab a stumpy, second rate Christmas tree. Make it good." I cross my arms over my chest, watching as his eyes light up. His grin goes from nice, to seriously boyishly goofy. I'm glad there is still a gate between us.

"Thank you, thank you." He starts saying, his hands pressed together in front of him.

"Two minutes, Tito." I raise an eyebrow at him.

"Tom." He quips.

"What?"

"My name is Tom, not Tito."

"Right. It was just...a joke." I press my lips together and he grins at me, and now I'm not sure if my name is Tito.

"Listen, I know it sounds crazy. But I need a tree. I was at this girl's house--"

"Oh god." I roll my eyes.

"Hear me out!" He laughs, holding up two rather large, nicely shaped hands.

"90 seconds."

"Okay, so this girl. She's bloody fantastic, mate. She's total perfection. And I've been in love with her for three months. We've gone on date after date after date and I've gotten...nowhere with her."

"You mean you haven't slept together--"

"No, I'm not even talking about that. It's just as if..." He pauses, looking thoughtful and tense. "It's as if nothing I ever do ever seems...right." He shakes his head, looking despondent and I have to admit, Tito has my attention.

"That doesn't sound fun."

"So, I do everything she asks. She wants it, I get it. I just want to make her happy. I can't get this girl out of my head. It's like..."

"An obsession?" I ask, eyebrows lifted. He sighs.

"Right, but I swear, she likes me. I think." He pauses. "Anyway, we were at her house tonight. Hanging with her family, doing the whole Christmas Eve thing. My family is thousands of miles away, so I've sort of a loner and totally at sea this season--" He's rambling now, but I don't stop him. I know how he feels.

"Yeah I'm a bit of a loner too." I interject quietly. He pauses then, pulled from his diatribe by my comment.

"The holidays are shit when you're alone." He says quietly. I nod and we share a beat of silences.

"So you're at her house with her family-" I push him on, not prepared to be emotionally connected to a stranger on the Loneliest Day in the World.

"Right." He nods, and looks down, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "So, she tells me what she really wants-- what will make her Christmas perfect...is a Christmas tree." He opens his mouth, a somewhat fake smile plastered on his handsome face and holds out his hands like he's got jazz fingers.

"Jesus. Jesus in a goddamn manger." I groan.

"So, I need this tree, Candy. Please. I'll be fast and I'll pay you double whatever it is." He gives me what can only be described as puppy eyes, and I feel my frozen heart melt, just a little. I feel bad for the guy. I do. He's trying to impress a girl (who honestly sounds like a terrible person but who am I to judge), and he's obviously desperate for a Christmas Miracle. Who am I to deny him?

"Come on. We've got to go to the back lot though, that's where are the stragglers are." I sigh and walk forward, moving to open the gate as Tom whoops and claps, jumping up and down in the silent night.

"Thank you! Thank you. You're the fourth place I've been." He laughs loudly.

"Desperate much?" I can't help but laugh.

"You could say that. No one was around the first two places, and the third, I think they had a shot gun." He sighs as I unlock the gate, and usher him inside. As he walks past me, he takes me by the shoulders, his face near mine. He looks beyond happy, his brown eyes (I can tell they're brown now) glittering with excitement.

"You're amazing. What's your name?" He asks. I sigh and laugh him off.

"Noelle." I say and I watch as he murmurs my name, shaking his head as I lead him off toward the leftover Christmas trees.

****

"The pickings are slim. There's a few good Douglas firs left. They're over there." I point, as Tom quickly walks from tree to tree. Now that he's inside, I'm not all that rushed to leave. It's sort of fun helping him find the right one for his obviously demanding and somewhat psychotic love interest.

"She didn't say what she wanted, so I guess anything will do." He ruffles a few branches on some of the trees, and I follow a few feet behind, watching. He's not overly tall, like most of the guys I like. Somewhere just under 6' perhaps. But he's got a casual, easy going presence to him.

"So your girlfriend doesn't have a Christmas tree yet? That sucks." I chew on my lip as Tom moves a Balsam around.

"What? Oh, she's not really my girlfriend. Not technically. She's not into the labels thing. And yeah, she does have a tree." He grabs a tree that's leaning against a far corner, giving it a bit of a shake. It's a small thing, only about 4' tall.

"Wait. Back up. What?" I can't quite believe my ears. Tom turns to me, tucking one hand against his hip while still holding the small tree.

"Hm?" His voice is gruff, and he looks at me over lowered eyelids.

"You're out on Christmas Eve, desperately searching for a tree for 1) a girl that's not even your girl and 2) a girl that already has a tree?!" I yell, my voice getting a bit high pitched and scratchy. Tom laughs, a low rumbling chuckle. He rubs a hand over his jaw, looking somewhat bashful. And hot. Did I forget to say he was hot? Why do all the hot ones fall for the crazy vagina.

"What can I say. I like her."

"Wow. That's insane." I nod. "Certifiably insane. And what kind of girl would send someone out on a wild goose chase? Heartless." I'm talking more to myself now, shaking my head and walking away from Tom toward the front entrance of the Tree Lot.

"Hey!" I hear him call after me.

"Don't you have any self respect, man?!" I yell over my shoulder, half joking, half serious. Tom catches up with me a few seconds later, the 4' tree tucked at his side. He's carrying it like it's a Charlie Brown Christmas tree, which is sort of impressive.

"Come on, don't you believe in love at first sight?"

"Good lord." I sigh in mock disgust, and he chuckles.

"I know I'll get through to her one day"

"By bringing her the perfect Colorado Blue Spruce? Do you need to give her father two goats as well?" I scrunch my nose up, and Tom looks amused and then slightly annoyed. I feel bad for making fun of him, especially on Christmas Eve, but jeez. Someone has been taking him on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. Just hearing about it makes me want to up chuck.

"It's not like that." He says with a furrowed brow.

"Do you like doing everything she commands you to do?" I ask. He bristles.

"I just want to make her happy."

"Fair enough." I sigh. "Listen, I'm not her. But if I had a guy like you-- someone who was willing to run around town on Christmas Eve in a desperate search for a dying tannenbaum, you know what I would do?" I ask, raising my eye brows. Tom looks surprised, and then slightly confused.

"What would you do, Noelle?" He asks, his voice suddenly softer. I swallow, my mouth feeling dry.

"I would never, ever, ever, ever ask him to do that." I grind out, my hands shaking in balled fists at my sides. I keep going, mostly because Tom has not asked me to stop.

"I would ask him to stay. I would never ask him to leave, that's for sure. Because a Christmas tree doesn't make Christmas. It's about the people you're with. And if the people you care about are out tossing their last shred of dignity to the side, begging tired, cold, and hungry lot attendants to stay open five minutes longer, then what does that say about you exactly? What does that say about her, really?" I sigh and reach over, opening the gate up for Tom.

He looks sad then, his shoulders sagging slightly, and I do feel bad for bursting his Christmas elf bubble.

"Tree is on the house. Have a Merry Christmas, Tom." I say with a sigh, as he shuffles through the gate. I slam it behind him, locking up.

"Yeah, thanks. Thanks for the tree." He murmurs, making his way toward the only other car on the lot.

"Do you really mean that?" He says suddenly, as I pause at my car door.

"Mean what?" I ask softly.

"That you...you wouldn't let someone that cared about you go. That you'd not ask them to leave." He tilts his head, his sad little Christmas tree resting up against his SUV. I take a deep breath and shrug.

"Isn't that obvious? That's how it should be." I blink. He nods then, a simple, easy nod, and opens his back door, throwing the tree onto the back seat with an easy lift.

"Hey." I speak before I can think.

"Yeah?" His head peaks out from behind the car door.

"See that 7-11 over there? I always go there after work. They're the only thing open, and they have pretty decent hot chocolate. You can add your own marshmallows." I grin, and he gives me a small smile.

"Sounds fantastic."

"It's not bad." I nod. "Listen, if you decide that maybe...you don't want to go on the goose chase anymore. That maybe you'd like to just like...drink some hot chocolate, and have a conversation, and not have to prove yourself every three seconds. I'll be over there for about ten minutes. Getting my drank on, and chatting up Sandeep, who almost always works Saturday nights. Just putting that out there. No expectations. I won't tell you what to do, obviously." I shrug, not caring if I sound desperate or silly or strange. One desperate soul to another, perhaps.

Tom nods then, his expression serious and somewhat unreadable.

"Good night, Noelle. Merry Christmas." He says. I nod, finding the answer to my question a little saddening and also maddening. But it is what it is. Some people never learn.

"Merry Christmas, Tom. Hope you find what you're looking for." I give him a quick half smile, and then jump in my car.

****

"Don't fill your whole cup with marshmallows, Noelle. I know what you do." Sandeep yells at me from behind the counter, but he's smiling all the same.

"I'll be good I promise." I grin, as I wait for the machine to spew out the chocolate liquid. I can't help but glance at the clock. 9:35. I will wait until 9:45. Even though I got my answer, I have to wait. I have to.

So, I get my hot chocolate, and a big bag of sour gummy worms. I hang out at the counter, and shoot the shit with Sandeep. He's a college student, not much younger than I am, so we have a good amount in common. Both in somewhat crappy jobs. Both single (though Sandeep recently went on a date with a girl that he says went 'swimmingly well.'). Both lonely souls. Isolated on the loneliest of holidays.

"What are your plans for Christmas, Noelle? And what happens now that the tree lot is done?" He asks, flipping through a celebrity gossip magazine. He stops to scrutinize one glossy photo, his brown eyes getting big, before he shakes his head.

"No plans really. Not close with my family. Don't know what's up next. The tree lot was a real step up in the world." I laugh.

9:39.

"My dad wants me to finish school, and then go to med school. I hate blood. I hate biology. I just want to surf and chill on a beach." Sandeep sighs, a far away look in his eye.

"I hear ya, man." I grin, looking down at my cup and watching as the mini marshmallows dissolve.

Tom wasn't coming. Of course he wasn't coming. I was mean to him. I told him he was basically a desperate loser. He has a terrible, bossy, life sucking non-girlfriend not waiting for him at home. What more could he want?

"You want a taquito to go, dude? My Christmas present to you." Sandeep laughs, nodding toward the mesmerizing spinning tubes of meat and corn tortillas rolling on a conveyer. I grin and shake my head.

"Tempting, but I'll pass. I could use a few more mallows." I snort.

9:42.

"Alright. Go for it. It's Christmas. Make it rain! Or should I say snow!" Sandeep chuckles, leaning back on the counter. I grin, and walk away, a sour gummy half hanging from my mouth. I turn my back from Sandeep and the front of the store, walking toward the golden canister of tiny freeze dried mallows. I'd get my refill, then I would go on my way. There was no point in waiting longer.

Except.

The tell tale sound of the door opening. The gust of cold, wintery air rushing through the small convenience store. Sandeep's cheerful "Hello!" and the followed up murmured response. Who else would be out at almost 10 on Christmas Eve? Who else would possess that grumbly, muddled, wonderful British accent?

Electricity shoots up and down my arms, making me shake the canister of marshmallows faster and faster into my nearly full cup. I don't turn around. I can''t.

"You know, I'm pretty sure putting that many marshmallows in your hot chocolate is really fucking terrible for you." His voice. Low. Rumbling. Hypnotic.

I turn around, slowly.

"Hey, mister. I don't tell you what to do, you don't tell me what to do." I say with a pout, the corners of my mouth pulling upward.

"You've got yourself a deal, Miss Candy Cane." Tom replies, breaking into a wide, joyful grin. I can't help but join him, my smile forming despite myself. We both start laughing, even though we sound crazed, desperate, loony, and a bit too happy to be in a 7-11 on December 24th. But I don't care.

Besides, it's Christmas. And it's a miracle.