Sunlight pours into the room through the wall entirely made of glass. The sun’s rays warm my rosy cheeks, while I take in the sight of the woods and mountains out in the distance. Snow dances along the gusts of the wind, and it’s a winter wonderland outside.
There’s such a rustic feel to this cabin, and just knowing we are out in the middle of nowhere, together, a calm feeling washes over me. This is undoubtedly my happy place. I don’t know how it could get any better than this.
“When’s the last time we used them?” I overhear Jensen asking.
“It’s been a while,” Damien dryly responds. “Two years, maybe.”
“There’s a few canisters of gas in the shed. Grabbed some yesterday,” Micah announces.
Making myself comfortable on the stool at the kitchen island, I lean my arms on the counter. “Gas for what?”
“Snowmobiles,” Damien says, filling the glasses with bourbon up to the rim.
“No way!”
He cocks his head to the side, studying my reaction. “Excited?”
“Yes!”
Jensen hands me a shot. “To finding the perfect tree for Quinn,” he toasts.
They all hold up their glasses to me, and we clink. Tossing back the whiskey, my throat immediately burns, and a strong blush settles on my face.
And I smile with gratitude as Damien pours us another round.
Soaring on the snowmobile, I tightly squeeze my arms around Micah’s waist. We somehow gain even more momentum. Damien races past us, heading straight for a hill. An unexpected rush of adrenaline consumes me as I watch him take flight, hurdling through the cold, winter air.
He lifts himself into a standing position, turning back to look our way, waving for us to follow behind him. We make our way toward the edge of the woods. Slowing our speed, my gaze scans the beautiful Christmas trees of all different sizes.
Jensen follows closely behind, towing a sled that carries a chainsaw. In my family, we’ve always had a real tree for Christmas; however, this is the first time I’ve ever had the chance to choose one from the wild.
Damien slows, riding parallel to us. “Just say when,” he instructs.
Smiling with excitement behind my helmet and face shield, I nod.
Suddenly, it begins to snow, and a shiver travels down my spine. Embracing the wintry wind, I hug Micah tight, waiting to catch the first glimpse of the perfect tree. Gliding over the fresh blanket of snow over the icy ground, the space around us falls silent.
We come to a stop, and I watch as Damien removes his helmet, retrieving a flask of whiskey from the inside of his coat.
“What about this one?” Jensen asks, pointing toward the tallest tree in sight.
“That’s impossible,” I say, holding back a laugh.
“Nothing’s impossible,” he says.
“We could make it work,” Damien speaks up, tossing back the liquor before tossing the flask to Jensen.
“I found it!” I exclaim, removing my helmet and climbing off the seat. Shuffling my boots through the snow, I head toward the perfect tree. “This is it. This is the one.”
Jensen lets out a dry laugh. “Well, this is unexpected.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, turning to face them. They burst into laughter. “What’s so funny?”
Damien dismounts his snowmobile, shaking his head.
“It’s perfect,” I argue.
“Look at the fucking branches,” Jensen retorts.