Page 67 of The Night

She looked up at me again, clearly worried, but she nodded. “Okay, Gideon. If you say so.”

Hazel giving in that quickly was a sign of distress if I’d ever heard one.

“1223 Markham,” I told Scott. I rattled off directions—it was a quick right and then a left, which seemed doable even for an asshole in a dumbass car—and tried not to notice Scott’s smug, triumphant little smile as he turned and left.

“So.” I forced a smile for Hazel’s benefit. “Where’s this perfect specimen of Christmas tree?”

“Down at the end of that row.” She pointed with considerably less enthusiasm. “It’s got a tag that says 149. Want me to show you?”

I really wanted a minute alone.

“Why don’t you go get Angela, ask her about the kittens, and ask her to send one of her Santa minions down to find me and the tree, so they can help me wrap it up. Can you do that?”

“Gideon.” She rolled her eyes. “I’mseven.”

“Hazel Grace,” I shot back, tweaking her nose. “Iknow.”

Her lips twitched, then her face broke out into a genuine smile and she threw her arms around my waist. “’Kay. See you in a minute,” she said as she ran off.

Like the other two or three times she’d hugged me, it took me a minute to remember how to breathe around the protectiveness and gratitude that swamped me.

And it killed me to think…

Whatever. I justwouldn’tthink. I’d wait and see what Liam decided.

I stalked down the path toward Hazel’s tree like the ground beneath my feet had offended me by existing and stopped when I saw a yellow tag with 149 on it. Then I stood back to assessed the tree, then took another step back… and another… until I was practically sitting in the tree behind me.

Despite my shit mood, I couldn’t help smiling.

The thing was fuckingmassive—nearly ten feet tall—and I was pretty sure we’d have to get creative with some pruning because this beast was already gonna be kissing my living room ceiling, even before Hazel put a star on top.

I stepped closer to put my hand on the trunk.Shit. At the base, the thing was nearly a foot in diameter—I had no clue how we were gonna fit it in one of the dinky stands they sold at the Imperial—and we were going to have to buy out every package of lights between here and Rushton.

It was a logistical fucking nightmare.

It was also absolutely perfect.

The branches were full and thick, but they didn’t fall into precise triangular patterns. Some stuck out too far, and some were a little short. Some looked like they’d been broken off—not surprising, since I couldn’t imagine transporting this tree without dinging it a little—but it didn’t make it any lessreal.

“Real, not perfect,” I said under my breath. “The kid knows how to pick ’em.”

“She sure does,” a deep voice said way too close to my ear, and I turned to see a bearded Santa as tall and broad as I was, standing right behind me, holding a hacksaw.

Fuck. Likethatwouldn’t haunt my nightmares.

“Christ, Silas.” I turned back around so he wouldn’t see the way my hands had clenched like I was ready to attack him. “Don’t sneak up on a guy, man.”

He chuckled, even deeper than his usual deep voice. “Sneaking’s kinda my line of work.”

I frowned. I didn’t often think of police work as being sneaky, but okay.

“You getting a cold or something? Should you be out here coating the trees with your virus germs?”

“You know,” he said, coming around me to lift the tree out of the stand, “trees like this are usually meant for a special purpose.”

“Yeah?” I scrubbed a hand through my hair and fought to keep my tone civil. I hated chit chat, and Ireallyhated it right now. “Didn’t know you knew that much about Christmas trees.”

“Oh, I make a point of knowing a little about a lot of things!” he chuckled. “Like, for instance, it’s rare for a tree farmer to let a tree get this big. Most folks like ’em smaller or have smaller houses.”