Chapter Text
Arthur wraps his gloved hand a bit more tightly around his cup of coffee, carefully navigating the choppy waves of foot traffic made by the throng of people walking down the sidewalk around him. Sometimes it really does feel like every office worker in New York City has their lunch break at the exact same time.
“Do you think—”
A taxi nearby uses that moment to honk their horn, and soon enough everyone else at the intersection is doing it too. Arthur uses his free hand to push the bluetooth earbud a little bit deeper in.
“Sorry, could you repeat that?”
“I asked, do you think you’re going to make it down this year?” His cousin’s tone is polite but not demanding; he knows she’s making an extra effort to ask gently, but he still can’t help the little sigh that passes through his lips. As if sensing his hesitance, she adds, “There’s apparently going to be a special rendition of The Nutcracker at the Kennedy this year.”
“I… I’m not sure, Beatrice,” he replies tentatively. “Of course I’d like to see you, and Rose misses you. But…”
It’s with a wave of relief that he gets to his destination, finishes off and discards the last of his coffee, pulls open the shop door, and finally steps inside. The store is busy, of course— in all honesty all of them are, this time of year— but even the nervous chattering of people gift shopping is better than the cacophony of noise outside.
“Is there anything I could help you find, sir?” the employee who suddenly appears beside him asks.
“No, thank you. I’m just browsing.”
She nods, spots a wayward child about to drop something very expensive, and beelines it across the store.
“Where are you?” Beatrice asks curiously.
“There’s a William Sonoma near my office. I thought I could buy Rose’s gift on my lunch break.”
“At a William Sonoma?” Beatrice lets out a laugh that would be elegant, except for the endearing snort that interrupts it halfway through. “Arthur, she’s seven. Are you going to buy her an espresso machine?”
“You’d be surprised. Novelty-shaped Le Creusets are all she’s spoken about for the last few months. That, and Christmas trees.”
Beatrice laughs again, not unkindly. “She has a Lawrence’s taste through and through, doesn’t she?”
Arthur lets out something of a laugh that he hopes sounds more polite than it does pained. “I suppose.”
There’s a few moments of silence on the call, as the world goes out of focus while Arthur takes off his glasses and cleans them.
“Arthur… I know that the last time you were here wasn’t the best but—” It’s with his rigid self control that Arthur doesn’t interrupt her with a rude bark of a laugh at the understatement of the year. “It really would be nice to have you both home for the holidays. D.C. really is nice this time of year! And, if it helps, I know you two promised to stay out of each other’s hair, but I honestly think your father will be too busy campaigning to be home too much anyway.”
He sighs again.
Naturally his eyes fall on the family browsing a display a few feet away from him, smiling and leaning into each other like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It seems like the picturesque shot of a loving family shopping around the holidays, sporting colorful sweaters and rosy cheeks. It’s not something he’s ever truly experienced, and it’s something he wishes with all his heart that he could give to Rose. But…
Arthur’s not naive enough to hold onto the idea that the Lawrence household (whether extended family is invited or not) could be anything close to that, at least when they’re not in front of cameras.
“I’m sorry,” he says at length. There’s a pang in his chest, but he knows that the risks don’t outweigh the guilt he feels at having to turn down Beatrice for another year in a row. “I don’t think Rose and I should come.” A thousand excuses sit at the edge of his tongue, but none of them suffice— not when she already knows the truth behind all of them. “But, she and I will make an effort to visit you in the new year. She’s very interested in seeing the cherry blossoms at full bloom.”
He knows that he doesn’t have to emphasize the singularity of ‘you’ for Beatrice to pick up on it. It’s been nearly seven years since he last spoke to his father, and Arthur has no plans to break the streak any time soon.
“Of course.” Despite the obvious disappointment in her voice, Beatrice’s tone is understanding. It always is, which Arthur is unendingly grateful for. “You two are always welcome. Reinhard has been practicing more seasonal recipes lately. Perhaps we can make something very spring-like.”
“You know, there are also some restaurants in your area that I have been curious about.”
Her laugh is light and vibrant through the other end of the line. “He’s really gotten better in the kitchen, I promise!”
In lieu of responding, Arthur glances down at his watch. “I really should focus on shopping before I have to head back to the office, but it was a pleasure hearing from you.”
Once again Arthur can hear the disappointment in her voice, but she doesn’t sound unkind either. “Goodbye, Arthur. Good luck at work.”
“Thank you.”
He spends a quarter of an hour browsing the store and tries to focus on observing the merchandise, absently analyzing what it says about the shopping trends this year. It doesn’t quite work, memories of his family clouding his mind, and so after holding the door open for a few people he leaves the store empty-handed.
Arthur’s barely had the time to sit at his desk and start checking his emails before one of his coworkers comes up behind him and claps him on the back.
“Arthur! You haven’t RSVPed for the holiday party. Not to spoil the surprise, but I heard the planning committee’s gone all out this year.”
Externally, Arthur gives Isaac a polite smile. Internally, he’s already wondering what the best way to turn down the invitation is. Too busy with wrapping up work for the end of Q4? He’s afraid he’s used that sort of excuse— as true as it always is— enough times that his coworkers won’t quite accept it anymore. He has no one to babysit Rose? Last time he said that, all of his coworkers jumped to offer teenage nieces and family friends who wanted to make a bit of extra money. Arthur’s pretty sure when he told them that he has a five-step vetting process for anyone he charges with looking after Rose, they thought he was joking.
He’s still coming up with an answer when another coworker pops up beside his chair.
“You really should come.” Paige’s smile is bright, her cheeks pink and her eyes searching his. “We all miss you when you’re not at those sorts of events.”
He sincerely doubts that.
“Yeah!” Isaac chimes in. “Life of the party Lawrence, that’s what we should call you.”
Arthur’s pretty sure that if he told Beatrice about this new nickname, she’d fall to the floor laughing.
“My apologies,” Arthur starts. Both coworkers look as if they’re about to protest, so he quickly continues, “Rose and I are quite busy for the next few weeks. Piano recitals, PTA events, traveling to see family…”
That last one isn’t exactly the truth, but no one in the office knows Arthur well enough to know that he doesn’t speak to most of his family.
They’re both frowning at him, so he gives them a cordial, apologetic smile and adds, “And I want to make an effort to spend more time with Rose this year.”
“That’s the best part!” Paige’s answer is immediate, like this was accounted for. “It’s a family-friendly event this year. And I’m sure everyone would love to meet your daughter.”
Grinning in a way that Arthur is not terribly keen on, Isaac says, “My son’ll be there and he’s around her age, maybe they can share an innocent little kiss under the mistletoe.”
Arthur’s trying to decide on the most polite way to say that he’d sooner quit this job and move countries before letting such a thing happen when, mercifully, their boss steps out of his office and interrupts them.
“Arthur, do you have a moment?” He closes the door behind him again before Arthur has the chance to respond.
Shooting one last apologetic look to his coworkers, Arthur gets up from his desk and makes his way over, closing the door behind him softly.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
Mr. Richards is standing in front of the floor to ceiling windows on the far wall of his office. In the distance the skyscrapers loom, and even from here Arthur can see the abundance of traffic surging around the streets of New York below. At Arthur’s entrance he inclines his head briefly over his shoulder but otherwise doesn’t turn away from the window.
“Ah, yes. Good. I wanted to talk to you about the terms of your promotion we were talking about a few weeks ago.”
Though he’s sure to keep a look of outward calm, Arthur’s ears start to ring. That promotion is— well, in all honesty his requests had been on the steeper side, though he did his best not to get too ambitious just yet.
“I’ve put in a good word for you. Higher-ups have said that they’re willing to offer you the position of Senior Analyst with all of your requests included.”
If Arthur’s ears were ringing before, they’re basically the bell of Notre Dame now.
All of them?
“That’s fantastic, sir.” Somehow Arthur manages to keep his voice even. “I can’t thank you enough.”
Immediately Arthur starts doing the math again, as if he hasn’t run it over a couple dozen times. He could put double the amount he’s currently putting into Rose’s savings each month; he could work considerably less overtime, not only putting less strain on Mrs. Sullivan for babysitting, but also getting to spend more of his own time with Rose, which is something he’s been wanting quite severely since his promotion from junior analyst.
He might even be able to put a down payment on that house in Great Neck he’s been eyeing years sooner than his initial plan’s timeline. A house with a yard, a top-rated school system for Rose… it’s some marvel, even to Arthur, that he’s able to keep a politely neutral look on his face and not start doing something uncouth like jumping for joy or salivating profusely.
“You’ve earned it.” Mr. Richards has crossed the room now, a smile on his face. However, it’s the sort of smile that tells Arthur he might need to brace himself for the strings attached to this promise. “We’ve all taken notice of how much you do for the good of the company. The late hours, the few and far between PTO days— I’ve made sure to mention it all in your latest performance review.”
“I’m very grateful.”
“That being said, I’m afraid it’s not a surefire thing until the execs give their stamp of approval on it. I do know something you can do for us that would look even better for the end-of-year review, though.”
Arthur braces himself. He’s worked on Christmas before, but this year he’s been severely hoping he could spend some much-needed quality time at home. He and Rose don’t need a Christmas tree surrounded by nosey extened family, by cold and controlling parents— it can be just fine with the two of them. If Arthur has his way, he’s going to shower Rose with all the gifts and cheesy holiday activities that the two of them can bear.
If he has his way.
“Of course,” Arthur replies easily. “What can I do to help?”
Smiling, his boss takes a seat at his desk and beckons for Arthur to do the same in one of the chairs across from him. When Arthur has, Mr. Richards turns around one of his monitors to show Arthur a client’s portfolio.
“We’ve got something of a last-minute project falling into our laps. It technically can wait until January, but it’s a very big opportunity, and we thought it would be prudent to get a head start on it in case our client ends up deciding to go with another firm.”
Arthur quickly glances over the documents that Mr. Richards shows him, already making mental notes in his head. It’s nothing terribly unusual— a big retail company wanting to expand into smaller cities, to ‘reach untapped markets through clients that have yet to be served.’
“You’d be researching the locations and writing up a report of potential real estate options,” Mr. Richards explains. “The usual field work. There’s a few areas they’ve provided, but they’re all around the same places upstate. Small towns, cheap land, little competition on the sales front. I can send the details to your inbox.”
Arthur nods. “Of course. What’s the client’s timeline?”
“Sometime in the next few weeks. We’d pay for travel expenses, of course, and overtime pay for any work you might do during the holidays.” With a look that professionally Arthur would call sympathetic, but realistically he’d call condescending and with no room for debate, Mr. Richards adds, “You don’t have to work the entire time, of course. I was thinking you could even take your daughter with you. Find a warm hotel and spend an extra white Christmas up north, if that sounds appealing. I’ve already put in a request with finance for a budget that includes a bit of childcare pay— and a second that includes extra travel expenses instead, if you’d rather drive back and forth.”
Again Arthur simply nods as he takes in the information. Christmas away from home isn’t necessarily the festive, loving atmosphere he had been planning, but maybe it would be better this way. Instead of decorating the apartment they could find a hotel with a giant tree in the lobby, and a town with activities that Arthur and Rose can participate in when he’s not working. She could socialize with other children her age…
“I’ll have to double check my schedule to be sure, but I’m sure it can be done.”
“Perfect. We can circle back at the end of the week to finalize the details.” Mr. Richards smiles again, though he’s already turned his monitor around and started glancing at other things. Vaguely, Arthur wonders just how sure his boss was that he would accept, even with the implication of working through the holidays. What would he do if Arthur had turned the project down?
Well, not that he would. He’ll have to talk to Rose, of course, but the promotion remains a bright light at the end of a long, long tunnel, and Arthur is determined to see it through.
“A real Christmas tree?” Rose asks from the back seat. Arthur doesn’t have to check his rearview to know that her eyes are gleaming. “Not the plastic kind?”
“Oh yes. I’m sure we’ll find many. At least one, certainly.”
The minivan is big enough to easily fit all of their luggage and then some— including the surprise gifts that Arthur has snuck between boxes of ‘work documents.’ The drive has mostly been a pleasant sort of uneventful, leaving a lot of room for singing along to Disney songs and Rose gaping out the window as the roads get more winding the further they drive into the mountains.
“How tall is it gonna be? Your height?”
“Definitely taller.” Arthur smiles at the way Rose’s eyes are practically sparkling. “I’d venture somewhere around eight or nine feet.”
“Wow…”
Arthur’s not completely certain that Rose knows the specifics of how tall that is, exactly, but her voice is full of wonder regardless. It warms Arthur’s heart, as much as it also gives him a pang of guilt for only using fake trees in the past. Next year he’s going to figure out a way to get a real tree up fourteen flights of stairs and through the front door of their apartment.
“Oh! Papa, louder please!”
He turns up the volume, allowing the Frozen soundtrack to ring throughout the car. At the same time he ups the speed on his windshield wipers, as the snow around them starts to fall heavier. The GPS says they’ve got about an hour and a half left on their drive, and Arthur hopes the weather can wait at least that long before deciding to throw a full-blown snowstorm their way.
“Papa, when a duet comes on you have to sing too, okay?”
Arthur fights off a slightly awkward cough. “Of course.” He’s never been the most keen on singing— to be perfectly blunt, he has no musical talent whatsoever— but nearly all of the books he’s read on child development emphasize how important music is for the young brain. That, and, Rose asks for so little to begin with that he has a hard time saying no to her when she does request something.
So that’s how the next half hour of their drive goes, with Rose serenading him and Arthur chiming in whenever there’s a second part to sing— whether that be a manipulative man, an emotionally distant sister, or rock trolls.
The singing, at least, happens mostly on autopilot, allowing him to focus on navigating the increasingly narrow and snow-covered roads. The further north they drive the heavier the snowfall and winds get, until evening is falling on them and it’s getting to a point where Arthur has to turn on his high-beams to be able to see more than fifteen feet in front of him.
“Wow.” Rose sounds awestruck, even though she’s lived in New York for the better part of life and thus is no stranger to snow. The North holds all sorts of wonders, he supposes. “There’s soooo much snow. Papa, how can you see through it? Is it because of your glasses?”
“I’m afraid I can’t actually see very well.” He turns on his hazards and checks the GPS again. The hotel he booked is still about an hour away; based on the weather report he read earlier the snowstorm shouldn’t last all night, though to be completely fair the weather hadn’t mentioned snow heavy enough to be a storm at all.
“So how do you drive if you can’t see?”
Arthur laughs a little wryly. “Very carefully.”
He sees a sign signaling a town within the next few exits, so when the time comes he gets off the highway and drives into ‘Selphia.’ Vaguely he recognizes the name as one of the towns in the area with available real estate listed by their client, though it hadn’t been on his initial list to stop at. Regardless, turning off the highway feels safer at the moment, and a few miles later he’s at a red light and can make out a large, ostentatious restaurant sign.
“Are you hungry for dinner?”
“Mhm!” When Rose sees the sign she asks, “Do you think they use Le Creusets?”
Arthur chuckles. “I’m sure you could ask.”
With that decided he makes for the parking lot as soon as the light turns green.
“Th-thank you!” Vishnal says between chattering teeth as Frey holds the door open for him.
She nods in response, then looks back over her shoulder one last time as the door starts to close behind her. “It’s really coming down out there all of a sudden, isn’t it?” She stretches out her arms, sighing in relief as her joints pop and crackle in response.
“It’s that time of year again,” Vishnal responds miserably. Then he gives her outfit another look-over and sighs. “I really don’t know how you do it, Frey. If I wore that I think I’d freeze to death before I even spent five minutes outside.”
She glances down at her outfit: denim overalls and a buttoned-up red flannel. While it’s by no means summer attire, it is true that she’s easily wearing half the layers Vishnal is, if not more. Then she looks up and grins at him. “Maybe it’s my warm, holiday spirit keeping me all toasty inside?”
She holds the straight face for as long as she can before the two of them start bursting out into laughter.
“That’s not fair!” Vishnal gets out between laughter as the two of them make their way to a table. “I’ve got holiday spirit too! Why can’t that keep me warm?”
“I think you’ll have to ask Santa that. Hi Meg!” She waves over at where Meg is sitting in front of her piano, who shoots her a smile back.
When the pair sit down, Frey takes in the room around her. It’s not very busy for a Friday evening. As far as locals go, Kiel is sitting only a chair away from them reading while absently picking at his food, and Nancy and Jones are in their own little world a few more chairs down. Otherwise, the only other diners are tourists— either taking up the handful of two-person tables around the restaurant, or huddled up in their own groups at the far end of the communal table that spans most of the room.
“Not too many people got in before the storm?” Vishnal asks, making Kiel look up.
Kiel smiles readily, clearly not bothered at all for having his reading interrupted. Then, as if being reminded for the first time in a while where he is, Kiel looks around the room. “I guess not!” Then he looks out the window across the room from him, as if also taking in the weather for the first time. “I hope Forte got home okay… I should check on her.” With that he takes out his phone and starts to text.
“Hello Frey, Vishnal.” Porcoline sweeps across the floor to their table with a flourish, smiling brightly at them. “What a pleasure it is to have the both of you dining with us today. What splendiferous dish may I get each of you started with today?”
“You’re trying out being a waiter today?” Frey asks.
“Yes, well, the kitchen is dreadfully slow at the moment, so I thought I’d try front of house tonight for some fun.” He leans in conspiratorially. “Honestly, I don’t see why Dylas dislikes it so much— talking to people is an absolute delight!”
Frey and Vishnal share a look and almost start laughing again.
The meal passes with its usual mundane comfort. She and Vishnal chatter about work, Kiel fills them in about the latest pieces of town gossip, Meg comes over for a short break in between songs to let them rub at her pregnant belly, trying to feel for kicks. The fireplace at the end of the room is crackling and warm, and Frey is struck with an odd mix of feelings— content, melancholy, wistful. And then irritation, hot and uncomfortable, washes over her as Frey remembers the person she had been spending her Decembers with the last few years.
Even this many months after breaking up with Robert, Frey still catches the overly-searching looks in her friends’ eyes, the lingering touches on her arm, the plentiful reminders that they’re around if she wants to talk. She’s grateful. Of course she is. But not for the first time this year she wishes she could just forget everything about Robert, and that the rest of Selphia could too.
She loves everyone, and she knows they mean well, but sometimes the abundance of sympathetic looks— that she knows aren’t pity but still kind of feel like it— gets to be too much to her, until Frey feels claustrophobic in her own skin.
So, she does her best to ignore it. She does her best to pretend she doesn’t catch her friends gazing at her in concern when they think she isn’t paying attention. She does that now, too. Meg lingers just a bit longer by the side of Frey’s chair, as if not wanting to go back to her piano, until Frey practically shoos her away with a slightly exaggerated smile. Vishnal stares just a little bit longer than necessary at her as she tries to ask Nancy and Jones if their tree is doing well.
Frey acts immune to all of it, to all of her own worries and the way Robert still manages to linger in her mind, like if she ignores it enough it will all actually go away.
Frey’s absently listening to Kiel and Vishnal talk about a book they’d both read recently when she hears the sound of the front door opening.
She glances up from her food out of habit. To her surprise, it’s not locals that walk in but a well-dressed stranger who looks to be vaguely about her age, with blonde hair and a beige coat dusted in a layer of snow. Standing slightly behind him, though she’s too tall to really be able to properly hide behind his legs like it seems she wants to, is a young girl who looks like she could nearly be a copy-pasted version of him.
“Welcome!” comes Porcoline’s boomingly friendly voice from somewhere behind Frey. “Sit wherever you’d like, I’ll be with you in just a moment!”
Frey knows it’s rude to stare, but she can’t quite get herself to stop. Maybe it’s that she’s lived here long enough that she knows just about everyone in this town and a new pair of tourists is always interesting; maybe it’s that the blizzard has gotten so bad outside that Frey honestly didn’t expect anyone else to come in tonight until it all blows over; or maybe it’s just something in particular that’s interesting about the man standing at the front of the restaurant, analyzing all the tables like there’s some secret code about the best place to sit.
And the kid looks like she’s torn between wanting to keep hiding behind the man and wanting to sprint directly to… Frey follows the kid’s gaze towards where the Christmas tree is in the corner of the room. The very same tree that Frey had just put up a few days prior, thank you very much.
Is that what the kid’s so excited over?
It’s… honestly, it’s adorable. Frey’s not sure she’s ever seen someone look so shy and eager all at once.
For just a second the blonde man catches Frey’s eye, and that’s when she finally has the social wherewithal to stop staring like a weirdo. Her cheeks flush a bit as she goes back to eating her food with renewed vigor, like it’s the most interesting food in the world.
A few moments later she hears the sounds of footsteps coming closer and can’t help but look up again. In her periphery she spots the man and the child sitting at one end of the table, a few chairs away from anyone else and in perfect view of the tree. They both take off their outer coats and drape them over the backs of their chairs at the same time, elegantly pull back and sit down in the chairs without making any noise, and study the menus with the same serious look.
Frey has to hold back a laugh. God they’re adorable.
Though Frey does mostly keep her eyes on her food, she can’t help but listen in when Porco walks up to the pair.
Frey doesn’t have to see his face to know Porco’s wearing one of his blinding smiles.
“Bonjour, my darlings! My name is Porcoline, I’ll be your server for the evening. Is there anything I can get you started with?”
“Two waters, please, and a hot green tea.” The man has a surprisingly soft tone of voice, and it turns even softer still when he glances at the girl next to him. “Rose? Would you like anything else?”
“Could I… have a hot chocolate, please?”
“Of course you can, my sweet little angel. Do either of you have any questions about the menu, or shall I leave you two to it?”
There’s a stretch of silence, and when Frey looks up she sees that the man is looking at the girl— Rose— patiently. Rose’s cheeks are flushed pink, but after getting a small, encouraging smile from the man next to her she seems to muster up the courage to ask, “Do you have any specials?”
The cooing noise that Porcoline lets out is almost bird-like in its intensity. “What an absolutely splendiferous question, little one. Our soup de jour is French onion, and our seasonal dishes are…”
Porcoline goes on to list all of the specials, and Rose seems to shed a bit of her shyness as she asks follow-ups for just about everything. Porcoline, of course, is more than happy to comply, and he’s at the table for a solid ten minutes happily chatting away about the menu, where he sources the ingredients, what dishes he would personally recommend (which is, in fact, just about everything on the menu), and even down to what brand of cookware they use.
Whenever there’s something that Rose doesn’t know, she turns to the blonde man, who patiently explains every time. Croquembouche is a dessert made of a stack of pastry puffs, so you should save that one for dessert. Yes, you can have the pasta with wine sauce because the alcohol cooks away. Steak tartare mostly consists of diced raw beef.
Even after their food orders are taken, Rose’s questions continue, and the man answers each and every one. They’re not speaking loudly by any means— honestly, if the restaurant had any more people the background noise would probably swallow them up. Still, Frey may or may not strain her ear a little to keep listening.
What? She likes to eavesdrop a little. Sue her!
Rose asks about anything and everything: the quality of the wood table, where does he think the candlesticks were made, what type of piano is that, why does the piano bench not have back support?
Eventually the topic shifts to something Frey knows well, and she can’t help but let her ears perk even more curiously.
“How tall is that Christmas tree, do you think?”
“Hm… It’s a bit difficult to tell from here, but I’d say about six, maybe seven feet?”
“Do you think we could find out exactly?” Rose’s eyes seem to be glittering with particular interest on this topic. “And maybe how old the tree is? And how long it took to decorate? And what it smells like?”
The man huffs out a quiet, fond laugh. “You have seen a real Christmas tree before, you know.”
“But did I smell it?”
“I would imagine so.”
“But if I didn’t know I was smelling it, then I didn’t know what the smell actually was, so that doesn’t really count.”
Another breath of laughter. “I suppose so. Perhaps if you ask very politely, you can examine the tree after dinner.”
“Okay.” A pause. “Are you sure it’s six feet tall?”
And, well. Frey really can’t help but jump in this time. Maybe she can blame it on being so used to small-town living, where all of Selphia’s residents know each other and anyone jumps into just about anyone’s conversation at any given time.
“It’s six foot eight, to be specific.” When Rose’s eyes meet Frey’s, the young girl startles a bit, her cheeks growing warm. Way to stick your nose in someone else’s business, a voice in Frey’s head that sounds like Robert’s says. But instead of looking away, Rose gets that same shy-but-eager look on her face from earlier. “Normally it’d be a bit taller for a ceiling this height, but Porco really likes that big tree-topper he has, so we always try and find one a bit smaller for him. And it’s about eight years old.”
“Wow…” Rose turns to the man beside her. “It’s older than I am!”
However, the man is staring at Frey now too; not unkindly, per se, but with a sort of polite neutrality that Frey can’t read at all.
“I’m Frey, by the way,” she supplies quickly, fighting off an awkward blush from crawling up her neck. Remembering for the first time in a while that she’s not alone, she also gestures at Vishnal and Kiel, who have paused their conversation at this point. “And this is Vishnal. Sorry to butt in— we both work at the local tree farm. So if you have any other questions, I’m more than happy to answer. Oh, and that’s Kiel. He sort of just knows a lot of things in general.”
Kiel and Vishnal both give small greetings.
Rose simply continues to gape at Frey. “You work at the farm where the Christmas trees grow? All the time?”
Vishnal pitches in this time. “November and December are our busy season, of course, but there’s work to be done year-round.”
Rose goes quiet as she seems to process that information.
After a subtle nudge from Arthur, Rose’s cheeks turn red again as she goes on to say, “O-oh! Um, hello. My name is Rose. Thank you Ms. Frey and thank you Mr. Vishnal for answering my questions.”
“It’s no trouble,” Vishnal replies easily.
“We’re happy to answer anything else, too,” Frey adds on. “Our farm actually offers tours, if you’re interested. How long are you planning to be in town for?”
As easily as if she’s talking about her favorite color, Rose replies “Our deadline is until the end of Q4, to make the shareholders happy.”
Silence falls over the table. It’s broken by the blonde man scratching his cheek with an almost endearing sort of sheepishness, and it’s also the first proper emotion Frey’s seen on his face. “I… probably should take less work calls at home, I think.”
The three adults chuckle at that, as Rose simply blinks at them.
“She is right, though. I’m Arthur.” He gives a polite nod in their direction. “We were actually headed a bit further north, before we decided to pull over and try to wait out the storm. But we will still be in the general area for the next three weeks or so.”
“You should stay here!” Kiel replies quickly. “There’s a hotel not too far away, and it’s got a great view. Plus there’s a hiking trail nearby. Though they do get pretty busy this time of year…”
Then Porcoline appears all of a sudden, setting down Rose and Arthur’s dishes in front of them. “He’s right, of course— Selphia is such a lovely town, you won’t find more holiday cheer anywhere else. I have two studio apartments upstairs that I usually rent, and one of them is vacant. You’re welcome to take it for the duration of your stay.”
As Arthur seems to take this into consideration, Rose pipes up with, “Does it have a Christmas tree in it?”
“Tragically it doesn’t at the moment,” Porco responds, “But it absolutely could.”
“We can make sure of that,” Frey supplies, and she feels Vishnal nodding vigorously behind her.
Rose is staring at Arthur so hard that it’s a wonder his hair doesn’t catch on fire. “Could we, Papa?”
Papa, Frey thinks with some surprise. So he is her father.
He does look rather young for that, but who’s Frey to judge?
“I… will take that into consideration,” Arthur says at length. “I would also like to see what happens with the snowstorm. Regardless, thank you all very much for the hospitality.” He glances over at Rose. “How about we have dinner first, and then we can make decisions?”
She nods quickly and begins eating with a level of determination usually reserved for winning Olympic medals or going to war.
After writing some information down on a sticky note for Arthur in a fluffy, glittery pen that he pulls out from his apron pocket, Porco drifts away.
The man— Arthur— soon starts eating as well, while also seeming to pull up the information Porco gave him on his phone. There’s a casual, easy elegance to all of his movements that for whatever reason have Frey’s attention completely captured.
“So, what’re you guys doing in the area, if you don’t mind me asking?” And, uh-oh. Kiel’s got that gleam in his eye as he asks, and Frey and Vishnal share a look. She almost wants to warn Arthur of Kiel’s well-meaning but indomitable thirst for gossip.
Still, Arthur seems not to mind too much. “I’m here on business. My company… it works largely in real estate, and we have a client who’s considering opening a location in the area.”
“Ooh, what sort of client?”
Arthur gives an apologetic look. “I’m afraid I shouldn’t give specifics before anything is finalized.”
Rose pipes up, “Like an NDA!”
Arthur blinks, nonplussed. “I really should work from home less, shouldn’t I?”
They make small talk for the rest of the meal, and Frey’s shocked at how easy it feels. Instead of feeling like she’s pulling teeth, they all talk about pleasant things like the upcoming holidays, what sort of events Selphia holds, how long the three of them have lived here. Frey can’t help but wonder, was it always like this? Were the years of never being able to get in with Rob’s friends, of never being good enough for his family, of always feeling like she was saying the wrong thing to him… was that the exception and not the norm?
“Papa,” Rose pipes up at one point, practically boring a hole into Arthur’s skull with her stare. “I finished my food. May I go look at the tree now?”
“If you wait a few minutes I can join you.”
Rose shakes her head. “I can do it myself. I’d like to smell the tree.”
Arthur’s mouth does a fond-looking sort of twitch. “Okay. Just please be careful not to break anything, or hurt yourself.”
“Would you like us to join?” Kiel asks.
Vishnal adds, “I can show you how we know a tree is ready to be harvested.”
“Yes please!”
“After you, Princess,” Vishnal says gallantly standing up from his seat.
Practically shining with excitement, Rose gets up in a hurry, tacks on a quick “Pleaseexcusemethankyou,” to those still at the table, and beelines it to the Christmas tree, with Vishnal and Kiel following behind. They wave at Meg as they pass her, just as she’s finishing up another song.
Frey hears something that almost sounds like an amused huff and turns to see Arthur looking after Rose.
He turns and catches Frey’s eye, and there’s something terribly endearing in the amusement that crinkles the edges of his otherwise serious eyes. “She has seen a real Christmas tree before, I promise you. We may have a fake one at home, but I have pictures of her in front of the Rockefeller Center tree.”
“But,” Frey counters, her own lips twitching, “she’s never seen a Selphian tree. They’re special here.”
“Is that so?”
“If you’d like to see for yourselves, you two should come by for the tour. Porco can give you the address. If— if you end up staying here, I mean. If not, it’s called Selphia’s Merry Tree Lot, it’s very hard to miss.”
Arthur glances back over at Rose and the others. Though his glasses get caught in the light, obscuring his eyes, Frey doesn’t miss the very soft look on his face. “I think we’ll certainly have to stop by.”
And she doesn’t know why, but some feeling of premonition stirs in Frey’s chest somewhere. This holiday season is going to be extra special.