Page 6 of Cabin Fever Baby
Kane nodded to a section of trees with much larger trees. “If you want something like this, you might want to go with our delivery service.”
“Holy crap.” I craned my neck at the perfect deep green tree that had massive branches that stretched out, even making Kane look short.
“She’s…” He held up a finger and pulled out his phone again. He dug into the branches and pulled out a tag. “Number 47 is an eleven-footer. Sounds about right for your space. Gives you room for a star. And when we do the fresh cut, it takes a few inches too.”
“Perfect. And that is not going to fit in my Subaru.”
He laughed. “Then let’s get you set up with an appointment. I’m actually on the delivery schedule tomorrow. I’ll bring Bells with me, and we’ll get you all set up and the tree perfectly straight.”
“Then you have yourself a deal.” I held out my hand.
“You didn’t even ask a price.”
“It’s for my family. It doesn’t matter how much it costs.”
“You must have one helluva family.”
“You have no idea.” I laughed. “Now let’s wrap this baby up.”
“Hold on there. I’ll cut it fresh tomorrow.”
I frowned and looked around at all the people wandering around. “I don’t want anyone to take this one. I like this one.” I petted the soft bristles. “I’m already bonded with her. I think I’m going to call her Agnes.”
He threw his head back. “Well, we’ll make sure Agnes is all yours.” He hit something on his phone, and it made a little jingle bell noise. “Officially.”
I went on my toes and peeked at his phone, then I grinned up at him. “Sold.”
“Sold toMoana—er Ocean…”
“Hawkins.”
“Well, Ocean Hawkins, you’ve got yourself a tree.”
I laced my fingers together under my chin. “I do. And she’s perfect!”
TWO
1 Week til Christmas
Gettingready for the big mamma jamma tree was another thing entirely.
Kane helped me to the SUV with the six mini trees I had in mind for each of my sibling’s bedrooms—as well as mine—which left my car smelling like Christmas. And my wallet wincing since I’d definitely dropped well over a grand in the end.
Even my credit card company sent me a text making sure the spending was mine.
Good thing I could afford it. Being a wrangler—aka handler, goalie, and all-around personal assistant to Quentin—meant I was well compensated for my pain and suffering.
He wasn’t as much of a handful as he used to be. When Q’s first single, “Never Gonna Shake Me Loose” skyrocketed on social media, he had been far too young to deal with the intense fame. He’d gone from messing around in his room on his guitar in between bartending jobs to being one of the most in demand new talents of the decade.
He’d never even played on a small stage, for God’s sake.
The flurry of agents, managers, and record companies coming at him had been overwhelming. I was his big sister and didn’t want him to get ripped off. Being a music lover, and obsessive music documentary watcher, I had been far too nervous he’d end up in a bad deal.
I’m still not sure how I ended up being his assistant. I’d go so far as to say I was his manager, but his actual manager Bethany Kahn would probably disagree. She’d been as up and coming as Quentin was, and I’d had a good feeling about her. She had just enough shark in her to be hungry, without being smug like the bloodless people at Trident who had tried to scoop up Q the minute he’d gone viral.
In the end, we’d gone with Ripper Records. Then my brother met Rory Ferguson and had never looked back.
Q was too busy making his art to care about what was going on behind the scenes. Some people were obsessed with controlling everything, but not my little brother. All he cared about was writing and performing. He was one of the few artists I knew who actually loved being in the studio.