Falling for the Gun-Toting Accountant

2. Holly Sings Off-Key

"It's a holly jolly Christmas!" Holly Layton sang at full volume. Did she sound good? Probably not. But this was her favorite song in the whole wide world, and she made it her mission in life to belt it out every time she heard it. "It's the best time of the year!"

"Hol-ly," her brother groaned, sticking a finger in one ear. "Does it have to be every time?"

"I don't get to hear this song for eleven months out of a year. Ten if I'm lucky. So yes, it has to be every time."

"Headphones?" Wreath suggested.

"Earplugs?" Holly returned.

"I need to hear the customers."

"I need to serenade the customers."

"No, you don't."

Holly pouted. "Why are you such a Scrooge anyway? You're the only Layton who doesn't love Christmas."

"I like Christmas just fine. It's the whole consumerist retail aspect of it I don't like."

"Uh, you're talking about our livelihood here. Our family legacy. In case you haven't noticed, we sell Christmas trees."

"Yes, I noticed, thank you very much." Wreath shook his head and ambled to the tree lot's front gate to greet an elderly woman tottering across the parking lot.

She watched as her older brother helped the lady over the uneven surface of the entryway. The man had a track record of frowning at every blow-up snowman she bought and sneering at the way she admired every festive window display, but underneath his grumpy exterior beat an honest-to-goodness heart of gold, cliché and all.

She whistled along with the next song as she restocked the ornaments, making sure to arrange the colors so they formed a nice rainbow on the shelves. Pretty.

"Hey, Holly," Wreath pointed to the front gate. "Some leaves blew in overnight."

"On it!" She and her brother may have been night and day, but they at least agreed on cleanliness. She grabbed a broom and headed to the front.

She had just swept a small pile when she noticed the woman standing at the far edge of the parking lot. Long, black hair cascaded out of a baby blue knitted cap. Her lips were pursed to the side like she was evaluating the place. Dark, uncertain eyes darted down at a flyer in her hands.

Holly recognized the yellow piece of paper because she'd designed it herself. She leaned the broom against the fence and strode closer to the woman.

"This is the right place," she called from about twenty feet away.

The woman turned startled eyes to her. "Excuse me?"

Holly pointed to the flyer. "This is the Layton Christmas Tree lot. I keep telling Pop we need a bigger sign, but..." She shrugged.

"Oh. Thank you." The woman glanced at the sports watch on her slender wrist. "You're probably getting ready to close. I'll just go."

"Don't be silly! We open late." Holly took a few steps back toward the gate, but paused when the woman didn't follow. "I promise not to bite. Unless you're a shortbread cookie. Because I'll definitely bite into those."

A shy smile crept onto the woman's face.

Holly found herself staring. Even in the waning light of dusk, her skin seemed touched with gold. She had the alluring features of a mixed-race Asian woman, and with that smile aimed at her, Holly was sure another cliché had just happened to her. She wasn't sure which one, but it probably involved skipping heartbeats or something. Maybe skipping rope.

The woman took a hesitant step forward, so Holly silently shook some sense into herself and led the way back to the tree lot.

"What kind of tree are you looking for?" Holly asked once they'd passed through the gate. "We've got all kinds. Spruce, pine, fir, even some cypresses if you want a unique look."

The woman's eyes roamed across the various trees. "I wasn't really... I don't know."

Holly glanced at the yellow flyer still in the woman's hands. On a hunch, she asked, "Where'd you get the flyer?"

"Millie's, um." She seemed to falter, as if realizing the name of the place embarrassed her.

"Ah! Millie gave it to you." This woman's trepidation made sense now. She wasn't really here for a tree. She never understood why Millie didn't put the flyers on the counter like a normal store proprietor. She only handed them out to people she wanted the Laytons to meet. "Let me guess. You're here to see Wreath."

"Wreath?" The woman's eyes stopped roaming and settled on her.

"My brother. I'm sure Millie calls him Mr. Hot Manflesh or something." Holly rolled her eyes.

There was that shy smile again. "She actually referred to him as 'that fine, fine man'."

Holly laughed. "That sounds like Millie. I love her to death, but her attempts at setting us up with possible dates are so obvious."

"I'm not—" The mystery woman's cheeks colored prettily. "She said I should get a tree. That it would—" Again she stopped herself, her perfectly shaped eyebrows drawing together. "Never mind. I think I made a mistake."

She whirled around and began hurrying back to the parking lot.

"Wait!" Holly wasn't in the habit of touching strangers, but something made her reach out and grab the woman's elbow.

She stopped, glancing down at Holly's hand with surprise.

Holly let go. "You do need a tree. Maybe a small one. Modest, but proud."

The woman's head tilted a bit, seemingly intrigued. "How do you know?"

Holly smiled. "I may not have a lot of skills in life, but matching people with the right tree is one of my specialties. If you want to see a strong, handsome man, you go see Wreath. If you want the perfect tree, you come see me." She paused. "So, which will it be?"

So what'll it be, a man, a tree, or... A VOTE!