“He will fill your mouth with laughter and your lips with shouts of joy.” ~ Job 8:21 ~
1
An upbeat Christmas melody drifted through Cutler Nursery as Dillon pulled into the lot spattered with cars. He switched off the ignition and opened the door of his pickup to the bite of a chilly breeze. Though Thanksgiving leftovers had barely been devoured, winter seemed determined to wake from its nap and make an early arrival along the streets of Clover Cove.
Dillon’s boots crunched over gravel as he wove his way through a cluster of Frasier firs that had been delivered by flatbed trucks to the nursery that morning. They now flanked the entrance in a winding labyrinth. Dillon and his brothers, Reese and Wyatt, had spent the better part of the day using lengths of waterproof ribbon to organize and color code the fragrant, fresh-cut trees. Sizes ranged from a flurry of modest three-footers to a majestic sixteen-foot goliath that his sister, Maddie, had spent a good hour trimming with blinker lights and shimmering ornaments in red, silver, and gold. Her handiwork was sure to draw customers before one of the larger local businesses snatched up the fir for their foyer.
Or perhaps his second eldest brother, Reese, would take the tree home to his wife, Peyton. It was, after all, their daughter, Lissa’s, first Christmas, and the farmhouse they’d recently purchased along Clover Creek would provide a perfect backdrop with open cathedral ceilings that soared above an expansive great room meant for family gatherings.
Dillon paused for a moment, inhaling the pure scent of Christmas with a touch of longing. All of his siblings had found their life-mates—Wyatt with Kami, Reese with Peyton, and Maddie with Gunnar. Talk about being the odd man out. His ego still stung from Jacqueline’s brusque and unexpected brush-off when the time came for her to return to New York City. They’d spent the past year working together at an internship in Asheville, North Carolina, and Dillon had thought she might be the one. But she had her eye on city life, choosing to beautify the concrete jungle. Dillon couldn’t stomach the thought of all those people and the congestion they brought. So, in the end, God seemed to have other plans.
Dillon shook off the thought as he continued to wind his way through the maze of trees. The crisp, sweet scent of evergreens lingered, evoking memories of Christmases past when his father was still here with them and the family all together. A wave of nostalgia swept through, and Dillon paused to grasp a tree branch. The soft pliable feel told him the boughs were fresh, the tree ready for a home where it was sure to stand as a joyous symbol of Christmas cheer.
Sticky sap clung to Dillon’s fingers, and he brought his hand close to his face, inhaling the distinct aroma.
Dad had loved the holiday. He’d be proud to have Dillon home again with a master’s degree in plant sciences tucked neatly beneath his belt. Dad would be proud, as well, to know Dillon joined in the day-to-day operation of the family’s nursery. It had been Dad’s dream to grow the nursery into a business worthy of recognition. That recognition had come recently, in the form of a cover article in the nationally acclaimed Horticulture Today Magazine . Now, the entire Cutler clan had come home to Clover Cove once again—Wyatt, Reese, Maddie, and Dillon himself—to protect their father’s dream, keep it alive and growing.
Dillon exited the grove to find his mother straining to organize a parade of red and white poinsettias along the top tier of a triangular display just inside the main greenhouse.
“Dillon, would you mind to give me a hand here?”
“Sure, Mom.”
Foil in festive shades of gold, silver, and cherry-red that cocooned the half-gallon pots sparkled beneath the nursery’s spotlights and, though his mother stretched to her full height, she barely reached the highest shelf. Dillon strode to close the distance between them,
1
An upbeat Christmas melody drifted through Cutler Nursery as Dillon pulled into the lot spattered with cars. He switched off the ignition and opened the door of his pickup to the bite of a chilly breeze. Though Thanksgiving leftovers had barely been devoured, winter seemed determined to wake from its nap and make an early arrival along the streets of Clover Cove.
Dillon’s boots crunched over gravel as he wove his way through a cluster of Frasier firs that had been delivered by flatbed trucks to the nursery that morning. They now flanked the entrance in a winding labyrinth. Dillon and his brothers, Reese and Wyatt, had spent the better part of the day using lengths of waterproof ribbon to organize and color code the fragrant, fresh-cut trees. Sizes ranged from a flurry of modest three-footers to a majestic sixteen-foot goliath that his sister, Maddie, had spent a good hour trimming with blinker lights and shimmering ornaments in red, silver, and gold. Her handiwork was sure to draw customers before one of the larger local businesses snatched up the fir for their foyer.
Or perhaps his second eldest brother, Reese, would take the tree home to his wife, Peyton. It was, after all, their daughter, Lissa’s, first Christmas, and the farmhouse they’d recently purchased along Clover Creek would provide a perfect backdrop with open cathedral ceilings that soared above an expansive great room meant for family gatherings.
Dillon paused for a moment, inhaling the pure scent of Christmas with a touch of longing. All of his siblings had found their life-mates—Wyatt with Kami, Reese with Peyton, and Maddie with Gunnar. Talk about being the odd man out. His ego still stung from Jacqueline’s brusque and unexpected brush-off when the time came for her to return to New York City. They’d spent the past year working together at an internship in Asheville, North Carolina, and Dillon had thought she might be the one. But she had her eye on city life, choosing to beautify the concrete jungle. Dillon couldn’t stomach the thought of all those people and the congestion they brought. So, in the end, God seemed to have other plans.
Dillon shook off the thought as he continued to wind his way through the maze of trees. The crisp, sweet scent of evergreens lingered, evoking memories of Christmases past when his father was still here with them and the family all together. A wave of nostalgia swept through, and Dillon paused to grasp a tree branch. The soft pliable feel told him the boughs were fresh, the tree ready for a home where it was sure to stand as a joyous symbol of Christmas cheer.
Sticky sap clung to Dillon’s fingers, and he brought his hand close to his face, inhaling the distinct aroma.
Dad had loved the holiday. He’d be proud to have Dillon home again with a master’s degree in plant sciences tucked neatly beneath his belt. Dad would be proud, as well, to know Dillon joined in the day-to-day operation of the family’s nursery. It had been Dad’s dream to grow the nursery into a business worthy of recognition. That recognition had come recently, in the form of a cover article in the nationally acclaimed Horticulture Today Magazine . Now, the entire Cutler clan had come home to Clover Cove once again—Wyatt, Reese, Maddie, and Dillon himself—to protect their father’s dream, keep it alive and growing.
Dillon exited the grove to find his mother straining to organize a parade of red and white poinsettias along the top tier of a triangular display just inside the main greenhouse.
“Dillon, would you mind to give me a hand here?”
“Sure, Mom.”
Foil in festive shades of gold, silver, and cherry-red that cocooned the half-gallon pots sparkled beneath the nursery’s spotlights and, though his mother stretched to her full height, she barely reached the highest shelf. Dillon strode to close the distance between them,
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