Chapter One
Clara
Me, texting my friend who convinced me to leave the house today: “This is the worst Tinder date in the history of Tinder dates. I should have stayed home and watched Lord of the Rings again.”
Reba doesn’t reply right away. She’s busy with her long-distance boyfriend Deacon, plus she’s totally over my homebody ways.
Earlier, while practically pushing me out the door, Reba had half-joked, “I hate to break it to you, sweetie, But Legolas is never going to be the one to de-virgin you. You have to put yourself out there for the actual human males.”
My freezing hand stuffs my phone back in my puffy coat’s pocket, and I look up, scanning my surroundings.
What I had hoped might be a casual meet-up for festive fun at the Christmas tree farm has turned out to be a whole mess.
I should be sipping hot cocoa in the farm’s faux North Pole village right now. Perhaps listening to carolers, making a wreath in Santa’s Workshop, or browsing ornaments in the gift shop. Holly Berry Farm is a whole experience that people in the city drive their families to on weekends for wholesome fun. And the guy had agreed to my suggestion.
Yet what are we doing instead? Wandering off the farm’s property and into the neighboring woods. And why do I not simply let this idiot get lost and freeze to death? Probably because he’d been hitting his flask pretty hard since the moment he arrived, and it’s only 11 a.m. He might be an alcoholic, a fact that tugs at my perhaps overly compassionate heart. Dammit.
My tattered thread of hope for a human romantic interest had snapped as soon as I’d smelled Daren’s breath upon arrival. “So…you wanna make a wreath and then pick out a tree, or…?” I’d said, determined to make the best of this day now that I had driven 30 minutes out of the city.
I had watched him pour vodka from a flask into a cup of the free apple cider. That should have been my first red flag to turn around and go home.
Did I? No.
Instead, I proceeded to watch my date dash off to hop on the hay wagon, seemingly eager to take the tractor ride out to the tree field right away. “Let’s go get us a fuckin’ TREE!” He shouted this as if he was an emcee at a wrestling match, and everyone was staring. At me, not him. Because I’m a woman, and I’m supposed to be in charge of a man’s behavior?
Fuck my life.
As soon as the tractor approached the field of available trees, Daren bolted off the wagon and wandered off…in the wrong direction.
Right into the Elder Woods. What a dumbass.
I’m not superstitious, but even I know you don’t go wandering into the Elder Woods.
“Daren, are you aware that tree shopping involves actually being on the premises of trees that are for sale? And does not entail wandering into the very haunted-looking nearby woods?”
Seems no one is interested in responding to my cries for help today.
Oh, but Daren does utter some vodka-soaked gibberish to himself as we hike deeper and deeper into the woods, farther and farther away from the adorable village.
I’m going to kill Reba. “’Go to Holly Berry Farm,’ she said. ‘It’ll be fun and safe,” she said.
I mean, I won’t literally kill my best friend. But I intend to remind her as soon as I get home that spending another Saturday afternoon with Orlando Bloom — while wearing my homemade Legolas tee-shirt and swooning at the man’s pointy ears and flawless skin — is a much better use of my time than spending a single second with a human man. I lay the blame for my sexual and romantic fixations at the feet of J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson. One is responsible for my wish to live in a fantasy world, and the other is responsible for the movie that awakened my sexuality.
And now here I am, following this drunk idiot into the woods. Just then, my phone pings.
Reba: “LotR for the 87th time this year is not an option. The fresh air will do you some good.”
My parents also thought I needed to get out of the house more. When, as a child, I balked at team sports, they dragged me to martial arts classes. Turns out, I sort of liked those lessons, so I kept going with it to keep my parents happy. It was a pleasant enough trade-off to living the rest of my life with my face in a book.
Me: “Current situation: following his drunk ass into the Elder Woods for god knows what reason.”
Reba: “Wut?”
Me: “I should turn around and let him get lost, but I have zero sense of self-preservation despite my martial arts training, evidently.”
Reba: “:(“
Me: “You and Deacon are walking around the apartment naked, aren’t you?”
Reba: “Maybeee?”
Me: “Ugh.”
Reba: “We’ll get dressed if you decide to come home, I promise.”