— @northroxtonstart
Christian thumbed over the bruised, cut knuckles of his right hand, slightly wincing as torn skin caught on his rough movement. Luckily, he could pass them off as part of the job — the one where he harvested Christmas trees at Evergreen Passage, and not the one where he smuggled drugs from across the Canadian border. It was the latter that caused his current situation, a shipment mishap that resulted in a physical altercation. One of many.
Finally, catching the eye of another, he shoved his hands into the pockets of the large black ski jacket covering his frame. “Damn tree nearly fell on me,” he shrugged, painting on an uncharacteristically friendly grin. “Have you been up to Evergreen to get one yet? I know it’s not even Thanksgiving, but the good ones go fast.” Christian had learned long ago that in order to do what he did successfully, he needed to blend in. He needed to be nothing more than the humble, maybe slightly mysterious, tree farmer.