Finding the perfect Christmas tree isn’t for the faint of heart. The last thing you want to do is settle on a tree and cut it down, only to locate one you like better as you make your way back to the front of the tree lot. That’s why I always make sure I check out each tree before choosing “The One.”

Lara and I walk up and down the tidy rows, taking in the enormous selection and weighing the pros and cons of the different varieties. We’ve agreed that a blue spruce will look best in the Blind Pig and that her apartment is the perfect place for a nice jack pine.

Atticus, looking even more ridiculous in a heavy blue parka and matching blue booties than he does in his natural hairless state, is having the time of his life. When I spoke to the farm owners to arrange to have the two trees we were picking out transported to the Blind Pig, they’d fawned over the little dog and said he was allowed to run around off leash.

Atticus was taking full advantage of the situation by chasing every squirrel, rabbit, and chipmunk he came across and darting under each tree we passed.

Lara is another story. She’s answered my questions, but otherwise she’s been quiet, like she’s living inside her head rather than in the present. She’s been this way since she kissed me in the barn.

I drop an arm around her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

I expect her to tell me she’s fine.

“Why were you looking for a surrogate?”

I wondered how long it would take for her to ask about that.

“My whole life I’ve always wanted kids, but it never seemed to happen. This summer I was driving past a house and saw this guy in the yard playing catch with his kids and I had this moment of blinding panic. Time suddenly seemed like it was going too fast and I was afraid that if I didn’t have a kid soon, I never would. Since I wasn’t involved with anyone, using a surrogate and a fertility clinic seemed like the best solution.”

I jam a hand through my hair and capture Lara’s gaze with mine. “This is such a strange conversation to be having with the woman who’s pregnant with my child.”

“It’s not one I ever imagined having.” Lara chuckles and bends to scoop up a handful of snow. She packs it into a ball and tosses it. Atticus’s belly all but drags across the snow as he chases after it.

“Did you want to have kids?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I guess so, but I’ve always thought of them in kind of an abstract way. They were like these things I wanted to have someday, maybe, but I wasn’t like you. They weren’t something I’ve ever really thought I needed to have in my life.” She smirks and shakes her head. “Now, it looks like the matter has been taken out of my hands.”

I brace myself and ask the one question I’ve needed to ask since yesterday, but haven’t been able to. “How do you feel about this baby?”

The amusement drains from her face, and just like that the world seems like a dimmer place. I’ve always heard about people who had smiles so bright they lit up the room, but before meeting Lara I’ve never known someone with that power.

“Honestly? I’m still having a hard time processing it.” Her hand moves to her stomach, covering it. “It didn’t seem real until yesterday, when I saw the ultrasound. Now I can’t stop thinking about what’s growing inside of me, relying on me for everything.” She shivers. “To tell you the truth, it’s really scary. And the damned pregnancy hormones aren’t helping. I hate how my emotions keep yo-yoing all over the place.”

We walk for a few steps in silence, each considering what we’ve learned about the other.

“I do know one thing,” Lara says, her voice soft. “I’m not acting as your surrogate. I’m not going to have this child and let you whisk him, or her, off to North Carolina. I will be a part of their life.”

“I didn’t expect anything else.” I stop and turn to her. I wait until she’s looking into my eyes and really listening before I continue. “Don’t, not even for a moment, think I’m going to try taking this child away from you.”

She shoves her hands into her pockets. “And how is that going to work with us living in two different states? It’s not like we can swap him back and forth every other week.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her that I have a plan, but I don’t. It’s too soon. My idea will send her running for the hills and that’s the last thing I want to do. “We have seven months to work something out. We just need to give it time.”

Lara starts walking again. I fall into step beside her.

We round a corner and skid to a stop. “Perfect,” Lara breathes.

She’s right. The blue spruce before us stands at least eight feet tall and is nearly as wide as it is tall. The branches grow close together. The tree is stunning; add a few lights, some tinsel, and place a star on top, and it’s going to be a work of art.

“Is this the one you want?”

Lara looks awestruck. “It’s way better than anything I’ve seen in any store or catalog,” she whispers.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” I drop to my knees and prepare to wiggle under the giant beast of a tree. “Now do you see why I said you needed a real tree?”

This is the only part about getting a real tree that I really hate, cutting it down. If I wasn’t so hung up on the experience, I’d pay someone to cut it for me.

The way the tree is shaped means that the ground directly beneath it is dry and free of snow. But the same low-hanging branches that will look amazing once it’s in a tree stand make it nearly impossible to get under the damn thing.

As I wiggle under the tree, the needles tangle in my hair and poke at my neck’s bare skin. Snow works its way between the waistband of my jeans and my skin. I imagine that this is the tree’s way of fighting back, of trying to discourage me from cutting it down.

Ignoring the discomfort, I finally find the trunk and start sawing, cursing the awkward position that means a banged elbow each time I run the serrated teeth across the bark. The sharp scent of sap fills the air.

After what seems like an eternity, the tree starts to wobble. One or two more swipes and it’ll topple.

“Lara,” I yell, hoping she hasn’t wandered off.

“Yeah?”

“Grab your dog. I don’t want him crushed when this baby comes down.”

She doesn’t respond but I hear the crunch of her boots in the snow, hear her call Atticus’s name. The branches start to feel like they’re reaching for me as my claustrophobia kicks in.

“Any time now,” I mutter to myself. How long can it possibly take to make sure that dog isn’t in danger?

“He’s safe,” she finally yells.

“’Bout time,” I mutter and run the teeth of the saw across the trunk one more time. Above me, the tree shudders and starts to tip.

“Timber,” Lara yells at the top of her lungs as it falls to the ground.

Relieved to be out in the open again, I wipe the sweat off my face and start to sit up, only to get a huge wad of snow in the face.