Millionaire Visits Christmas Tree Farm, Never Thought Owner’s Daughter Would Be His Perfect Season
From the Ballroom to the Bonfire
The following morning, Maverick found himself returning to the Bailey Christmas tree farm, ostensibly to check on the delivery status but really hoping to see Daisy again.
He found her supervising the loading of the last few trees onto a flatbed truck.
“Couldn’t stay away?” she called when she spotted him, her smile causing that same strange flutter in his chest.
“Just ensuring a smooth process,” he replied, approaching her with two coffee cups in hand. “Peace offering for making you work on such a tight deadline.”
She accepted the coffee gratefully. “How did you know I take it black?”
“You strike me as someone who appreciates things in their purest form,” Maverick replied.
Daisy took a sip, studying him over the rim of her cup. “You’re not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“Someone more…” She hesitated, searching for the right word.
“Arrogant? Cold? Demanding?” Maverick supplied.
“I was going to say corporate,” Daisy laughed. “But you just provided an interesting glimpse into your self-perception.”
Maverick found himself laughing too, a genuine laugh that felt foreign to his own ears. When was the last time he’d laughed like this?
“The trees will be at the Plaza by noon,” Daisy said, checking her watch. “I should follow in the second truck to oversee unloading.”
“I’ll meet you there,” Maverick said, surprised by his own eagerness.
At the Plaza, Maverick watched as Daisy directed the placement of each tree with precision and care, consulting frequently with Monica, his event planner.
The ballroom was being transformed into a winter wonderland, and the Fraser firs were central to the design.
“Your Christmas tree farmer has excellent taste,” Monica murmured to Maverick as they observed Daisy instructing the workers on the proper handling of the trees. “And she knows more about event aesthetics than most designers I’ve worked with.”
“She’s not my Christmas tree farmer,” Maverick protested automatically.
Monica raised an eyebrow. “Then why haven’t you stopped staring at her for the past hour?”
Maverick had no answer for that. After the trees were positioned to Daisy’s satisfaction, Maverick approached her.
“Would you like to have lunch? There’s a great restaurant just down the street.”
Daisy looked down at her work clothes: jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt covered in pine needles and sap. “I’m hardly dressed for any restaurant near the Plaza.”
“We could do takeout then,” Maverick suggested, reluctant to end their time together. “There’s a private garden on the rooftop. It’s heated year-round.”
Daisy seemed about to refuse, then nodded. “Okay, but I’m buying. Consider it a business lunch to discuss your tree maintenance needs.”
The rooftop garden was enclosed in glass, offering panoramic views of Central Park while protecting them from the December chill. Snow fell gently outside the windows, creating the illusion that they were inside a snow globe.
Over sandwiches and soup, Maverick found himself telling Daisy about the foundation, about his father’s declining health, and about the pressure of running both the family business and the charity.
“You never talk about yourself, do you?” Daisy observed after he deflected another personal question.
“There’s not much to tell,” Maverick shrugged. “Work consumes most of my life.”
“That sounds lonely,” Daisy said simply. The observation, delivered without judgment, hit Maverick with unexpected force.
“What about you?” he asked, eager to shift attention away from himself.
“Always planned on running the family tree farm,” Daisy shook her head, breaking off a piece of bread.
“I studied environmental science at Cornell, worked for a conservation nonprofit in Washington for a few years, came back when Mom got sick, and never left.”
“Do you regret it?” Maverick asked, genuinely curious.
“Sometimes,” Daisy admitted. “But I love the farm, and Dad needs me. Especially since Mom died. The farm was their dream together.”
“What’s your dream?” Maverick pressed.
Daisy looked out at the snow-covered park. “To find balance, I guess. Between honoring their legacy and creating my own.”
They talked for hours, long after their food was gone. Maverick cancelled two meetings, silencing his phone after the third call from his assistant.
“I should get back,” Daisy said finally, reluctantly. “Dad will be wondering where I am.”
“Of course,” Maverick said. “Can I drive you?”
“My truck is here, remember?” Daisy smiled. “But thank you.”
“Friday,” Maverick said. “The gala. You’ll still come?”
“I said I would,” Daisy replied, gathering her things. “Though I’m still not sure why you want me there.”
Because you make me feel like a real person, not a walking bank account, Maverick thought, but didn’t say. Instead, he simply replied, “Because it wouldn’t be the same without you.”
The night of the gala arrived, and Maverick found himself checking the entrance every few minutes, ignoring the socialites and business associates vying for his attention.
The ballroom was magnificent, the Bailey trees adorned with thousands of twinkling lights and crystal ornaments, but Maverick could focus only on watching the door.
When Daisy finally appeared, Maverick nearly dropped his champagne glass. She wore a simple dark green velvet dress that matched her eyes, her auburn hair swept into an elegant updo.
She looked beautiful but also unmistakably herself, making no attempt to blend in with the designer-clad crowd.
“You came,” he said, reaching her side, perhaps a bit too quickly to maintain his usual composed image.
“I said I would,” Daisy replied, a nervous smile playing at her lips. “Although I’m already regretting these shoes. They’re borrowed from my cousin and about half a size too small.”
Maverick laughed, offering his arm. “Then let’s find you a seat, after I show you how magnificent your trees look.”
He guided her through the ballroom, introducing her proudly to board members and donors as the “artistic genius behind our winter wonderland theme.”
Daisy handled each introduction with grace, though Maverick noticed her occasional glances toward the exits.
“Overwhelming?” he asked quietly as they moved between groups.
“A bit,” she admitted. “I keep calculating how many local food banks could be funded with what’s being spent on this single evening.”
Rather than being offended, Maverick found her honesty refreshing. “About thirty-seven,” he said.
“But tonight, we’ll raise funds to help over five thousand children get specialized cancer treatments.”
Daisy looked at him with new appreciation. “You actually ran the numbers.”
“I always do,” Maverick replied. “It helps me sleep at night.”
As the evening progressed, Maverick watched Daisy gradually relax, even joining him for a dance despite her uncomfortable shoes. Her hand felt right in his, her body fitting perfectly against him as they moved to the music.
“Everyone’s staring,” Daisy murmured, her cheeks flushed.
“Let them,” Maverick replied. “You’re the most interesting person in the room.”
When it came time for Maverick’s speech, he found himself deviating from his carefully prepared remarks, speaking instead about tradition and legacy, about finding meaning beyond material success.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Daisy watching him intently, a small smile on her lips.
After the speech, as guests began writing checks and making pledges, Maverick found Daisy examining one of the trees they had selected together.
“Ready to escape?” he asked quietly.
She turned to him, surprise evident in her expression. “Don’t you have important people to thank? Hands to shake? Donations to collect?”
“Monica can handle it,” Maverick said decisively.
“I’ve put in my appearance, made my speech, written my check. Now I’d like to spend time with the one person here who doesn’t care about any of that.”
Daisy’s eyes widened. “Where would we go?”
“I have an idea,” Maverick said, offering his hand.
An hour later, they were back at the Bailey Christmas tree farm, now closed for the evening but illuminated by strings of white lights that outlined the paths between the rows of trees.
Maverick had called ahead, and Daisy’s father, now recovered from his flu, had arranged for a small bonfire and left them a thermos of hot chocolate before discreetly retiring to the main house.
“This is much better than the Plaza,” Maverick sighed, settling onto a log beside the fire.
He had discarded his tuxedo jacket and loosened his tie, while Daisy had exchanged her painful heels for a pair of snow boots, her elegant dress now paired incongruously with practical footwear.
“Why did you bring me here?” Daisy asked, passing him a mug of hot chocolate.
“Because you light up when you’re here,” Maverick said simply. “And I like seeing you that way.”
Daisy studied him for a moment, then asked the question that had clearly been on her mind all evening. “What is this, Maverick? What are we doing?”
“I have absolutely no idea,” Maverick admitted with a laugh.
“I only know that meeting you has been the most real thing that’s happened to me in years. Maybe ever.”
“You don’t know me,” Daisy pointed out.
“I know enough,” Maverick replied. “I know you value legacy and tradition but aren’t bound by them. I know you see beauty in things most people take for granted.”
“I know you’re kind without being weak, principled without being judgmental.”
“Those are projections,” Daisy said softly. “I’m just a person, Maverick. I have flaws. I get cranky when I’m tired. I argue with my dad about modernizing the business. I sometimes eat ice cream for breakfast.”
“Now I’m even more intrigued,” Maverick grinned, reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered against her cheek.
“I’d like to know all of it, Daisy. The real you, not the version you think I want to see.”
“And I’d like to know the real you,” Daisy replied. “Not Maverick West, millionaire philanthropist, but just Maverick.”
“It’s been so long since I’ve just been myself, I’m not sure I remember how,” Maverick admitted, his voice low.
“I think you do,” Daisy said, leaning closer. “I think that’s who I’ve been talking to these past few days.”
Under the stars, surrounded by Christmas trees and the scent of pine, Maverick kissed her. It was gentle at first, tentative, but quickly deepened into something that felt both new and familiar, as if they had been waiting for this moment without knowing it.
