"No, not that one, Vic." The foreman does a double take at Fred's voice. "I had that one set aside for someone."

"This branch?" Vic looks down at the pathetic tree he was about to toss in the mulch pile. "No one would pay for this. Hell, you probably couldn't pay a person to take this off your hands." He chuckles, but Fred takes the barely-three-footer from him gently and smiles at it.

"It has character." He eyes the tree in his hand. "And it doesn't matter because it's on the house. They'll be happy with it."

Vic knows Fred can hardly afford to give away trees at the best of times, but the man's always been a giver and there's no point lecturing him now. Not on Christmas Eve and not when he's already had a rough few months.

"It's tiny, half dead." Vic gestures at the stock they still have left. "We won't be selling many more on Christmas Eve. Why not give away one of the nicer ones?"

Fred's already halfway to his pick up. "I like this one. Small. They'll like it."

"Charlie Brown couldn't fix that tree up, Fred!"

Fred shakes his head as he gets into the cab of the truck, tree tucked safely in the back. "Linus fixed the tree up, Vic. Charlie Brown just picked it out." He looks down the empty road leading to the diner. "Why don't you just pack up and head on home. You're right. No one's looking to buy a tree this late on Christmas Eve anyway." He closes the door. "Merry Christmas, Vic."

"Merry Christmas, Fred."

The truck takes off towards the railroad tracks and Vic shakes off where his boss is probably heading. Some bleeding hearts never learn and some broken ones never quite heal.

With nowhere to be, Vic takes his time closing up. Their stock had mostly sold through, what with most Riverdale residents preferring to buy their trees from the most reliable source in town rather than drive out to one of the lots past Greendale or - heaven forbid - buy a plastic one from Mal-Mart.

A red Ford pulls up beside him just as he places the metal cash box in the trunk of his car for safe keeping. Someone who didn't feel like cooking a Christmas Eve meal, he assumes, and was picking up some burgers. He may as well do the same. Heels click on the asphalt of the parking lot and a voice speaks behind him.

"Excuse me, sir?" a breathless voice asks. "I'm looking for Fred Andrews."

Vic's jaw drops as he takes in the woman in front of him. He's done enough business with the Blossoms over the years to know the family by name, but even then he hardly recognizes the woman in front of him. Her hair's free of its usual tight bun and she has a red dress on under a dark, unbuttoned coat, neither of which looked entirely weather appropriate. Her face drops when she recognizes him, but she picks it right back up and offers him a red lipped smile.

"Hello, Vic." The town could say what they wanted about the Blossoms, but they were business people through and through and had always taken care to know the people they hired by name. "How do you do?"

"Fine, Mrs. Blossom." He made sure to keep his gaze directed at her face, even though her open coat - and the ruby red poinsettia brooch on her lapel - made it a difficult feat. "Merry Christmas."

"And to you and yours as well." Her eyes dart around the lot. "Is Fred Andrews here? It seems my daughter purchased a tree on credit and I came here to - to speak of a payment plan."

Vic cringes. Partially at the less than pleasant memory of dealing with Cheryl Blossom the day before and partially at the thought of someone needing to set up a payment plan for a Christmas tree that would be long dead before they be able to pay it off. Rumors had gone around town about the Blossom fortune being tied up by the authorities in the wake of Clifford Blossom's suicide and the general consensus seemed to be good riddance.

Vic disagreed and he knew Fred did too. Regardless of what Cliff had done, the surviving members of the Blossom family didn't deserve to suffer as well.

"Fred left to deliver a tree," Vic says, pulling his work gloves off. He notices Mrs. Blossom's gloves are silk and seem more decorative than practical. "Didn't sound like he'd be coming back. And I'm just closing up for the day."

She sighs heavily. "I need to -"

"Mrs. Blossom, please." He pulls his regular wool gloves. "Don't worry about the tree. It's on the house."

She clicks her teeth. "The Blossoms are not a charity case."

He considers placing a hand on her shoulder, but her body language is defensive, her arms holding over her chest. "It's not charity, it's a gift." He gulps. "You've had a rough year."

Mrs. Blossom's raises her chin. Something soft passes in her eyes. "I could never," escapes her in a small voice. "I wouldn't want to get you in trouble with Mr. Andrews."

Vic chuckles. "In trouble with Fred? No such thing. He'd insist, Mrs. Blossom. I in-"

"Penelope," she says suddenly, her eyes now wide and attentive. "Please, no more formalities. Call me Penelope."

"Penelope," he says with a smile, "please don't worry about the tree. Just enjoy Christmas with your daughter."

The harsh laugh escapers her so suddenly that he jumps. "My daughter has no interest in spending Christmas with me. When I told her we do not exactly have the funds for a full celebration this year she, well," she gestures to the nearly empty lot, "she commandeered a Christmas tree and racked up quite the bill at Spacys. Her way of punishing me. And it worked I suppose." She regards him carefully. "You have children, Vic." It's not a question.

"A girl and a boy." He reaches for his wallet and pulls out a picture of his kids from two months ago on Halloween, both dressed as pirates. Penelope takes the photo from him and smiles down sweetly at it.

"Precious age," she says, although he never said their ages. She doesn't hand the picture back right away. "You will be wanting to get home to them of course. Christmas Eve is always full of excitement for children, isn't it?."

"They live down in Seaside with their mother and grandparents now." He takes the photo from Penelope as her mouth falls open. "I'll have them for a few days before school starts back up though."

There's a long pause between them which Penelope finally breaks with, "It must get lonely." He nods. "My whole life I have always felt I was a bit lonely, but given the current circumstances -" Her voice trails off and her eyes follow a family walking out of Pops.

"Penelope?"

Her neck snaps back towards him. "No one should spend Christmas alone, Vic. Neither of us." Her head tilts. "Do you plans for the evening? Dinner with a friend? Other family to see?"

He shakes his head. "Probably grab a burger to go and watch It's a Wonderful Life on TV."

Mrs. Blossom - Penelope - smirks but it fades quickly. "I have always been a Miracle on 34th Street girl myself." She waves a finger. "The original of course. But all the same, a movie and a hamburger is no way for anyone to spend their Christmas Eve."

"It's fine." Vic prepares to shove off the look he knows she's about to give him. The one of pity and sadness. The one that tells him she knows he's no more than some sad divorcee. "Not a big deal. The kids will give me a call at the crack of dawn to tell me what Santa brought them."

But the look doesn't come. Instead Penelope's hand, clad in those impractical silk gloves, grasps his forearm. Her touch is firm yet somehow soft. Loving almost. He meets her eyes and she pleads with him.

"I came here tonight to see Fred but I would be lying if I said I had altruistic intentions." She regards him carefully. "I was going to see if Fred perhaps - well he is a single man and I wanted to see if he wanted the company of another lonely soul tonight. To thank him for the tree." Her smile is curt and pleading. "Perhaps I can find another way to pay you back for the kindness you've shown me tonight, Vic." She squeezes his arm. "Or for the tree at the very least."

Vic gulps. "Mrs. Blossom -"

"Penelope," she corrects.

"Penelope, I - I don't think you're thinking clearly."

Her grip loosens. "I have a bottle of gin at home that I have been saving for the holidays and I can think of no better person to share it with." She lets go of him. "I have also been honing my culinary skills and have an empty house, no one to cook for." Her mouth gaps for a second and she catches her breath. "I understand if you do not follow but - but I would like you to stop by my home tonight, Vic. It is the very least I can offer you. My - my company."

Without another word she walks back to her red Ford. She gives him a look that's half seductive, half pleading before flipping her hair over her shoulder and closing the door behind her.

Her touch practically burns on his arm. He waits until her car clears the lot before jumping into his own.

Penelope was right. No one should spend Christmas alone.