Chapter One
Brooke
I hada theory that there were two types of people in the world: those who hummed Christmas carols nonstop starting around November 27th, and those who scowled and rolled their eyes at the incessant soundtrack of each department store.
Guess which one I was?
To give you a hint: When I reached the Christmas tree lot set up along one side of Eastshore Park, near where the community gardens would be in the spring, I sat in my car for an extra thirty seconds to hear the end of “All I Want for Christmas Is You”.
Cliché, yes, but I figured I owed it to Mariah Carey, to average out all the people who immediately turn off their radios when those distinctive opening xylophone notes begin.
Radio? Did I sayradio?
Oh yes, radio. This wasEastshore Isle, and Eastshore didn’t do things normally. There was a public radio station here that actually played nonstop Christmas music, starting right after Thanksgiving, and after realizing every shop was blaring the same channel, I tuned my car’s radio to it as well.
Climbing out of my hybrid, I ruefully shook my head at myself.
Eastshoredidhave a bunch of adorable shops, each run by a friendly neighbor or cheerful helper-type—except for the body shop, because the orc who ran that was a grinch, despite being married to the world’s most cheerful baker. The shops were all decorated beautifully, and the vibe was very much that they were playing the Christmas music not to sell stuff like the stores did out in L.A., butbecause they liked it.
“Oh yeah,” I whispered to myself as I glanced around the lot. “We’re not in Kansas anymore.”
Yes, yes, I know Los Angeles is in California, not Kansas, I’m notthatgeographically challenged…but the sentiment is the same.
I’d left the big city and returned home to my mom’s small town right before Christmas. Now all I needed was to run into my high school crush, who ran the local candy-cane-bending factory or a failing poinsettia farm, and I could star in one of those wonderfully cheesy holiday movies.
I pulled my wool cap around my ears, reached into thepocket of my jacket for my gloves, and headed toward the Christmas trees, all arranged in neat rows.
Running into my high school crush would be difficult, considering I’d gone to school in Baltimore—Mom moved down here after I’d left for L.A.—and he was married with three dozen kids in Michigan somewhere.
What the hell had his name been? Ryan? Bryan? I needed to check social media. I think I’d seen a photo from his wife recently?—
Wait, what had been the point of this mental detour?Focus, Brooke.
Oh, yeah, Eastshore’s Christmas spirit.
“And nowhere is it more evident than right here,” I announced in satisfaction, pulling on the gloves to protect my poor little frostbitten fingers from the brisk air as I marched along the rows of upright trees. “Christmas trees smell amazing, don’t they?”
“Um. Yes?”
Considering I hadn’t expected an answer—I was talking to myself, and myself wouldn’t be rude enough to startle me, after all—I gave a little screech and whirled toward the voice…only to swallow back whatever I’d been about to blurt out, which resulted in me more or less choking on my own spit.
Look, if you’d been there, you wouldn’t blame me.
Because this guy? The orc who was leaning out from around the huge Fraser fir that had hidden him, looking mildly concerned as he glanced around to see who I was talking to?
Holy moly,he was gorgeous.
Big, buff, clean-cut, and I’d always had a thing for guys in glasses.
Ethan had worn contacts, and I’d hated it.
Don’t think about your ex now, not when you’re busy trying to remember how to breathe and this hunk of deliciousness is looking at you like…like…
Like I was crazy?
“Hi!” I managed. “Sorry. I…uh…I was talking to myself.”
And that’s when his lips curled upward. Not likeOh, she’s nutskinda way, but more like he was interested and wanted to hear more. “I do that too.”
