I shove my hands in my pockets and start walking to Steve’s General Store, trying to ignore all the happy people around me.
My bear is in full-on giddy mode, pacing around and whimpering to get out. All the smells… All the new people… It’s getting him all joyful and upbeat. He really thinks his mate is in this crowd… What a dope.
Even if I did have a mate out here—which I don’t—I wouldn’t want any woman who celebrates this moronic holiday. No, thank you.
I feel my grizzly inside, prancing to the surface, asking, no begging, to be let out.
Fuck off, I tell him.Not going to happen.
He whimpers and circles inside, not taking no for an answer.
What the fuck did I say, I roar at him.Stop making this shitty day worse.
He continues pacing. He doesn’t ask again, but he doesn’t go too far either.
I suck in a breath and curse when I see how packed Steve’s General Store is.
“You gotta be shitting me,” I whisper when the lady at the door says that I have to wait in line to get in.
Wait. In. Line.
I’m going to have a freaking stroke.
It hasn’t always been like this. I’ve been living here my whole life, but over the past five years, this town has gone downhill fast.
It all happened when this damn reporter—Veronica Weaver—wrote an article about our town for a popular tourist magazine. It brought so much damn attention to this town, and it brought a lot of investment money too.
All of a sudden, there were hotels and inns going up, and the park was being revitalized, and new restaurants and shops and activities for the tourists kept popping up everywhere like weeds.
This town—Wildpeak Village—is now homebase to three ski hills in the area and a magnet for annoying people who love Christmas.
“Screw this,” I grumble as I leave the line and burst past the lady guarding the door.
“Hey!” she says. “You have to wait in line.”
This ismytown. I don’t wait in line.
Inside is so crowded, I get heart palpitations. People areeverywhere, grabbing shit off the racks like it’s the end of the world and this is the last supply run, although instead of usefulsupplies, they’re grabbing scented candles, fancy over-priced chocolates, and sparkly Christmas crap.
I push past everyone and head for the ice-fishing section. Steve always has a good selection of lures and gear. He’s one of the only people I can tolerate in this town.
Meanwhile, my inner grizzly is bouncing around like an over-excited golden retriever, smelling every woman I pass, trying to get a whiff of his ‘one true mate.’
Like I said, he’s a dope.
My heart stops when I arrive at the ice fishing section and see that it’s all cleared out. “What. The. Fuck.”
The Grizzly Gulper Jigs, Northern Howler Poppers, and River Ghost Rattler fishing lures are gone. In their place, I see these weird stuffed monsters staring at me with big eyes and creepy-ass grins.
“What the fuck is this?” I growl as I grab one and yank it off the rack.
“A Labubu,” a young girl says, looking up at me with a smile. “Isn’t it cute?”
“Cute?” I say, staring at her in shock. “Who the hell would want this?”
“I asked for Coco and Sisi,” she says, rambling off strange names like she’s speaking another language. “I already have Zizi and Dada, but I want these other onessobad.”
Her mom comes, looking a little rattled. “Cindy, let’s go,” she says. “I’ve been waiting for you by the door.”
