“Says the guy sitting on a chair from the 1800s, gossiping about out-of-towners settling into the house next to his.”
“Am I not allowed to have a conversation with my best friend while he sharpens his axe? According to your dad, I’m required to take breaks.”
Max shakes his head. “Whatever makes you feel better, man.” He heads toward the barn door and then turns to me. “So, what are you going to do about the Taylor sisters being in town? Knock on Cindy’s door and see if they need help? Offer to shovel snow? Perhaps show them a few ways to warm themselves up?”
“I’m not going to do anything,” I say with a stern expression. “I have no intention of even speaking to them.”
“So then why bring it up?” Max asks, seeing right through me.
I have no idea why I brought it up, except that ever since I saw them unloading their car, I haven’t been able to free my mind from the image of Storee’s deep red hair blowing in the breeze.
“To warn you,” I say.
“Warn me of what?” he asks. “I’m not scared of the Taylor sisters. I’ve never even met them, since they always stuck close to their aunt. I only know them through what you’ve told me.”
“Not warning you about them,” I reply. “I’m warning you about me, because now that they’re in town I’m going to be unpleasant to be around until they leave.”
“How is that any different from how you are regularly?”
My expression flattens, unamused.
He chuckles. “You know, your self-reflection and emotional intelligence have truly grown over the years.”
That’s better.
“Thank you. And don’t worry, I know you’re shivering over there from the thought of having to deal with me in my rawest and rarest form of grumpiness—”
“Dude, you say that as if it’s not an everyday occurrence.”
I’m not a grump all the time…there are moments when one of the reindeer makes me smile. They’re few and far between, but they’re there.
“Either way, I have no intention of going near either of the Taylor sisters. It’s going to be a Storee-free Christmas. Mark my words.”
“Hold the door,” a female voice says as I step into Kringle Krampus, the local deli and meat shop owned by the one and only Bob Krampus.
I prop the door open, the wind whooshing around outside, upturning some of the powdery snow that hasn’t packed itself in for the long haul of the season just yet.
“Oh my God, it’s cold,” says the woman as she steps in behind me, her long black parka jacket falling past her knees, the hood encased in faux fur nearly covering her entire head.
“Yeah, that’s the elevation for you,” I say as she lowers her hood—
Motherfucker.
Lo and behold, a cloud of red hair floats around her face and shoulders. When she looks up, I’m nearly shocked by her stunningly beautiful gray eyes, just as I was all those years ago.
Storee Taylor.
I knew it was wishful thinking that I wasn’t going to have an interaction with her given the size of this town, but on the first fucking day? What kind of universe would create such chaos?
If it were me controlling this scenario, I would have given it at least a week of built-up tension and anticipation. Seems like the person in charge doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing.
When her eyes meet mine, she smiles softly, and then, for a brief moment, she tilts her head to the side, recognition crossing her features.
Now, it’s been about ten years, and I’ve matured…to put it modestly. No longer am I the idiot with the long, flipped-out hair that would cover my eyes if I didn’t flick it to the side just right. I’ve grown into my own skin, I’ve filled out in the proper places, and I now have a thick coat of facial hair that can’t be defined as a hefty beard. Nor can it be described as just scruff, so it’s a healthy in-between that keeps my face warm without becoming itchy.
And yet she recognizes me. Hate to admit it, but I’m kind of impress—
“Conner, right?” she says. “It’s so good to see you.”
