“Never! I want to be buried under a mountain of cookies.”
Since Matt was paying, I was going all out. Free food was the best food.
“You want a whole or half cake, or by the slice?” the stall owner asked me.
“Are you going to eat some?” I asked Matt.
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“A whole one,” I said firmly. “And a half gallon of milk.”
“This is out of control,” Matt complained as the woman handed me a box of cake and a glass bottle of fresh milk. I wedged them into Kringle’s wagon.
Last thing I needed was firewood. Matt was going to pitch a fit. But that estate house was freezing cold. I needed to have flexible fingers to wrap presents properly.
A ton of people were out, everyone wanting to experience the Christmas market. They all wanted to take pictures of Kringle and his cart. The dog and Matt did make an adorable team, I had to admit. Matt was very gentle with the little kids who wanted to pet the big friendly dog.
I left him and wove through the crowd to find a firewood stall. At the first one I found, Brody was there in all his flannel glory.
Better find a different one. Otherwise, Matt’s going to flip his shit. I searched around for another firewood stall.
Unfortunately, Brody saw me, gave me a Hollywood movie star smile, and waved me up. I slowly walked up to his stall.
“Did you come for my wood?” he asked, flexing his muscles under his flannel shirt.
My nose started to feel stuffy.
“Er…just needed a cord of seasoned beech wood if you had it.” I prayed my credit card had a little extra juice left.
“A gift for you,” Brody declared, picking up the cord of wood.
“She doesn’t need free wood.” Matt appeared behind me. The wind had picked up, and it had started to snow.
Brody’s mouth turned down. “It’s Christmas, and I’m giving it to her as a gift.”
Matt rested a hand on the small of my back possessively. The wind howled, snarling in my hair.
Brody winced as the ice pricked his face.
Matt handed over several twenties. “We like to support local businesses.”
Brody scowled as he took the money.
Matt was cold as we walked back to the car.
“We didn’t have to buy firewood from him, you know,” I told Matt.
“I’m certainly not letting him give it to you,” he replied, tone icy.
Why is he acting like this? What does he care? He doesn’t even like me, contrary to what Olivia says.
As soon as Matt turned on the car, Christmas music blared from the radio.
Matt turned it off.
I turned it back on.
He growled in frustration.
