Page 3 of Italian’s Christmas Acquisition

“Time to sell Christmas trees,” she said to herself as she marched down the street and back to her modest little car. She started to drive out of town, and up the winding, dirt road that led to Holiday House. Fat gray clouds loomed overhead, but they didn’t bother her. This was her favorite time of year. When fall turned into winter, when the leaves finally gave their last gasp and fluttered to the ground.

When the ground froze and was covered in snow. She loved the snow.

Of course, with her father gone, it was up to her to keep the road to Holiday House plowed. Her father had bought an old, giant snowplow fifteen years earlier, and had used it to make sure that their guests could always get in and out of their property. Her father had thought of every wonderful little detail needed to make it the most glorious place to be during the cold winter months.

She didn’t take the road that led to the B and B, rather she took the one that forked off and led to the little Christmas tree forest, which also boasted sleigh rides, hot chocolate, spiced cider, roasted chestnuts and various other forms of merriment.

The parking lot was already half full of people arriving from near and far to get their Christmas tree, and to have a festive experience.

She drove behind the parking lot to the employees-only access, and stopped in her small office, which was labeled: the North Pole.

She got out her card reader to help process transactions, and plugged it into her phone. Then she grabbed her light-up red nose and put it on, pressing the button so that it blinked merrily. She began to sing, a cheerful conglomeration of carols as she trundled about.

And that was when she saw a sleek black car winding its way into the parking lot. It was the strangest thing. She didn’t have to see who was driving to know. In her gut.

Because the car was exactly like its owner. Sleek and sharp. Unerring. Dangerous.

What a strange thing to think.

She thought that he must be with a wife and children, why else would he be up here? Why else would he be getting a Christmas tree?

But then, he parked the car, and got out.

He was quite alone.

And he turned and began to walk toward her.

Rocco Moretti was not a man to suffer indignity. And this entire snow globe of a town was one indignity after another.

The roads were in a state of utter disrepair and the buildings were in a sorry state. And those sagging monstrosities were festooned from foundation to ridgeline with lights, ornaments and garlands. The entire thing was so sugary, it might as well be a gingerbread man’s frosted armpit.

He hated it.

He hated Christmas.

He hated cheer.

He hated this place.

And yet, he had been advised that this was the smartest investment he could make at the moment.

He had already bought up swathes of land, and there was this one holdout. This rickety little Christmas tree farm.

The owner of the property had been communicating with him regularly about her terms, but had made it clear that her daughter had to sign off on the sale, or it couldn’t occur.

Such were the terms of the property.

And right there, staring at him, was the tiniest little insult to injury he had ever seen.

A woman. With curly red hair, a blinking red nose, and antlers.

She might have been pretty, were she not ridiculous.

But then, he supposed that went for the entire town.

The glory and natural splendor surrounding it might have been awe-inspiring, but he could not overlook the adornment.

As was the same with the creature regarding him now.

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