Page 25 of My Greatest Joy

I was worried to death about you! What do you mean, WE?

Fallon

Long story. Can I call you?

I pick up when my phone rings. I explain every single detail, and when I stop to take a breath, she speaks up.

“Wow,” she says. “So you’re staying in this stranger’s house until you find another place? Is he hot?”

I snort.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

I shrug, trying to seem indifferent. “Kinda. But it doesn’t matter because he’s obsessed with the holidays. His family owns a Christmas tree farm, and it’s his whole personality—including every inch of his house. We’re complete opposites. He makes fun of me for not being able to survive out in the wilderness like a psycho.”

She chuckles, and I know she’s probably thinking the same thing as him. “Who cares. Not like you’ll be calling him Santa Claus while getting tangled up in the sheets. I mean, unless you’re into that kinda thing. Call himSt. Dickwhile he rams your sleigh.”

“Taryn,” I scold. “Gross.”

Just as a thought comes to me, I hear barking outside. “Shit. I’ve gotta let the dog inside before he loses his shit or runs off.”

“Wait, you’re taking care of his dog?”

“Yeah, and not because I want to. He forced it on me while he plows the driveway and his family’s farm. And don’t you dare make a plowing joke,” I warn.

She snickers. “You know me so well. But anyway, I’m glad you’re okay. I was ready to send a search and rescue party out for you, but then I Googled the town and saw how bad it was. Figured you lost power.”

“Yeah, it was scary. The wind sounded evil, and I nearly froze to death. I’m kinda tired, though. Haven’t been sleeping thatgreat since I got here. The heat went out, and my room is an icebox.”

“You know what’ll warm you right up?”

“What’s that?” I humor her.

“Lots and lots of sex.”

“Not. happening.”

“Never say never, Fallon. Especially now that you’re practically living with this sexy lumberjack.”

“Hopefully not for long. He’s supposed to be calling around for a hotel for me.”

“And what if there are no vacancies?”

I blow out a breath because I’ve wondered the same thing. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

“I wouldn’t sweat it. Doesn’t sound like he’s actively trying to get rid of you if you’re dog-sitting,” she says. “But anyway, I bet you have a lot of work to catch up on, so I’ll let you get to it.”

“Thanks. Love you. I’ll let you know what happens.”

“Sounds great. Love you too.”

I end the call, then open the door for Dasher. He rushes in, drops the ball, and then shakes. Cold water splashes all over me, and that’s when I realize how soaked and filthy he is. Before I can stop him, he runs through the house, paw prints and droplets trailing him.

“Dasher!” I shout, panicking when he shakes again and jumps on the couch. “God. Now it smells like a wet dog in here.”

Shaking my head, I go to the bathroom and grab a towel to clean up the mess and another to dry him.

“You’re gonna get us both in trouble,” I murmur, though I doubt he gives a shit.

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