Page 42 of It's Mother-Pucking Christmas!

I took it from him before he could eat it.

“You play for, what’s it called, the NHL?”

“No, ma’am. One of the minor league teams in town.”

“Uh-huh.” She looked at him critically.

“You need to get a real job,” she warned. “You finally got yourself a nice little girlfriend. Don’t deny it. I see the way you look at her.”

Ryder gave me a warm smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t you ‘yes, ma’am’ me. Get a real job. You can’t be playing hockey and supporting her and all the babies you told me you wanted,” she scolded him.

“He’s a pretty good hockey player.” I came to Ryder’s defense.

The reindeer jerky lady snorted like she didn’t believe me.

“He could go big league and make bank.”

“You need to go to the community college like I told you, Ryder. They have that accounting certificate you can get in three semesters if you do the summer. You already have that business degree. I told my son to take it, but he didn’t listen. Said he’s tricking out a van or some nonsense and going to start a YouTube channel. Don’t be like him. Listen to me, now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She shook her head and sighed. “You’re just too handsome. Look at those eyes. You’re going to get some poor girl in trouble.” The stall owner winked at me, then she foisted more reindeer jerky at Ryder.

“Have you ever gotten in trouble in your life, Boy Scout?” I teased, wrestling the reindeer jerky away from him and dumping it in a trash can.

“Hey, you can’t waste food.”

“You have a big game tomorrow, and that stuff is making me sick just smelling it. There aren’t reindeer anywhere near here. And I don’t think it’s sanitary for her to be smoking questionable meat in the middle of the Christmas market. It’s probably roadkill deer that she’s serving to people.”

Ryder shifted the poinsettia to his other arm so he could take my hand.

“There’s my favorite customer!” a man called.

Ryder bought a beef Wellington sandwich for each of us.

“Damn, that has no right to be this good,” I said around a mouthful of juicy beef. “Don’t tell my aunt, but this beef Wellington is way better than any she’s ever made.”

“I know, right?” Ryder made a happy noise. “I eat way too many of these. He also has this killer sandwich that tastes exactly like Thanksgiving. Or what I always imagined it would be like anyway,” he said conversationally. “I usually get one or the other. Sometimes both.”

“On your daily foray into the Christmas market.” I raised an eyebrow.

“I’m supporting local businesses.” He wiped his mouth.

“I don’t think even my cousin who is all Christmas all the time goes to the Christmas market as much as you.”

“You have to enjoy Christmas,” he said lightly. “Lean into it, otherwise it just makes you too sad. Holidays can be depressing if you’re not careful. Thankfully, there’s usually a hockey game on Thanksgiving so I can just skate through that.”

“Well, I missed you for Thanksgiving, but you’re not spending Christmas alone,” I promised.

Ryder turned to me with a wide smile and kissed me. “Don’t worry about me. I usually go up to the senior center,” he confessed, “so I haven’t really done holidays alone since college.”

The blue eyes had a faraway look.

“That was pretty depressing, really. The short, cold days then the end-of-semester letdown and having to wait around awkwardly with everyone else being superexcited to see their family again—talking about how they’d see their dogs and sleep in their childhood beds. Ecstatic parents would come pick up their kids. The dads—that would always get me. Everyone expects it’s the moms, but it’s the dads. They’re so excited to see their kids, like it’s Christmas morning when they picked them up.”

“No one else stayed on campus?” I asked him carefully.

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