Page 23 of Inherited Holiday

I pointed at him. “You know what? This conversation hasn’t helped me in the least. If anything, you’ve made me more confused.”

“Well, pull up those panties and start acting like the man she needs if you want to get her back in your life. You said she’s obsessed with Christmas. I’d start there, my friend.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack.”

“That’s the shittiest advice you’ve ever given me. I feel personally offended by what you just suggested.” I shoulder-checked him and walked toward the door.

The audacity of him to tell me to pretend to be another one of my worst nightmares.

I wouldn’t turn into Saint Nicholas.

I refused to.

CHAPTER 9

NICHOLAS

From the moment I walked into my rental house, the lyrics for “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch” played through the speakers, and I was slapped in the face with nothing I could have ever expected.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me?”

Cujo cockapoo came barreling down the hall, wearing one antler in the middle of his head and a red reindeer nose. He resembled Max fromHow the Grinch Stole Christmas. It didn’t end there; it was only the beginning. The entire entrance was decorated in Grinch decor.

“Oh my God…” I strained through a clenched jaw. “I’m going to kill her…”

Cujo barked, quickly detouring to the left, and I was slapped in the face yet again with the twelve-foot, fully decked-out Grinch Christmas tree in the back of the open space of the living room. I wasn’t talking about a few ornaments thrown on a tree.

No… there was a whole ass Grinch head where the star or angel should be, and his arm hung out the side with his signature pinched fingers, holding a string that had a red glittery ball dangling from it.

The rest was themed out the same way with ornaments and several huge Whoville-type bows while ribbons and garland shined bright with all the mixed patterns surrounded by warm colored lights.

To top it all off, it had plush dolls of Cindy Lou, Max, and the Grinch hanging off several branches. These weren’t decorations you could buy in one shopping spree; this was years and years of collections, and I didn’t have to wonder where it all came from.

I was upset she didn’t ask my permission, fully aware I’d say no. However, the thought and time behind this was too much for me to ignore. At least it was themed out to my liking, but I’d never repeat it out loud.

Especially to her.

The last thing I wanted to do was give her false hope that I turned into the man I always dreaded.

I couldn’t help but shift my gaze from one decoration to the next, from the obnoxious couch pillows to the Whoville blanket and everything in between. There wasn’t a character she didn’t bring into this house. Including the entire town of Whoville in ceramic glass, which was displayed by the big front window. Despite the house looking like the Grinch literally moved in, it was somewhat tastefully done, whatever that meant.

Before I could utter a word, Noelle appeared out of thin air. “Surprise!” she shouted from behind me, walking into the room with trouble in her arms disguised as Max.

She wore a sweater that read “Mrs. Claus working for the Grinch” proudly displayed across her chest. The Santa hat, skirt, and knee-high red boots with matching stockings really brought the whole outfit together for me. The Santa hat was a nice touch.

“I’m surprised you only did the inside.” That was the first thing I could muster when she was wearing something like that.

As a kid, I used to appreciate her little outfits, but now, now, it was on another level of how much she fascinated me and kept my attention. I dated some through the years, but it was never serious. My business was my priority, and I didn’t leave room for much more.

“I’m doing that tomorrow,” she sassed, aware I knew she meant it.

She took off Max’s 2.0 headpiece and put him in his crate that was suddenly in my living room as if he had moved in as well.

Once Noelle was looking at me, I gestured to the open space. “Is this your idea of a peace offering?”

“No,” she confidently baited. “This is my grenade.”

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