Page 5 of No Time for Traditions

Greg whistledto himself as he reset his equipment and adjusted his view. He’d spent the past month surveying the Barnes’s family property, and saved Grandpa Barnes’s home for last. This was by far the largest job for his new company, and with any luck, it would lead to more.

Growing up in Hillside, Greg knew the Barnes family well. Edmond and Genine Barnes were known as Grandpa and Grandma Barnes to everyone, and the whole town had come to pay their respects when each died. Greg admired Grandpa Barnes as much as he had his own grandparents, if not more, due to his hardworking, entrepreneurial spirit. He’d gotten to know the older man well when his dad’s hunt club started leasing part of one of the Barnes’s properties for hunting.

Greg thought he knew the timberland from years of walking it with his dad, checking deer cameras and staking out in hunting blinds. However, walking every inch of both the forest and the fields proved the Barnes family owned way more than Greg ever had imagined as a teenager.

After taking a few shots and jotting down some notes, Greg took out his phone. Four-forty-three. Greg twisted his lips. He’d guessed four-forty-five. Almost perfect. Years of working under the sun had afforded him this unique talent.

It would get dark soon, meaning he’d best start hauling his equipment back to the truck. Greg took one more shot he needed in that position before meticulously putting away his equipment and securing it to the back of his ATV. He’d never thought himself an organized or cautious person with anything. Then he’d spent literally his entire life savings on sensitive equipment. He’d taken a gamble starting his own business in a town the size of Hillside, but he’d done well for the first year and knew he’d made the right choice in coming home.

Greg admired the pines and oaks towering above him as he maneuvered through the narrow trail he’d cut. A few minutes later, he hit the pasture where he’d parked his truck. He loaded the equipment in the bed, which he’d converted into a cubby for all his accessories, then drove the ATV onto the trailer behind it.

The sun was close to setting when Greg climbed in the cab and turned on the heater. He snatched off his orange toboggan and shook out his hair, letting the warm air comfort him after a long day’s work.

Before heading home, he needed to run by Marty Barnes’s and give him some of the paperwork for the property he’d completed. That way Marty and his brothers could decide which land they planned to keep and which they wanted to sell.

Greg enjoyed talking to Marty. Talking to anyone was usually the highlight of his day—with the exception of the people who cussed him out for “trespassing” whenever he’d surveyed the property that adjoined theirs. Still, they offered some much-needed entertainment to break up the monotony of working alone in the woods.

In some ways, Greg knew the job wasn’t to blame for his loneliness as much as his personal life was. He had plenty of friends and even shared an office space in town with one of his best friends. But he hadn’t dated since Autumn.

Greg shuddered at the thought of her name. It was the sole reason he referred to the season as fall, and why he’d stayed off social media except to post on his business page. He’d wanted to marry the woman at one time, but they couldn’t see eye to eye on one very important matter.

Not wanting to relive the past, Greg turned on the radio for distraction.

“Of course.” He scanned the stations, annoyed that most of them played Christmas music.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Christmas—he just didn’t see the point in cramming Christmas down everyone’s throat for a solid month. All the music and lights and such took away from the actual holiday. People didn’t put turkeys up for Thanksgiving or play Pilgrim songs, so why do all that for Christmas?

A few minutes later, Greg turned down Marty and Sarah’s driveway. It appeared the family had sold out even more than all the country radio stations. Their house looked like the cover of his mom’sSouthern Livingmagazine.

Greg parked and walked up the front steps, a claustrophobic sensation washing over him as green leaves cornered him from all sides. He frowned at the front door. A massive circle of leaves left little room for him to knock, so he rapped his fist on the doorframe.

He waited a minute before knocking again, this time louder. As he busied himself by wiping his boots on a rug that read “Reindeer Welcome,” the door flung open. Greg looked up into a pair of deep blue eyes he hadn’t seen since high school.

“Brittany?”

Lights glowed behind her, proving their obsessive decorating went beyond the front porch. Greg took a step back and refocused his eyes. He scanned her head to toe, noting she was even prettier than before. A laugh snuck out when he noticed her Santa Claus socks. But when his eyes met hers again, he stopped laughing.

“What are you doing here?” Her cold stare pierced his gut. She glared down at his dirty boots and Carhartt coveralls, reminding him why he’d never bothered to ask her out in high school. Brittany was too polished for him, and he knew it.

“I’m surveying land for your dad and uncles.” Greg patted the rolled-up paper in his left hand. “I have some plot maps, and needed to go over a few things with Mr. Marty if he’s home.”

Brittany leaned into the doorframe, arms folded, making it clear Greg wasn’t welcome inside. “He’s still at the office but should be home soon.”

Greg wrinkled his brow. “How about you take this. If his truck’s still at the office when I drive by, I’ll stop. If not, I’ll give him a call later.”

Brittany said nothing. She unfolded one arm and held her hand out to take the roll of maps. Once the papers transferred to her, she straightened and shut the door.

Greg grimaced at the door decked out like a holiday commercial. Nobody could’ve ever guessed a female Scrooge stood behind it.

Chapter 3

Brittany leaned against the shut door and stared at the twinkling tree, blurring her vision. She shook her head and plodded across the room until her knees found the couch. She plopped down on her side and watched Scott’s Disney train chug around the tree skirt.

Greg Tucker. Seriously?

She had just put the finishing touches on the blue spruce and snuggled under one of Grandma Barnes’s homemade quilts for a nap when she heard knocking. Then, she’d heard it again. With her mom at the store, she’d made herself get up to answer the door.

Never in her wildest dreams could Brittany have anticipated Greg. She’d assumed the knocks belonged to a relative or one of her dad’s employees. Or even a delivery driver, since her mom loved Amazon Prime so much. Instead, her eyes had fallen on a moppy brown head, dirty coveralls, and a pair of muddy boots that defaced the adorable rug she’d bought for her parents.

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