Page 7 of Blame It On The Reindeer

His nostrils flared as if irritated with the conversation, so I didn’t push him. I was making progress and didn’t want to ruin it before I got what I needed.

“Black like your soul. Got it,” I whispered as he stalked off and left me standing in the middle of the field.

Six

Brody

It was easier to get the reindeer inside the barn and situated before the storm than it was to get rid of the crazy woman who had been stuck to my fence post. Never in a million years would I have believed that could happen, and I still wasn’t convinced that she hadn’t purposely attached herself to the post as a way to get me to talk to her.

By the time I got back to the house, she was sitting comfortably on my couch with her legs crossed in front of her and a cup of coffee in her hand. On the coffee table in front of her was a plate filled with cookies that I assumed were the ones she kept trying to tell me about earlier—even though we both got distracted byanothertype of cookie, as she called it, as well as a cup of black coffee for me.

“Everything go okay?” she asked, her voice softer than I remembered.

“Yes,” I replied curtly as I sat stiffly in the recliner across from her. There was plenty of room for both of us on the couch, but after having her legs wrapped around my head earlier, I needed to distance myself as far away from her as possible. The last thing I needed right now was to let my guard down around her.

“Great. I’m glad you got everything taken care of.” She set her cup on the coffee table, using a coaster I had never seen before in my life. Leave it to her to literally make herself at home in a house I was still trying to get used to.

“Thank you for agreeing to take the time to talk with me. I know you don’t want to, and I’m sorry that I keep forcing myself upon you, but I really don’t have any other choice. Without your help, I’m screwed.”

With my help, you could be screwed better. Screwed to the point that your toes curl as you scream my name while I eat the sweet pussy that was sitting in front of my face not that long ago.

“I don’t want to be a dick,” I answered, my fingers gripping the armrests tightly. “But I can’t help you. There’s too much that needs my focus right now and giving any of my attention to the Frozen Palooza would mean that I fall behind on what matters.”

“Frozen Palooza?” She scrunched her face and looked confused.

“You know, the thing you want the reindeer for,” I replied dismissively with a shake of my hand. “My point being that I have stuff here that needs my attention. Repairs that need to be made before I can set up my shop. If I don’t get the shop set up, then I can’t work. If I can’t work, I don’t make money. So, I’m sorry, but my priorities don’t involve carving out time I don’t have right now to help you with whatever this thing is you’re planning.”

She sat taller, pulling her shoulders back as she tilted her head and studied me.

“What kind of work do you do?”

I shifted in my seat, forcing myself to relax the best I could. I wasn’t big into personal conversations, but the fact that she sat there as if she had all day made me feel like I needed to answer her so we could move on and I could get her out of my house before she got stuck in the storm.

“I’m a welder.”

She nodded, smiling, but it wasn’t one that reached her eyes. It was a polite, reserved smile that people used when they madesmall talk like this. It said they cared enough to acknowledge what was said but not enough that they would remember it later. Or, in her case, it was a distracted smile while the wheels in her head started turning.

“What do you weld?”

I ground my teeth together, pushing the frustration out that way instead of taking it out on her. How do you politely tell someone you don’t want to make small talk with them? I knew she likely didn’t mean any harm by it, but I also wasn’t interested in trying to build friendships. I had a goal, and she was delaying me from working toward it by stalling and asking ridiculous questions.

“All sorts of things. Fire pits. Candlestands. Metal yard art.”

“Things that would do well somewhere like a festival where local artisans come together and sell their products,” she commented softly. “Like Frosty Fest.”

“I know what you’re doing,” I warned, narrowing my eyes at her.

“What?” She fluttered hers, playing innocent. “I’m just pointing out that theFrosty Festwould be an ideal marketplace for you to reach new customers. You’re new to town, and we don’t have any other vendors who sell that type of product. You could literally dominate the market with items we haven’t had here before.”

“And that benefits you how?”

“Well, it doesn’t benefitme. It benefits you. It benefits the town. It benefits the people from neighboring towns who choose to come here to take part in the festival and do some holiday shopping.”

“I hate to break it to you, but I have no interest in participating.” I stood up, making it clear that the conversation was over.

“If you just—”

“My answer is no. Thank you for coming all the way out here and bringing cookies, but this will be the last time we have this conversation. I expect you’ll be able to respect the boundaries I’m setting and that I won’t find you wandering around my property again.”

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