Page 3 of Here Comes Santa Paws

“Stop scowling at me. I haven’t had coffee yet,” she said.

“I don’t scowl.”

She pulled her phone from her pocket and tapped the screen before aiming it at me with the camera in selfie mode. I blinked as my eyes focused on the image. It was barely a frown. I huffed and turned back to my computer.

“I rest my case, your honor. Coffee time,” she said in a singsong voice. Minutes later, she returned and handed me a perfectly nondescript mug full of steaming black coffee, then sat in her office chair and faced me, holding a Rudolph mug with a ridiculously large red nose.

The coffee was payment for conversation. An unspoken agreement we’d made soon after I’d moved to Christmas Falls for this job over two years ago. She talked, and I grunted when appropriate throughout the time it took me to enjoy my drink.

Honestly? I liked listening to her, and Ididlisten. I was good at that, but the talking part wasn’t my thing.

“We’re heading to Milton Falls Christmas Tree Farm over the weekend to pick out our tree. The kids are begging for the tallest one they can find, but our ceilings can handle a seven-footer at best.”

I grunted, then enjoyed another long pull of perfect coffee.

“We got the lights hung outside the house. I bought some new ones for our front hedge.”

“Already? What is wrong with this town?” I muttered the words.

Her eyebrows shot up. “Not everyone who chooses to live inChristmasFalls is a Scrooge, Roman.”

“I’m not a Scrooge.”

Anisha rolled her eyes. “Fine. You’re a Grinch.”

“Is that any better?”

“Nope. It’s worse.” She took another drink.

I straightened in my chair. “I just don’t get it. Take my neighbor. He already has his half of the duplex covered with lights like an elf barfed on it. He’s even got a gingerbread house inflatable. A house inflatablein front of a house.” I stared at her imploringly.

Anisha busted out laughing.

“What?” I frowned.

“I’ve never seen you worked up over someone. I thought you were Teflon. Is your neighbor cute?”

I dodged her question. “I’m not Teflon. I’m stainless steel.” I chugged the rest of my coffee to end the conversation.

The sound of her laughter faded as I stomped to the kitchen area to rinse my cup. I had appointments to get ready for. No time to think about pain-in-the-ass neighbors.

“You know how you could help? There’s a lightbulb on the front porch I’ve been meaning to change for a while. I’d do it, but…” Jim Rocha gestured to his hip from his plush recliner.

I didn’t budge from where I stood next to his television with my arms crossed over my chest. I’d had to turn the thing off to get his attention. The man had a knack for attempting todelay the inevitable, a tactic I was well acquainted with. Many patients underestimated how much pain they’d be in from a hip replacement and how hard the physical therapy could be. That was where my take-no-bullshit attitude shone. My patients might hate me for it initially, but I had the post-PT thank-you letters to prove it worked.

“Changing lightbulbs isn’t part of physical therapy.”

He huffed. “It will be if I slip on my ass and break my other hip because I couldn’t see the ice.”

“Good thing it’s not supposed to drop below freezing this week.” My voice was deadpan.

I felt for the guy. He looked shaggier than before his procedure last week, but that wasn’t uncommon. It hurt to stand and shave. Where his silver hair had been combed smooth during our initial consultation, it now hung limp on the sides of his head.

A fake mounted fish wearing a Santa hat, hanging on the wall to my right, began moving and singing “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.” I damn near jumped out of my skin. Jim’s place was full of fishing memorabilia, but I hadn’t expected anything to animate.

“Billy’s getting glitchy in his old age, like me.” He patted his hip and winced. “The Santa hat is cute, huh? My grandson did that.”

My nostrils flared as I took in the lights lining his bay window in a tidy rectangle and the tabletop tree covered with fishing-themed ornaments. “Did your grandson inflict the other decorations on you too? Sounds like my neighbor,” I muttered.

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