Page 9 of Flirting with the Scrooge

“This looks pretty intense.”

“I take my trees very seriously.”

“I can see that.”

I continue scanning row after row, and then I finally see it, calling to me like a beacon. A gust of wind whispers past me and I swear I hear “Tatum, take me home. I’m yours.” That’s my tree, with its lush and vibrant green needles. It’s going to be so beautiful in front of my bay window. A wide smile covers my lips. Movement from Connor pulls me from my treegasm. His gaze darts to me and then to my tree and then back to me.

Oh, no you don’t. That is my tree.I narrow my gaze at him.

He smirks like he knows that’s my tree and his only mission is to steal it from me.

Well that’s not happening. We continue this back and forth wordless conversation like two gunslingers in the wild west facing off in a duel at sunset.

The wagon stutters as it slows and the operator hollers, “First stop, folks!”

Before the wagon comes to a complete stop, he leaps over the side like he’s a professional at parkour. Perhaps he practices on the weekends. I shake my head. Why do I care? He’s trying to steal my tree. I shove past a middle-aged couple on the left and then shift to the right to shimmy between a woman with two kids. Politely, of course. With an “excuse me” and a “pardon me.”

Once I reach the back, I jump off, skipping a step to save me a few seconds. I round the rear of the wagon and sprint after him. He’s ahead of me by about eight feet, but I can catch up. I lift my knees up higher, but with each step down, I sink a little deeper—almost up to my knees. I’m sure if I was an Olympic hurdler, I’d have no issue. But currently the struggle is real. Very real. I find his enormous footprints already in the snow and use those instead of making my own path to gain more ground. Work smarter, not harder. But he’s still too fast. His legs are longer than mine.

Refusing to give up, I dig deep and scoop up some of the more wet snow with my fur-lined mitten and pack it tightly into a ball. I wind up and throw. It soars through the air until a cloud of snow bursts as it hits the back of his head.

Oh shit. My eyes widen, and my mittens fly up to cover my mouth.

His steps falter, and he comes to a stop. Slowly, he turns to face me, his eyes meeting mine. “Did you just hit me with a snowball?”

I only have two seconds to assess his anger. Is he Hulk furious, or stub your toe annoyed? But then I remember everything he’s done to me. Slammed the door in my face twice. Returned my cookies. Distracted me from the snowplow. And took the last scone. He will not get my tree. I prop my hands on my hips. “You’re trying to steal my tree!”

“It’s not your tree. You don’t get to call dibs on a tree.”

“Yes, I can, and I saw it first. Dibs!” I take a step. “Dibs!” Another step. “Dibs!” Now we are standing toe to toe. His tall frame towers over me, but I don’t back down. I crane my neck up to meet his gaze. “You’re just being a scrooge and trying to steal my tree.”

“So, you assault me with a snowball?”

“I didn’t assault you. Stop being so dramatic.”

“Now I’m being dramatic?”

“There you go with the questions again.” I step around him. “I don’t have time for this. Or you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a tree to claim.”

“I don’t think so.” He steps in front of me.

“Yes, I do.” I brush him to the side.

He stumbles, almost falling into the snow. “You just pushed me.”

“I barely grazed you. Get over it.”

“No, that was a push. I had no idea you were so violent.”

“I’ll show you a push.” This time, I shove him with both hands. His arms spin like a windmill and a cloud of snow billows in the air as he makes impact. I puff out my chest in triumph. As I saunter past him, my foot catches on something, causing me to lose my balance and fall face-first into the fresh powder. The cold crystals melt on my tongue and face. I spit out a mouthful of snow and drag my mitten down my face. I swivel my head around and I’m met with his cocky grin.

“You tripped me! What’s wrong with you?” I scoop up a pile of snow in my cupped mittens and throw it at him.

“Wrong with me? You pushed me!” He gathers a handful of snow and tosses it at me.

Back and forth the snow continues to fly between us along with a few expletives until a voice pulls us from our scuffle.

“Mommy! Daddy! That one is perfect!” A little girl’s voice echoes off the trees.

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