Page 4 of Flirting with the Scrooge

I slam the door.

THREE

WHAT THE CRAP?

Connor

Asshole. If there was one word to describe me, that would be it, and I won’t deny it. She didn’t deserve getting the door slammed in her face, but I just got to town and barely got my bags inside before someone came knocking, wanting something from me. After I saw it wasn’t Devon, my first instinct was that I was outed and a fan was looking for pictures or an autograph. But instead, I got a blonde holding a tray of cookies. Something about that piqued my interest.

Instantly, the sweet smell of sugar and vanilla assaulted my nostrils. I wasn’t sure if it was coming from the cookies or her, maybe both, but I was willing to see what she wanted. After she introduced herself and mentioned Grams, I lowered my guard. It warmed my heart knowing Grams had someone close by to watch out for her. The warm and fuzzies soon died when she mentioned Christmas and decorating. Just like everyone else, she wanted something from me. Well, technically, I never stuck around long enough to see what she actually wanted before I slammed the door in her face.

I peek through the curtains of the living room and watch as she runs down a few of the stairs, stops, and spins around, her hair fluttering over her shoulder, before she leaves again. This time empty handed. I track her all the way until she disappears into her house. Oh shit. Why does it feel like I’m giving off stalker vibes?

Yanking open the door, I peer down at the plate of delicious smelling cookies she left, then up to her house. It would be irresponsible of me to leave them outside and attract any wildlife. So, I’m, in fact, doing the neighborhood a favor. Without a second thought, I bend down and swipe the plate off the ground and close the door behind me.

The bottom of the plate is still slightly warm. She must have just baked these. Unable to resist any longer, I grab one off the plate and bite down. I groan. Son of a bitch. This cookie is fucking delicious. Buttery and soft. The chocolate chips are still warm and melty. These remind me of the ones Grams would make. After I finish one cookie, I grab another and stroll back into the living room, leaving a trail of cookie crumbs behind me.

I don’t waste another minute and work on packing up the rest of the nick-knacks and removing all the photos from the walls. After a task is complete, I reward myself with another cookie. Two cookies later, the last of the boxes in the living room are taped up. Just then, my phone rings. My first thought is that it’s my agent calling again with some amazing offer I can’t say no to. When I glance at the screen,Zaneflashes at the top. I press the green phone icon.

“Hey man. What’s up?”

“Did I thank you for running away and giving us all a break?”

I laugh. “I didn’t run away. You make me sound like a teenager. I had some family shit to take care of.”

“Family shit. Running away. Either way. Thanks, man. It’s nice to have a few days to myself.”

Zane’s been with the band for the past year since our previous drummer decided he couldn’t handle the pressure and temptations of Hollywood. After he bailed, we found Zane. His skills on the kit are comparable to Neil Peart.

“I’m happy to be of service.” I run my hand over my beard.

“Did Spence get a hold of you? He’s been calling the entire band like a scorned lover.”

“Oh yeah and all seven hundred of his voicemails.”

He laughs. “Speaking of scorned ex-lovers, have you talked to yours? Apparently, now she’s—”

“Nope and I don’t care.” I don’t say anything else because there is nothing else to say. She’s nothing but an ex, or maybe more like a mistake, and that’s it.

When I don’t give him more, he changes the subject. “So, how’s the cold? I can’t believe you ditched sunny California for what? Canada?”

“Minnesota.” I stop pacing and stare out the living room window that lines up with my new neighbor’s window. A silhouette of a petite woman moves from one side of the room to the other.

“That’s practically Canada. Either way it’s cold as fuck and there’s snow.”

I tug on one panel of the curtain, fully closing it. If I can see her, she can see me and the last thing I need is to get caught staring into her window. “Well, there is more than just snow. A neighbor dropped off some cookies to welcome me to the neighborhood.”

“Wait? People still do that?”

“I guess so. If I wind up dead, it’s probably from the cookies Tatum dropped off. She lives across the street, dark blue house, white trim. Can’t miss it.”

“So, a female? Hot?”

“She’s alright. But not why I’m here.” Fuck. She’s more than alright. Her bright blue eyes could warm anyone on the coldest of days.

“I’ll check back in later this week. Make sure you’re still alive.”

“Fantastic. Later.” I end the call and stroll into the kitchen. All this cookie talk makes me want another. Blindly, I grab one off the plate and shove half of it in my mouth.

---