Page 6 of Flirting with the Scrooge

He pushes his shovel, leaving behind a snow free strip across the blacktop. “The way you’re doing it, you’re going to hurt yourself.” When he reaches the edge, he bends his knees and lifts the snow onto the top of the snow pile.

I stop and lean against my shovel. “Who are you? The snow shovel police?”

“I’m just trying to save your back. But you go ahead and continue however you’d like.” He pushes another heap of snow across the blacktop.

“You know what? You stay on your side of the street, and I’ll stay on mine.” I plunge the tip of the shovel into the snow and push it across the driveway. When I reach the end, I lift with my knees and toss it into the yard. Dammit. Thisiseasier. Chalk this up as a new learning experience.

“If you say so, but you should watch out.”

I stop in my tracks. “Ooh. Watch out from what? You?”

“No. I’m serious. You should step back.”

I slam the edge of the shovel into the snow and lean on the handle. “I’m not scared of you. In fact, why don’t you come over here and tell me that to my face?”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He glances at me and shakes his head as he continues to clear the snow at the end of his driveway.

“I want to finish this so I can get away from you.” The scraping of metal on pavement catches my attention. A wave of snow races toward me as a large snowplow rounds the corner and barrels down the street. I swivel around, but my feet slip and slide on the slush. The shovel flies from my grip and ends up on the other side of the driveway as I regain my balance. As the snowplow drives past, a mixture of dirt and wet, slushy snow showers down on me at the end of the driveway.

He throws a pile of snow into his yard before directing his attention toward me. “You got a little… something… right there.” He brushes his shoulder. “Do you want help with that?”

I glare at him through my snow-covered lashes. “No,” I deadpan.

He shrugs then strolls up his snow free driveway. I stand there as he props the shovel against his house and makes his way inside. I huff. Screw it. I’ll call someone in the morning.

FIVE

SCROOGE MCASSFACE

Tatum

“I just got to Roasters. I’m going to grab a coffee and a scone. Do you want anything?” I ask Olivia as I sandwich my phone between my ear and shoulder as I step out of my car.

The past two days have been blissfully scrooge free, even though I noticed his truck coming and going throughout the day. Not that I was watching. No. I’m being a good neighbor and making sure the neighborhood’s safe. Someone has to keep a watch out for the new eye-candy… er new neighbor. But the image of him in only a towel is burned into my memory. Who answers the door in only a towel when it’s twenty degrees out? Unless he was trying to deter me from knocking on his door again as if I was an unwanted visitor convincing him to follow their religion or sell him a school fundraiser coupon book. If that’s the case, he should know his bare chest, in all its man muscle glory, isn’t going to do the trick.

I pull open the glass door. The quaint coffee shop buzzes with the low hum of conversations and the soothing hiss of steaming milk. The rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans intertwines with the warm scent of pastries, causing my stomach to rumble.

“A blueberry scone sounds amazing right now,” Olivia says. “Also, we’ll have to make plans so I can show you the space for the Christmas charity gala. What are you doing this weekend?”

I stand in line behind a tall, broad shoulder guy in a green flannel coat. “I’ll be heading up to the Fir Meadows Tree Farm on Saturday to pick out my tree. But I’m free after that.”

“That’s perfect. Alright, I’ll see you in a bit.”

Ending the call, I drop my phone into my purse. The line moves and I step forward. While I wait, I lean to the side to get a better view of the pastries in the display case to see what’s for purchase, even though I already know I’m going to get a blueberry scone.

“Give me an Americano. And that blueberry scone.” The guy in front of me points at the display case.

The voice. I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest, huffing out a sigh louder than normal. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you stalking me or something?”

He spins around and raises an eyebrow. “Seeing I was here first, wouldn’t that make it the other way around?”

Dammit. He’s not wrong. “Fine. Don’t you have someone else you can direct all your scroogeness to this early in the morning? Maybe go throw snowballs at little children. Steal some unwrapped presents from the donation bin. All those seem right up your alley.”

He ponders the thought for a moment. “Nah. Why would I do that when you’re right here?”

“Ugh! Whatever. Let me just order my coffee and I’ll be gone.” He shuffles to the side as he waits for his order, and I step up to the register. “I’ll have a coffee, black and two blueberry scones.”

The barista’s face softens. “I’m sorry, we just sold our last one. But we do have some cranberry scones left.” Just my luck. Everyone knows blueberry is the superior scone and now my morning is ruined. My lips press into a thin line as my gaze slingshots to Scrooge McAssface.

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