Page 10 of Flirting with the Scrooge

“It sure is, sweetie. Let’s go get the guy to tell him we want this one,” the mom says.

Still sitting in the snow, I exhale an exasperated sigh. At least she has good taste in trees.

“Are you going to push them in the snow, too?” Connor asks from a few feet away.

I glare at him, but all he does is laugh. Rising to his feet, he brushes the snow off his long legs and broad shoulders. Like a gentleman, he holds his hand out to help me up but he’s more transparent than a crystal vase. His intentions are anything but gentlemanly. I’m sure he’ll let go once I’m half way up causing me to fall on my ass in the snow. Hard pass. I snarl my lip and bat his hand away like it’s diseased.

“Suit yourself.” He spins around, leaving me in the snow, hiking his way back to the wagon.

Mumbling incoherently, I wobble in the unstable snow as I stand. Maybe I should have tampered down my pride and taken his assistance. But then he would have the upper hand and that can’t happen. Following in Connor’s oversized footprints, I trudge back to the waiting crowd.

The second stop was a complete bust. Luckily, Connor kept his distance. If he didn’t, I might have thrown him off the wagon. Here I am trying to be the friendly neighbor by bringing him cookies, and how does he repay me? Tries to steal my tree. The more I think about it, the higher my blood pressure spikes. By the third stop, I’m feeling a little desperate. Or a lot desperate. My only goal for today is to find a tree. I can’t leave here without one.

From the corner of my eye I spot one with potential. One side is nice and fluffy but a little balding in the back. It’s the mullet of Christmas trees. There aren’t even enough extra branches to attempt a comb over. Maybe I can hang some extra ribbon to cover it up. Even the ugly trees need love, too. I peek out of the corner of my eye to make sure he isn’t watching me so he can treenap me, again. Or maybe I do want him to steal this one. When the wagon comes to a halt, I jump out and make a mad dash to my tree so no one else can claim it.

Arriving back to the wagon, I find my seat feeling good. A smile graces my lips. Christmas tree checked off the list. My lips level to a thin line as soon as Connor sits next to me, almost too close.

“Find a tree?”

“Yep. You?”

“Yep.”

“Good.”

“Good,” he parrots.

He stretches out his legs in front of him and rests his arms along the railing behind us. I cross my legs, one knee over the other, and curl away from him. As more people gather on the wagon space starts to become more limited. Soon he has to sit up straight and scoot closer. His thigh brushes up against mine. His heat radiating through me. I won’t admit this to him, but it feels kind of nice on this chilly afternoon.

Pretty soon the wagon is moving again, the ride slightly bumpier than before. With each bump he gets a little closer, rubs a little harder. The friction sends a lightning bolt of heat to between my legs. Traitorous body.His gaze is trained forward on the path in front of us and I fight not to stare at him. For a brief moment I’m distracted with two kids playing Slap Jack as their laughter fills the wagon. All of a sudden, my left side goes cold. When I peer over my shoulder Connor is missing. I glance up to see where he went, and he’s moved to an open seat across from me. He’s facing the front of the wagon but staring at me from the corner of his eye. His beard making it hard to read him. I tilt my head and give him a quizzical look.Why did he move? Tired of rubbing up on me?

A second later, a giant pile of snow comes crashing down on several unsuspecting riders, including myself. My shoulders scrunch to my ears as snow tumbles inside my jacket and down my back. My eyes lock shut, and a shiver runs through my body. Shrills, shrieks, and laughter fill the wagon. Glancing behind me, a pine tree branch bounces as leftover snow flutters down. No longer cold, but instead burning with rage my gaze darts to Connor as laughter racks his body.

An icy bead of freshly melted snow trickles down my back and I glare at him. “You knew that was going to happen.”

He just laughs harder.

I mouth “I hate you.”

“Did I ruffle your tinsel… Tinsel?” A slow smirk spreads across his lips.

Ugh! He’s been permanently upgraded from Scrooge to Scrooge McAssface.

SEVEN

CHRISTMAS MULLET

Tatum

Ever since the tree incident, I've been doing everything possible to keep Connor off my mind. But that's easier said than done when every time I look out the window he’s there. Not in a Michael Myers kind of way, but while I was setting up my tree, he just so happened to be shoveling his driveway. Then he proceeded to chop wood on the side of the house. Of course, he was in a spot where I had a crystal clear view of him. It was like he knew I was watching… er… could see him. But damn, when did a guy heaving an axe over his shoulder become so hot? I lift the collar of my hoodie and sink my teeth into the fabric, needing to distract myself from running across the street and sinking my teeth into something else.

A car horn beeps, pulling me from my thoughts. Olivia’s waving at me through the window of her SUV sitting in my driveway. When she steps out, she peers over her shoulder at my neighbor’s house. She swivels back to face me, picks her jaw off the driveway, and fans herself.

I nod, then lift my wine glass to my lips and swallow a gulp.

Olivia pushes through my door. “What the hell? Is that your neighbor? Why didn’t you tell me your neighbor is a hot lumberjack mountain man?” She shrugs off her coat and hangs it up on the hook behind her. “This is the kind of information you can’t keep to yourself.”

I shrug and pass her a glass of wine. Right now, I’m torn between hating him and hating myself because with so little effort, he can make me wetter than an otter’s pocket. “It would have been better if he never moved in.”

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