Page 51 of The Jinglebell War
“You don’t think it’s weird or…” he rubs the back of his neck, “creepy?”
“Oh, it’s definitely weird. But it clearly comes from a good place. Now give me a tour before I show myself around and draw my own conclusions.”
He nods and turns toward the back of the room. “Let’s start with my great great grandparents.”
His robe is fluffy, but short enough that I can see his calves flex as he walks barefoot across the room. The way this man makes a bathrobe look sexy is probably a sign that kiss did some real damage to my cognitive abilities.
Also, his hair looks even better mussed by my hands and my face is still tingling from his scruff. I want to kiss him again.
I really, really want to kiss him again.
Instead, I follow him over to a portrait of a young couple in old timey clothing. I’m no expert, but if I had to guess, I’d say Garrick’s family’s been rich going back many, many generations.
As we gaze at each portrait, he fills me in on the family lore, some of it tragic, some of it hilarious. It gets funnier when we get to the portraits of him and his siblings. It’s like looking through a family photo album, except it’s all on the walls.
“Why is there just the one portrait of your parents?” I ask. There’s one of the two of them from their wedding day, but no portraits of the whole family together.
“This room is all about us growing up,” Garrick says. “My parents claim they don’t change enough to need a portrait every year. Throughout the house, there are portraits of the whole family. We do those every five years or so.”
“So, no narcissists at all in this house?”
He shrugs. “Not diagnosed anyway. I think claiming to have a magical vagina is definitely a sign of narcissism.”
“Fair point.” I can’t help smiling. I’m having fun with this horrible man and his family. “Most politicians are probably narcissists, right?”
He nods. “All of them, I’d say.”
“The people of Yuletide do understand I’m the only one who actually wants to be mayor, don’t they?” I sink onto the small couch in the far corner of the room with a yawn. “Who do they think’s going to take the job if they force me out of office?”
“Yarbrough Mitchell.”
Why does that name sound familiar? “Who?”
“He walks his dog through the park next to the courthouse a few times a week. Wears ski pants every day, has a permanent goggle tan.”
I’ve seen that guy. He’s hit on me a few times. “I’ve only ever heard him called Bro.”
Garrick grins. “Short for Yarbrough.”
“Isn’t he unemployed? And homeless?”
“He’s a part-time ski instructor in Sugar Valley. Still lives at home with his mother.”
“Does he have any qualifications for mayor?”
Garrick smirks. “He’s not you.”
I yawn again and grimace at the same time. “That can only end in disaster. They’ll be begging me to come back after six weeks.”
“Probably so.” Garrick holds out his hand. “Come on. It’s late and my parents will want us up early to go skiing. We should get to bed.”
I yawn as I take his hand. “Okay.” Then I freeze in place. “Did you say skiing? I thought we were here to celebrate Christmas?”
He stares like I’ve grown a second head. “What else would we do with a day off? We ski in the morning and exchange presents in the evening. It’s our tradition.”
“And if I hate skiing and am terrible at it? Will your family decide I’m unfit to date you?” Maybe I can go home.
He pulls me to my feet, still looking confused. “You’re talking about snow skiing, right? As in skiing on snow? I’ll also accept snowboarding.”
