Page 29 of Mistletoe Misses
I pause, expecting a punchline that never emerges. Weird. “Is our sledding hill clear?” I ask, appreciating his restraint.
“Meticulously maintained.” A crooked grin glides into place. “Like the sexy snow bunnies Ientertainup there.”
And there it is. “I’m sorry I asked.”
He winks before skimming his hand down my shoulder and slapping it one last time against my arm, the punctuation mark to his prank. Just like the old days.
“Disgusting.” My face revolts in response to the irregular proximity of smeared manure to my eyes and nose. Somehow the stench isn’t half as bad when it’s mingled in hay. “What was that for?”
“First of all, I can’t go riding with manure on my hands. Second, your boring existence needed something to … spice it up a little.”
“Horse shit isnotspice.”
He sucks in a long breath through his nose, and it comes out in a white haze through his mouth. “It is for a cowboy.”
“Then you won’t mind joining me.”
“What?”
Before he can jump out of the way, my gloved hand dives into the steaming pile between us and smacks against his right pec.
As he realizes what I’d done to stain his clean, tan coat, annoyance paralyzes him. He glares at me with blank eyes before surveying the brown handprint. How did he not see that coming?
He picks out a piece of hay from the globs hanging on and flicks it into the breeze. “That’s just dirty.”
“No. It’s the spicy farm cologne you love so much.”
“Fine. I deserved that.”
“And plenty more for the trouble you started literally everywhere we went together over the last twenty years.”
“And look how dull your life has been without me.” He flashes that trademark grin again—the playboy identifier that won over the surfer and probably countless others since.
“That doesn’t work on me.”
Chapter 7
Maddox
Ican still smell manure and hay as I rip out rusty appliances in the apartment above the bookshop the next day. The special scent seems to leak out of my pores as I sweat through the work. My body also aches in places I never find with regular workouts. Each task on the farm is physical and demanding, but knowing me like he does, Jamie didn’t take it easy on me.
After our horseback ride set theI’m going to feel this tomorrowthreshold, we hurdled it by completing more of the farm’s endless chores. We fed and watered the pigs, chickens, goats, and a random llama. I have no idea why Jamie has a llama. He wouldn’t give me a straight answer. Then, we returned the dozen horses we corralled earlier to their stalls and did the same nightly care for them.
We worked side-by-side, talking when the task allowed and letting the farm provide the entertainment when it didn’t. Through it all, he understood how immersing myself in something constructive was exactly what I needed. The familiar environment, mindless manual labor, and animal therapy soothed me in a way nothing else could.
While rewarding ourselves with a cold beer afterward, he avoided any topic that might lead back to Carmen. His ridiculous stories rolled from one to the next, making me laugh more than I have in the last decade, and I didn’t give her one thought. It may be difficult for others to recognize at times, but his heart is the size of a tanker truck, and I hope I’ve been the friend to him that he’s been to me.
Getting my hands dirty with the apartment demolition, keeps the relaxed mood I found at Jamie’s flowing through the morning. Nana has been quiet, which probably helps. After opening the shop, I expected her to follow me up here and make her complaints known, but she’s left me alone. She could be plotting against me, organizing my next mistletoe encounter, or calling in reinforcements for her mission tofixmy life, but I feel too good to think about that. I plan to ride this wave for as long as I can before life’s little surprises drag me under again.
Moving on to removing the old electrical, the simpler task is quieter, allowing the light rustling happening downstairs to register. I ignore it until the muted hum grows into the definition of commotion, piquing my Nana paranoia.
Speaking of little surprises and the instigator herself, she calls for me from the base of the stairs, surely poised to deliver another surprise to make my toes curl with annoyance. It’s like she knew I was thinking about her.
“Maddox! Can you come here?”
I don’t bother hiding my dissatisfaction since she’s not here to call me out on it and use the adrenaline it provides to pull the last of the old telephone wire out of the wall.
“It wasn’t a request,” she yells.
