Page 2 of Rebel Without a Claus
I gape at him. He smirks, starting to walk off toward his truck, boots crunching in the snow. But Cringle is having none of it. A strict mama’s boy, my little dog is no bigger than 10 lbs. soaking wet, but he thinks he’s a pitbull. He charges Luke, barking and chasing his heels.
“What the hell is that?” Luke says, peering behind him at my dog.
“Thatis Cringle.”
“What the hell’s a cringle?”
“Mydog. And in my experience, he’s a very good judge of character.”
Luke snorts and points down to his heels where Cringle is tugging on the hem of his jeans. “You’ve definitely been living in the city too long if you thinkthatthing is a dog.”
I bend down and scoop Cringle into my arms. Tongue out, he pants, proud of himself. “Don’t you have a Whooville to invade somewhere?” I snap.
Luke and I haven’t seen each other in years. We always manage to avoid each other every time I come home… until now, apparently.
His eyes narrow and he gives a final monosyllabic grunt before pulling a case of pinecones and squash out of his truck and handing them to me. I manage to balance the crate on my hip while my mother takes Cringle from my arms. “Here’s your order, Mrs. Winters,” Luke says to my mom.
I look down at the crate and blink. “You ordered pinecones? Why the hell would you pay Luke for pinecones when the ground is covered with them every year? You could collect a whole damn barn of pinecones from our front yard if you wanted to!”
“Luke’s pinecones have edible seeds and are cleaned and safe for indoor wreath use,” Mom explains… but her answer still doesn’t line up for me.
“That still sounds like a colossal waste of money,” I snap.
Luke doesn’t answer me at first. All I get in response is a snort and he tugs his winter hat lower over his ears. “Always a pleasure, Eve,” he grunts before getting into his truck and speeding away.
“Oh dear,” Mom says beside me, watching him drive away. “That boy is as grumpy as ever.”
“Thatboyhas the personality of a snow shovel,” I mutter, still fuming.
“You weren’t exactly a ray of sunshine yourself,” she says, setting Cringle back down now that the coast is clear.
“Yeah. Because Luke sucks the sunshine out of any room he’s in.”
“Mm.” She pats my arm. “You two always did have a special kind of… energy.”
I snort. “Energy? Yeah. The kind where he glowers at me, and I resist the urge to shove tinsel up his nose.”
Mom hums, eyes twinkling suspiciously, but I ignore it. The last thing I need is her getting any ideas. Luke and I were on again, off again frenemies all through high school. One second, I would think we were getting along. My crush for him would deepen, then the next, he would ignore me all week.
By the time I lug the stupid crate of pinecones inside as well as my ridiculous amount of luggage in the front door, I’m still stewing. And okay, maybe also thinking about the way Luke’s hands felt when he caught me.Firm. Warm. Unreasonably strong.Ugh.
But seeing the North Star Lodge all decked out for Christmas is the breath of pine-scented fresh air I needed to improve my mood. It’s just as magical as I remember—twinkling lights,garlands draped along the staircase, a towering Christmas tree taking up half the lobby. Dad is exactly where Mom said he’d be, grumbling over the placement of the garland on the banister.
“Dad!”
He looks up, face breaking into a wide grin. “There’s my Christmas girl!”
I roll my eyes and launch myself into his arms, laughing as he hugs me tight. “How many times do we have to go over this? I was born on July 25… nowhere near Christmas.”
“You know you were our little Christmas in July baby!” Mom chides me.
I sigh and opt for a change in subject. “Dad, are you stress-decorating again?”
He pulls back, sighing. “The left side ishalf an inchhigher than the right, Eve. It’s an abomination.”
“Oh, the horror.”
“You joke, but symmetry matters. Especially to the judges,” Dad says with a shake of his finger at me.
