Page 22 of Mistletoe & Magic
“It doesn’t seem like it. You’re like the Grinch who works at the North Pole.”
Finn practically chokes on his bread as he laughs. Remy just shakes his head, rolls his eyes, and goes back to eating like he’s done with the conversation.
The room quiets again, and I suddenly feel the weight of the day settling in my limbs. And maybe a little something else. A flutter I’m not ready to name, not after the way Remy looked at me just now, like I’d poked at something he didn’t want touched.
I rinse out my mug and place it gently in the dishwasher.
“I think I’m going to head to bed,” I say, softer now.
Finn gives a wave, still smiling. Remy doesn’t look up.
That’s fine. I’m too tired to decode whatever’s going on behind that unreadable expression of his.
I plan to retreat to the quiet of my room, grateful for the excuse to be alone. To breathe. To think. And if my thoughts were to wander to Remy, to the way his voice rumbles when he’s annoyed, or how his jaw clenches when he’s trying not to react, well…at least I can do that with the door closed.
As I turn to leave, Finn grins, “Have fun tomorrow. Do you have big plans? Rewire the barn lights, label Remy's moods, and rezone the tree lot?”
“Ha ha, Finn. Good night,” I call as I head down the hall.
I can still hear the low rumble of Remy and Finn’s voices. I don’t linger to listen.
Remy’s a grump. And if he’s miserable, it’s no one’s fault but his own.
Still…that little sound he made over dinner? I’m not forgetting that anytime soon, especially when I have to use my vibrator to keep me warm tonight and think about him.
I’m bundled up because it’s still cold, the heater humming weakly. I should have asked Finn to look at my heater. Not even bothering with grumpy Remy. I feel that if I ask him for help, it'll set him off. I learned with my ex, Derek, that asking for help always makes things worse.
I’m staring at a picture of Lola on my phone—big brown eyes and floppy ears and her speckled fur. She's a blue heeler mix Derek got for me when she was a puppy. He didn't know what breed she was and didn’t like her when she grew into the rowdy little cattle dog she is. After I trained her and worked with her, he decided she was ‘okay.’ But he always made comments that he’d rather have a doodle or some other type of dog. I’ve always loved dogs, and one of my favorite part-time jobs was dog walking.
I miss her so much, it physically hurts. Before I can talk myself out of it, I text him.
Ivy: Hey. Can I please have Lola? I miss her.
It takes two minutes for the little dots to appear.
Derek: Not happening.
I stare at the screen. Okay, jerk.
Ivy: At least let me pick up some of my furniture and things. I couldn’t take everything with me.
Derek: Also, no. And if you don’t call your psycho sisters and mother off, I will sue your entire family.
I blink.
Ivy: What are you talking about?
Derek: Ask them.
The dots vanish. He’s gone.
I drop my phone onto the blanket, and my heart feels sick, and I whisper. “Great. I’m never getting my dog back.”
I jab Rowan’s contact and put her on speaker.
She picks up on the third ring. “What?”
“Hi to you, too. Did you guys do something to Derek?”
