Page 26 of The Grump Who Stole Christmas
“Can you think of something better?”
“Yes,” I said, nearly offended. “Everything would be better. A better job, a real salary, a home, a family.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to have those things,” he pointed out. “In fact, once the cabin is finished I’m going to start looking.”
“Looking for what?” I wanted to know.
“A wife.”
My jaw dropped. I knew this because he used his knuckles under my chin to shut it. “You don’t just go looking for a wife. Like it’s some kind of position that has to be filled.”
“People do it all the time,” he argued. “What the hell do you think the dating apps are for?”
I cocked my head and gave him a look.
“Fine, some people use the apps for other things. But some people use them when they want to get serious. I’m thirty-nine. I’m ready to settle down. Devote myself to a wife and kids.”
“Even though you don’t make any money,” I reminded him.
“Money is overrated.”
“Money is freedom,” I corrected him.
“You’re a bigwig in New York City, probably make a shit-ton of money. Do you feel free?”
The obvious answer was on my lips. Of course, I was free. I had an apartment in New York with over one thousand square feet. I didn’t have to take the subway if I didn’t want to. Ever. I could order in food every night. What was that if it wasn’t freedom?
I swallowed and felt a lump in my throat.
“What bad news do you have to tell your brother?” he pressed.
I let out a sigh, and slumped over, the brownie suddenly a heavy weight in my stomach.
“The inn is in bigger trouble than I thought. And it’s not just the last few seasons. It’s been a sinkhole for money for years and I don’t know if I can save it. Which means I might have to tell my brothers and my father we either have to sell it or risk my father losing everything. How is that for bad news?”
He was quiet for a moment while he digested that.
“Now, I’mreallysorry I ate all your brownies.”
SEVEN
The Next Morning
Paul
This was a problem. Not something I expected. Looking down at Kay-Kay sound asleep in her bed, her messy bun undone, and her hair spread out all over the pillow, this weird feeling swelled in my chest.
Ilikedher.
I did not want to like her. In fact, all signs pointed to my hating her. She was controlling, demanding, condescending. High strung. Typical high-powered executive who expected everything to be done just the way she intended.
Change a flat tire.
Use the right mug.
Don’t come into my room while I’m sleeping.
She stirred on the bed. She was probably going to be pissed off I was in her room, sitting on her bed, watching her while she slept.
