Page 4 of The Grump Who Stole Christmas
“It’s not too heavy is it?” I poked at him, as I followed. “Wouldn’t want you to tear your gut up.”
He stopped and stared at me then.
I was pretty sure, had his eyes been laser beams, I would have been a dead woman.
* * *
“So this is a Tesla,”I said, after a few minutes of tense, silent driving. It was true. This car actually made no noise. It was a little unnerving.
“Yep.”
“Does it handle well in the snow?”
“It does okay.”
“How far are we from town?”
“A few minutes. Or a lifetime, depending on one’s perspective,” he drawled.
“Look,” I said, slightly exacerbated. “I’m sorry if I came off a little…intense. It’s just that I’ve got a lot going on and that flat tire was like the absolute last thing I needed to deal with.”
“Crazy.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “It was just so freaking crazy that it had to happen at that moment.”
“No, I meant you didn’t come off as intense, you came off as crazy. Like crazy.”
He was gesturing with his finger and circling it around his ear.
“I’m not crazy!”
“You were talking to yourself so loud you didn’t even hear me call out to you.”
“It’s a nervous habit,” I said defensively. It wasn’t the first time I’d been caught doing it either. “When confronted with a problem, I like to work through all my options. Saying them out loud helps me to weigh each one and choose which direction to take.”
“Okay.”
I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest. I was done talking to this man.
I was not the bad guy in this situation. My dad was hurt. I’d dropped everything to come home and take care of him. Maybe I freaked out a little too hard over some massive stranger approaching me on a dark and snowy night, but that did not make me crazy.
“I’m from New York,” I said, even though I told myself to shut up. “Manhattan to be precise.”
“Oh. Got it. That explains everything.”
“I’m not saying that’s why I was talking to myself. I’m just explaining we move at a slightly different speed in New York and that’s why I might seem a little intense to you.” I put the emphasis on intense as it was all I was willing to concede.
Crazy. Who would ever describe me as crazy?
Okay, maybe a few people, but they were haters and didn’t count.
“Well, you’re in Salt Springs now. Did you say you were from around these parts?”
“Not around these parts. Here. I’m from Salt Springs.”
“Really?” I could hear the skepticism in his voice.
“Yes, really,” I said emphatically. “My dad runs the Kringle Inn and Christmas Tree Farm.”
