Page 30 of The Mistletoe Kisser
He felt the need to convince her, to arrange the facts for her and lead her to the correct conclusion. “Dipshit Ryan went to college for six years and never graduated,” he began. “He changed his major every other semester and failed all of his classes because he was too busy ‘falling in love’ every five seconds.”
“Some people like love,” she pointed out, looking amused.
He rolled his eyes, then decided he’d wait a week or two before attempting it again when the room began to spin. “Now, he has a title at his parent’s property management company and shows up to work once or twice a week. At least when he’s not trying to ‘find himself’ in a yoga teacher training or a pastry chef workshop. He hasn’t paid taxes since 2007. And he prefers dating wealthy married women because they give him shiny presents and don’t expect him to be home every night.”
“That’s quite the assessment. Youdocome from a competitive family,” Sammy mused, over the rim of her coffee cup.
“You have no idea,” he told her.
In elementary school, Dipshit Ryan had challenged him to a hot dog eating contest and then stacked his own plate with cocktail wieners. In high school, the idiot had bet him ten bucks that he couldn’t finish his trigonometry problems first. Ryan had whipped out the work and answers in record time only to have his shithead cousin slap his name on it and turn it in for class.
Thenwhen Ryan had brought his college girlfriend home for Thanksgiving, Jackass Ryan had gotten her loaded on cheap tequila and tried to make out with her. She’d—rightfully—pushed him down the stairs.
Weiner Face Ryan had been in a neck brace for Christmas and blamedhimfor the whole thing.
“What would your cousin have to say about you?” Sammy asked.
“That I am loyal, dependable, responsible. All derogatory insults to him,” Ryan told her. “That I take everything too seriously and I haven’t had any fun in twenty years. That I’d rather cross things off my to-do list than live life.”
“So the real question is, which one of you is Evil Ryan?” she asked with the arch of an eyebrow, clearly enjoying herself.
“Heis.” Ryan was moderately offended that she hadn’t picked up on that. “He’s irresponsible, flighty, and an asshole. Aworsekind of asshole,” he insisted when she flashed him a pointed look. “He’s not capable of caring about other people.”
“And you are?”
“I’m here, aren’t I? Instead of fighting for my job and defending my reputation, I’m in Full Fucking Moon attempting to solve some crisis for my great-uncle.”
“Blue Fucking Moon,” she corrected. “What’s the crisis?”
He shook his head. “It’s family business, and I don’t know the details yet.”
Dammit.He needed to get a meeting with that Rainbow Berkowicz at the bank. Once he knew what he was dealing with, he could figure out a solution and reward himself with a one-way ticket home.
“Well, we’d better get started then,” Sammy announced. She picked up both their plates and put them in the sink.
“Get started?”
“You’re living on a farm. You have chores to do.”
Blue Moon CommunityFacebook Gossip Group
Lavender Fullmer:I’m not one to speculate, but I believe I saw our very single veterinarian pulling into Old Man Carson’s farm last night. Rumor has it, Carson’s nephew is staying there alone for a few days.
9
The sun was barely a pink sliver cresting the tree line when Ryan marched into the snow wearing a pair of two-sizes-too-small muck boots. He’d already ruined one pair of shoes in this winter wasteland.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he grumbled to himself. At home, he was an early bird by nature. He liked to be in the office by seven thirty most mornings to enjoy the stillness before phone calls and meetings and “quick questions” overtook the rest of the day. The important delineation being that usually he was sober West Coast Ryan. Not Hungover Jet-lagged Ryan.
Sucking in a breath of lung-stabbing, icy air, he tromped toward the barn. The boxy, white structure looked like it could use a few coats of paint and maybe a new roof. A rusty tractor and a jumbled collection of metal farming implements resided in the open bay to the far right. The frozen ground was uneven and rutted with patches of gravel and weeds popping out of the melting snow.
Farming seemed like a dirty, disorganized job. Exactly the opposite of what he was comfortable with.
Sammy whistled for him from the door. “Nice hat,” she called with a grin.
Not everyone could look likeherin the morning. He refused to be charmed by the picture she made. Lavender blue eyes framed by those honey blonde waves under a green knit hat. She wore a scarf—more green—around her neck. Her vest was a pop of red against the gray-white of the barn wood. Just looking at her made him feel warm, which then annoyed him.
Pulling his stupid rainbow hat lower over his brow, he plodded toward her, toes scrunched at the ends of the boots. “Reluctant farmer reporting for first and last duty ever,” he grumbled.
