A Very Grumpy Christmas (Wolf Valley: A Very Grumpy Holiday #4)

Chapter 1

ONE

Kip

I linger in the shadows of the parking lot, waiting for her to come out and feeling like a creepy stalker.

Well, I mean, I guess I kind of am a stalker.

Shit.

Only hers, though. I’ve never done anything like this before, never wanted to. Not until I saw her.

Ginger Baker.

She moved to town with her sisters about a year ago, and I’ve been watching her ever since, trying to learn everything that I can about her. It’s become an obsession, a compulsion. My feelings for her are out of control.

I’d like to say that it started as a mild interest, but the truth is that I’ve been obsessed with my curvy girl since the moment that she stepped foot in this town. It’s why I’ve been doing crazy things, things that I never would have done in the past. Things like following her around and leaving notes for the last few months.

The sun is dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in swirls of orange and pink, but I’m not paying attention to the view. My focus is on Ginger. It’s always on her.

I just need to get my daily dose of her, just one glimpse. That’s why I’m out here, freezing my ass off.

Over the last year, I’ve learned a lot. I’ve learned that she’s everything I’m not. She’s bright, open, and full of life. Every time I see her, it feels like my chest tightens just a little bit more. She has my heart in a vise grip and doesn’t even know it.

I’ve wanted to talk to her, really talk to her, for months now, to say something—anything—but every time I get close to her, the words get stuck in my throat, and I end up nodding or grunting at her like an asshole. And that scar on my face feels like it burns, reminding me of why someone like her would never want someone like me.

But I couldn’t stay away from her, not for long. I had to get close, to bask in her light, to hear her infectious laugh. So, I did what any lovesick fool would do, and I started writing her secret love notes.

The first note was simple. I wrote that I loved seeing her smile, that her laugh was my favorite sound, and that I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Then I left it on the windshield of her car, hoping it would make her smile.

And it had.

Now, it’s been three months of me leaving letters, of pouring out my heart without ever signing my name. She’s kept every note. I’ve seen them tucked into the pocket of her bag and coat, seen her rereading them sometimes when she’s at work and it’s slow. It’s a small miracle, watching her read the words I’m too much of a coward to say out loud.

Tonight, there’s another note, the same stationery as all of the others, carefully folded and placed under her windshield wiper. I stand far enough away that she won’t notice me, my heart racing like a teenager waiting for his crush to notice him. It’s pathetic, really. I’m pathetic. But when she walks out of Shelf Indulgence, her sister’s bookstore, her dark red hair catching the last bit of daylight, all I can do is watch and hope she likes what I’ve written this time.

My eyes drink her in greedily, and I can’t look away from her as she heads over to her old beat-up car.

I hate that damn thing. I’ve lost track of the number of hours that I’ve spent leaning over the hood, fixing the radiator and then the alternator, and then the spark plugs. The damn thing has been on its last leg for way too long, and she needs to replace it. For whatever reason, she refuses to, though, so I spend half of my nights making sure that it runs and my girl doesn’t get stranded somewhere.

She reaches her car and spots the note almost instantly. She smiles, and it’s like the whole world comes grinding to a halt. Her smile is the kind that makes you forget everything else. The kind that feels like warmth on a cold winter day. I watch as she takes the letter, her fingers brushing the edge of the paper as she opens it carefully, like she’s afraid to damage it, like my note is something precious to her.

My breath hitches as she starts reading. I don’t know why it still surprises me that she reads them so quickly, so eagerly. Or why I get so nervous as I watch her.

By the time she’s finished, her smile has softened into something sweeter, something I wish was meant just for me.

"Are you stalking her again, Kip?"

I jump, startled, and glance to my right to find my best friend, Huxley, standing next to me, his arms crossed and a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

"Not stalking," I lie, keeping my eyes on Ginger as she climbs into her car. She’s still holding the letter as she starts the engine, and I can’t help but feel a flicker of pride, or maybe it’s hope.

"Sure," Huxley says with a shrug. "That’s why you’ve been standing out here in the freezing cold for the last half an hour. Who doesn’t love being outside when it’s negative ten?”

“Exactly. I love it. It’s… bracing.”

He laughs, and I sigh. He’s right, it’s cold as fuck out here, and I’m pretty miserable. Seeing Ginger, though, makes it worth it.

“You could always try to watch her from indoors, ya know,” he says.

I shoot him a glare, but he just chuckles. Huxley’s been my best friend since birth, pretty much. We grew up together, graduated, and both joined the Marines. When I was shot and blown up last year and got out, he did too and joined me here in Wolf Valley. Now we own and run our own tourist helicopter business here in town called Semper Fly.

Huxley is the only one who knows how I feel about Ginger and about my letters to her. He’s also the only one who doesn’t think it’s completely insane. At least, not most of the time.

"You know, you could just talk to her like a normal person," he suggests, his tone light but laced with a hint of seriousness. "Instead of... this."

"She wouldn’t be interested," I say automatically, the words bitter on my tongue.

Huxley raises an eyebrow. "How would you know? You haven’t even tried."

I don’t answer. Instead, I watch as Ginger’s taillights disappear down the road, a heavy sigh escaping my lips and coming out in a puff of white air. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to her. It’s just... complicated. When I first moved to Wolf Valley after getting out of the military, I didn’t expect much. I figured that I would move to a small town and try to blend in. I would do my best to enjoy a slow, quiet, lonely life.

Then I saw her and the way she lights up a room without even trying, the way she treats everyone like they matter. She was everything I needed but didn’t think I deserved. Still don’t.

"Man, you’ve got to do something," Huxley says, nudging me. "I can’t keep watching you pine after her. It’s getting nauseating.”

I flip him off as I turn to head to my own truck, and he falls into step beside me.

“It’s Christmas soon and then a new year. You gonna be that creepy guy leaving notes forever? Or are you actually going to tell her how you feel?"

"She’s happy," I say, ignoring the sting in my chest. "She’s fine without me. Besides, it’s better this way."

"Better for who? You, hiding in the shadows, freezing to death? Or her, thinking she’s falling for some fantasy dude who doesn’t even exist?"

His words hit harder than I expect, and I clench my jaw. "I’m not some fantasy," I snap, but even as I say it, I don’t fully believe it. Huxley’s right. The person she’s falling for isn’t the real me. It’s the version of myself I wish I could be. The guy who isn’t broken or scarred, who isn’t weighed down by his past.

But that’s not who I am. Not anymore.

"Look, all I’m saying is, you’ve got to stop playing this game," Huxley says, his voice softening. "If you like her, really like her, then tell her. Don’t let this secret admirer thing blow up in your face."

I stay silent, staring at the empty spot where Ginger’s car was just moments ago. Huxley’s right, but that doesn’t make it any easier. If I tell her the truth, if I show her who I really am... what then? What if she looks at me the way I’ve always feared she would? With pity, or worse, disgust?

I’ve been hiding behind these letters because they’re safe. It’s easy to be confident on paper, to say all the things I could never say to her face. But sooner or later, I’m going to have to face the reality that I can’t stay invisible forever. Not if I want a chance with her.

"She’s going to the Christmas party," Huxley adds, almost as if reading my mind. "You know, the one she’s been volunteering for and setting up?" He says, twirling his finger around us at all of the decorations.

I groan. Of course, he would bring that up. Every year, the town throws a huge holiday festival, complete with an insane amount of decorations and an obnoxious amount of mistletoe. It’s supposed to be festive and light-hearted or whatever, but all I can think about is how impossible it would be to blend into the background at a place like that.

"So?" I ask, even though I already know where this conversation is headed.

“So, what happens if she stands under the mistletoe with someone else? What happens if she kisses someone else? Are you going to be okay with that?”

“Fuck no. She won’t do that,” I argue, and he gives me a skeptical look.

“You sure about that? She seems like she loves Christmas. I bet she would, even if it was just for the whole festive tradition.”

“So, I’ll stop her.”

“How?”

“I don’t know,” I snap. “I’ll figure it out.

“You going to shoot any guy who comes near her?” He asks, referencing the fact that we were snipers in the Marines. I don’t bother to respond to that, mainly because the thought has crossed my mind before, and I know that if I answer, Huxley will be able to tell.

"Or," Huxley says with a grin, "this could be your chance. Show up. Talk to her. Maybe even be the one to kiss her under the mistletoe."

I shake my head. "You make it sound so simple."

"Because it is," he insists. "Look, I know you’re scared, but you can’t keep hiding. If you want something to happen, you’ve got to put yourself out there. Otherwise, you’re just going to spend the rest of your life wondering what could’ve been."

I roll my eyes, but his words sink in deeper than I’d like to admit. Huxley’s always been the fearless one, the guy who dives headfirst into everything without thinking twice. I used to be like that, too, once upon a time. But that was before the attack, before everything fell apart.

Now, I’m just a guy who writes letters to a girl who doesn’t even know I exist.

But maybe... maybe I could change that.

"I’ll think about it," I finally say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Huxley claps me on the back, his grin widening. "That’s all I’m asking, man. Just think about it. You never know—Christmas miracles and all that."

I huff out a laugh, but the knot in my chest tightens all the same. The idea of actually talking to Ginger, of seeing the look on her face when she realizes who’s been writing to her all this time—it’s terrifying. But it’s also tempting.

What if, just once, I let myself believe that she might want me too?

As Huxley rambles on about some plan to get me to the party, I glance down the road, imagining Ginger’s face as she reads my next letter. It’s a fantasy, I know that. But maybe it’s time to stop hiding behind words and start living in the real world.

I’ll talk to her, I decide, straightening my shoulders as we walk over to my truck.

Eventually…