Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Max
Narrator: With a new girl—and a new idea—in town, Max has no clue what’s about to hit him. And I surprisingly feel bad for him. Because this is not going to be a walk in the park for him, and I think we all know how he gets when he’s stressed.
Though what would a story be without some tension and intrigue?
And a stressed Max?
Max: Do you want anything from Warm Your Spirits?
I wait for Cole to text back as I head down the sidewalk, avoiding ice patches as I make my way toward the coffee shop, the wind whipping around off the mountains and blowing snow up off the ground and into the faces of those walking the streets.
Jesus, it’s nippy this morning.
My phone buzzes in my hand with a text.
Cole: Why aren’t you at work?
Max: Had to make a deposit at the bank. Don’t worry, dear. I’ll be back soon. Is that a no on the coffee?
Cole: Just get back here, you fuck.
“I’m going to take that as a no.” I pocket my phone and turn the corner just as someone runs directly into my chest. “Oof, watch the niblets,” I say, their limbs almost getting me in the goods.
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” the woman says in a muffled tone; the ski mask she’s wearing is accompanied with a hat, only giving me a bit of her blue eyes. Smart to wear a ski mask with the way the wind is moving this morning. “Are you okay?”
“I believe everything is still intact. Are you okay?”
She pats her body and then says, “Everything checks. Unless . . .” She eyes me playfully. “Did you bump into me on purpose to steal something, maybe a pickpocket situation?”
I can see the smile in her eyes, so I play along. “Ma’am, you bumped into me, and how dare you accuse me of such an egregious act?”
“No, you bumped into me. It is known that when taking a curve, you stick to your side of the ‘road,’” she says, using air quotes, and then looks down. “According to our positioning, you’re crossing lanes.”
I glance down as well and, huh, would you look at that.
“Well, you got me there.” I raise my palm. “Guilty as charged.”
She chuckles. “So hand it over.” She holds her glove-covered hand out.
“Hand what over?”
“Oh, you know, what you took.”
Pretty blue eyes.
Excellent repartee.
Consider me intrigued.
Hanging my head, I reach into my pocket and pull out nothing. “Fine, but I don’t see why you are in need of a harpoon. It’s Christmastime after all.”
Why a harpoon? First thing that came to mind, so let’s see where she goes with it.
She pretends to snag said harpoon and then, to my surprise, acts like she’s polishing it. “My harpoon is none of your business.”
Fuck, that’s cute.
I eye her suspiciously. “You must be visiting then, because they outlawed harpoons in Kringle about ten years ago.”
“Not visiting. New to town.” She sticks the fake harpoon in her belt loop. “And I got permission to wield one for purposes that cannot be spoken of. So best you keep to your own business, sir.”
“New to town, huh?” I ask, liking this woman already. “Care to share a name?”
Slowly, she looks me up and down, and then that smile reappears.
If only she didn’t have that ridiculous ski mask on, then I could really see it.
“Share my name with someone who tried to steal my harpoon?” She shakes her head.
“Absolutely not.” She starts to walk by me, but I stop her at the shoulder and then reach into my back pocket.
I hold my hand out to her and say, “Don’t forget your harmonica either.”
Her eyes widen playfully, and she snatches air from my hand. She points at me and says, “I’m watching you, sir.”
Chuckling, I say, “Yeah, hopefully you don’t bump into me again.”
“Hopefully. I might have to put in a report to the police.”
“Nah, they like me too much to arrest me.”
“Ah, corruption in a small town. Looks like I’ll have to use my harpoon after all.”
I laugh. “A vigilante. Now that’s something I can get into.” I lean close. “Need a sidekick?”
“Perhaps.” She eyes me again. “What qualifications do you offer as a sidekick, because I’m only looking for the best? Can’t have you slowing me down.”
“Qualifications.” I tap my chin, trying to think of something good that I could bring to the table. Something unique. “Well, for one, I’m tall.” Not unique, but I’m still getting warmed up here.
“How is your height going to aid me in any way? If anything, it will hinder us because you will stand out.”
“You didn’t let me finish. I’m tall, but I have the ability to shrink.”
“Shrink where? In cold water?”
I snort so hard that I have to cover my nose. “How did you know?”
Her eyes peruse me, giving me a slow once-over before saying, “Solid guess. But I have to say, I have no use for any . . . shrinking, so unless you have anything else to offer, I think I should be on my way.”
Just to be playful, I stick my hands in my pockets and smirk at her. “I think that’s about it. Shrinkage.”
From the twinkle in her eyes, I can tell she’s smiling too. “Well, this has been educational, but I must be on my way.”
“So that’s a no on the sharing of the harpoon then?”
“How about this? If I bump into you again, then I’ll call it fate and consider your use of the harpoon.”
“What about the harmonica?”
Those makeup-free eyes smile up at me again. “Clearly the harmonica will be yours.”
I nod in approval. “Then I look forward to bumping into you again.”
“Only if you’re lucky.” And with that, she takes off.
Wow . . . I liked her . . . a lot.
Hopefully I bump into her again, catch her name . . . possibly her number.
Wouldn’t mind seeing what’s hiding behind that mask.
“There you go, ready for a new home.” I pat the top of the black van that I just strapped a tree to.
“Are you sure we don’t need netting?” the father of the family asks. “Every tree I’ve purchased at other farms was put in netting.”
Keeping a smile on my face, I say, “The netting is just a gimmick. Trust me, the way I strapped this tree down, it’s not going anywhere, and not a branch will be out of place.
Not to mention netting doesn’t give the tree room to breathe and more than likely flattens the branches, tugging on the needles.
” Also, the netting usually ends up in a landfill or in the ocean and rots away.
I refuse to be the reason why a sea turtle loses a flapper.
Flapper?
Is that the right word?
Narrator: The correct term would be flipper, referring to the fore and hind limbs.
“God, you’re useful. Thank you.”
Narrator: Anytime. Now back to the story.
“Well, I’m holding you to that,” the father says, pointing at me.
Hands on my hips, I say, “Please do.” Then I pat the nimrod on the shoulder and head toward the tree shack to take a breather.
Kate is working the register, a job my mom usually works, so I take a seat behind her and grab my water bottle.
There’s a lull in customers, so I ask, “How’s it going?”
“Pretty good,” she says as she turns toward me and leans against the counter.
Kate is a pretty girl, short hair where it’s buzzed on the sides but full up top.
She curls her hair in just the right way where it falls over her forehead, sweeping to the side.
I’ll be honest, I had quite the crush on her a few years back .
. . until Cole informed me that she has a girlfriend.
I was gutted and jealous all at the same time.
“Been nonstop in here, but I’ve been able to handle it.
There was only that one question I didn’t have an answer to, so I’m glad you had your walkie-talkie on so I could ask. ”
I nod and set my water bottle down. “Yes, you can find any vendor information in the drawer.”
“I know that now,” she says.
“Who was looking for vendor information?” I ask. “Did they want to sell here?”
“They wanted a list of vendors. She said she could just spend her time walking around, writing down the names of the vendors, as she planned to explore anyway.”
“What did she want to do with the names?” I ask, the hairs on the back of my neck starting to stand.
Kate shrugs. “Not sure.”
“What did she look like?”
Kate gives me a weird look before she chuckles. “Afraid you might have competition?”
I know to her, that’s a funny joke, because Evergreen Farm is very well established and one of the centerpieces in Kringle, an iconic institution that maintains the idea that Christmas is the season of perpetual hope. But to me . . . my nether regions start to shake all over again.
Because—and don’t fucking judge me for saying this; I swear I’m sane—but . . . the invaders.
“No, just curious,” I say casually, trying not to bring any focus on the anxiety rolling around inside me.
“She had bright blond hair, almost white, and really rich blue eyes framed by black eyelashes coated in mascara. Not ashamed to say that they slightly captured me. She was on the shorter side and wearing a red sweater.”
“Shorter than you?” I ask Kate, who is just about five foot.
She chuckles. “No, I’d say maybe an inch taller than me.”
I nod, tucking that information away. “Good to know. Well, if you see her again and she has questions, just ping me on the walkie-talkie, and I’ll meet up with her.”
“Sounds good,” Kate says while I stand from my chair.
“Well, headed out again. Let me know if you need anything.”
“I will.”
With a smile, I wave to her and then exit the tree shack. The moment the light whip of the wind hits me, panic overtakes me, driving me toward the reindeer barn.
Evergreen Farm is one of those places where customers can visit for at least half a day.
Not only do we have a tree farm where we cut and plant trees, but we’re home to Santa’s reindeer, gingerbread-making classes, snowmobile rides, ice-skating among the tall pines, and a whole section of vendors where you can find a vast array of unique Christmas gifts.
We embody the Christmas spirit, and we have for years, so someone snooping around the day after I heard invaders on the property? Uh yeah, not on my watch.