Chapter 1 #2
To say I hate Logan Crawford is an understatement.
I despise, no loathe, no despisingly loathe him.
It started in elementary school, continued through middle school, and escalated in high school.
We were both top of our class. But of course, he was valedictorian because he not only excelled with his grades but was also the captain of the hockey team, which added three state championship trophies to the school’s display case.
So I’m sure it was easy for teachers to give him a pass or extra credit because he was such a great athlete.
By not being top of my class, I missed out on a scholarship opportunity that would have been a full ride to my first-choice college.
Instead, I settled for my second-choice school.
Even before that, he had to one-up me at every opportunity.
For our middle school fundraiser, I raised a respectable $1,200.
He had to outshine me with $2,100. I got an ACT score of 34.
Of course, he had to get a 35. Needless to say, after graduation, he left town to go to Boston College on a full-ride hockey scholarship.
I stayed in Minnesota with a scholarship that paid only a fraction of my tuition.
My SUV creeps to a stop next to an open field on the side of the road across from the Reindeer Ridge Tree Farm.
Henry, the owner, usually used it for overflow parking, except it’s gone untouched for the last few years.
The rumbling of heavy machinery pushing snow around echoes over the rolling hills.
Mesmerized by what’s happening, I pull the handle on the door and step out onto the road.
“What the hell is he doing?” I whisper, rounding the hood. Squeaking brakes cause me to whip around. An oversized box-style truck stops inches from my rear bumper. I race around to the back. A big, burly guy in a tan jacket and a black knit cap jumps out, slamming the truck door.
I point at the sliver of daylight between our bumpers and then glare at the guy. “Hey, you’re a little close, don’t you think?”
“Just parking my truck.”
“Perhaps you could throw it in reverse and park it so you’re not mounting my car like it owes you dinner.”
He strides toward the rear of his truck, then thumbs over his shoulder. “You’ll just have to pull forward.”
I stomp my foot. “Fine!”
The steady beeping of a truck reversing mimics the throbbing in my temples. I spin around to the bright white reverse lights getting closer. I hoof it toward the front of my SUV. “Hey! You can’t park there.”
Another guy, skinnier than the first but wearing the same tan jacket and knit cap, steps out and shuts the door. “Well, I can’t park in there since they’re moving snow. I gotta park somewhere.”
I peer down at the tiny gap between our bumpers. Oh my god, they trapped me in. My vehicle is in a three-way it never wanted. “What the hell?” I throw my hands up in the air.
“You got plenty of room.” He shrugs before strolling down the makeshift driveway.
“You can’t be serious! Someone should take your license away if you think that’s enough room! Maybe I’ll call Carson and have you towed instead!”
Asshole Number Two meets up with Asshole Number One, and they merge to create a super asshole and continue ignoring every word I’m yelling.
I stare at my front bumper. Granted, it is more room than Asshole Number One left me, but certainly not enough to get out.
As I stomp down the shoulder and around the front of Asshole Number Two’s truck, I yank out my phone, scrolling for Carson’s number.
Head down, I round the bumper and step into the road—
“Brie!”
Time slows. A hand clamps on my forearm and yanks.
I lose my footing and stumble just as another truck screams past. My phone slips from my hand and crashes into the gravel.
Wind from the near-miss blows my hair everywhere, and I slam into…
flannel. Warm, steady, soft flannel. My eyes flutter open.
I get lost in a fresh, clean linen scent. Is this what heaven smells like?
“Are you okay?” The voice is soft, but my spine recognizes it before my brain.
I tip my chin up until I meet mesmerizing hazel irises. My gaze drifts down his slightly crooked, sloping nose to the dimple of his left cheek. Every muscle in my body stiffens. Not heaven. Hell.
His fingers brush against my back, breaking me from my trance. I shove my way out of his grasp. “What are you doing?” I can’t keep the venom out of my tone.
He stumbles back, brows lifting. “Saving your life? I guess next time I’ll let the truck hit you.”
My mind’s a jumbled mess. I was just in Logan Crawford’s arms. My hands on his chest. A truck nearly turned me into roadkill. “Well, the truck was going entirely too fast. And it wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you,” I spit out.
“Wow. So this is my fault now?” He crosses his arms over his broad chest.
“Yes. Yes, it is. It’s exactly your fault.” I mimic his pose.
He rolls his eyes. “Please. Explain.”
“If you never came back to town and started doing whatever you’re doing with all the trucks,” I wave at my currently trapped vehicle, “and caging me in, this wouldn’t be an issue. What are you doing here, anyway?” With my hands on my hips, I bore my gaze into his, but he doesn’t back down.
He shrugs. “I thought Mount Holly could use some extra holiday cheer this year, so I’m organizing a carnival.”
A Christmas carnival? Not in my town. “We have enough cheer, thank you very much. It’s called the Holly Jolly Festival. And I am this year’s event coordinator.” I point to the field. “Whatever you think is happening here is not approved. I suggest you shut it down.”
“Just because you asked doesn’t mean you always get what you want.”
“The festival is important to me.”
“And my carnival is important to me. What’s your point?” He lifts a perfectly sculpted light brown brow. “I’m not shutting it down because you said so. Besides, I didn’t know an event coordinator held such weight in this town.”
My nostrils flare. He has a point, but I don’t like it. “Well, I’ll find out, and I’ll get back to you.”
He flashes me a dimpled smile. “You do that then.”
I rub the center of my forehead. “This is just like high school all over again. You come in and ruin everything. Because you have to be number one. Logan Crawford, best at everything.”
“You said it. Not me. Also, tell your parents I say hi. Actually, I need to stop by the hardware store. Your parents still own it?” Before I can tell him to get lost, he finishes, “Never mind, I’ll tell them myself.”
I huff, pivot, and stomp away.
“Hey Brie!”
I freeze.
“Watch out for speeding trucks. I’d hate to rescue you twice.” I whip my head around and glare at him. He winks. “I’ll do you a favor and move this truck so you can leave.”
“Don’t do me any favors. Moving the truck is common curtesy. Not a favor.”
“Just say thank you.”
“To you, never.”
“You’re welcome.” He climbs into the truck, turns the engine over, and pulls forward, giving me just enough room to squeeze out.
Not wanting to waste another second, I jump into my SUV and step on the gas, driving in the opposite direction of town, but I don’t care.
I’ll take the scenic route back. I just need to get away from Logan.
My hands tremble as I grip the steering wheel.
This isn’t how the kickoff to the holiday season was supposed to go down.
It was to be joyous and exhilarating, not like I want to commit murder.
I whip the steering wheel right, brake hard, and skid to the shoulder.
Park. Inhale. Hold. And exhale a primal scream that probably startles a crow three counties over.
Sadly, it still doesn’t make me feel better.
My phone chimes with a message. Glancing down, a smidge of comfort washes over me.
My other best friend will help me wallow in this catastrophe.
Willa
Checking in to make sure you didn’t get kidnapped by the Grinch in a white windowless van claiming to sell Christmas decorations.
Brie
No van. But worse.
Willa
Ooo. What can be worse than a kidnapping?
Brie
Logan fucking Crawford.
Willa
Yikes. I bet you wish it was the van.
Brie
Yep.
Willa
Your breakfast sandwich is getting cold. Come to the diner and I’ll make you a new one. Then you can tell me what Logan has to do with anything.
Brie
My Christmas Wonderland turned into a Christmas hell.
Willa’s strawberry-blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail, her signature work look.
The Jolly Biscuit stretches across the front of her gray shirt.
She greets me from behind the counter with a to-go bag of my usual turkey sausage patty, egg white, and pepper jack cheese, on a whole wheat English muffin.
“So, I hear you’re making out with Logan Crawford on the side of the road.”
My mouth falls open. “No! My lips would never touch his.”
“Mrs. Hanson says otherwise. She said she saw you two embracing in a lip lock on the side of Snowflake Lane by Reindeer Ridge.”
“Mrs. Hanson needs to get her eyes checked, because none of that happened.” The gossip runs rampant through town, and today it seems to be spearheaded by the head Gigi herself.
“But you did run into Logan.”
“Unfortunately. And by the looks of it, he’s not passing through town. He’s building a Christmas carnival.”
“Ooo. Competition.” She leans on the counter, resting her chin on her hand.
“No! Not competition. More like a pain in my ass.” I rub my temples. A headache tap-dances behind my eyes. “What time is it?”
“8:55.”
“Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m going to be late! And it’s all Logan’s fault!”
“Fine. I’ll let it slide this time, but the Deer tonight. Because I need the rest of the kiss story, and it’s raffle night.”
I drop my shoulders and glare at her.
She holds her hands up in defense. “I heard kiss. Until you tell me the full story, it’s a kiss.”
I roll my eyes. “Is it too early to drink now?”
“It might be best to wait until at least noon.”
“I’ll call you later.” I spin on my heel and wave my hand over my head. A gust of icy wind smacks into me as soon as I land on the sidewalk. Mondays can swan-dive straight into the frozen Winterberry Creek.