Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Aaron
Jenna sits next to me, huffing and sighing, and I have to bury my smile in my drink, doing my best to ignore her when she glares at me from the corner of her eye.
This woman wears nearly every thought she has all over her face.
She’d be easy to beat at poker, even for me, and I haven’t played since college.
Not that I was amazing, but a few of my friends and I had a low stakes poker game that met weekly for a couple years.
The total buy-in was five dollars, and the loser had to bring beer the next week.
Not that we didn’t all bring our preferred drinks, anyway. It was just a little added incentive not to suck.
Jenna’d be bringing beer every week for sure. She has no poker face at all.
She clearly wants to say something—or maybe she wants me to say something?
I’m not sure what she’d expect me to say, though.
And if she were someone else like that, huffing and puffing and carrying on next to me, I might ask what the problem is, but I get a little bit of a kick out of letting her get herself all worked up.
She’s provided endless amounts of frustration and barbed comments since she moved here, so I don’t feel bad about letting her stew until she decides to stop on her own.
Besides, she’s an adult. If she has a problem she wants to address, she can use her words. That’s a lesson I’m doing my best to make sure Colin learns even now. If you’re upset, you can tell me and we can talk about it. We’re not going to scream and carry on, though.
“What did I ever do to you?” she finally blurts out, turning on her stool to face me.
She has her hands spread wide, palms up.
“I moved here specifically to do this job. Yeah, I’m in charge of the summer events too.
I know that. But it was made very clear to me during the interview process, that this—ChristmasFest—is my primary focus all year long.
Even when I started in June, Cynthia emphasized that planning for this year’s ChristmasFest started in January. ”
“Right. So by the time you got here in the summer, preliminary plans had already been made. There was a lot we’d taken care of already, and you came in and decided you needed to change things—the decor, the vendor application process—”
“Which you blocked me on,” she interrupts, pointing a finger at me accusingly.
I snort. “We took a vote. It was close, but it wasn’t all down to me.”
“You seem to hold a lot of sway, though. If you’d backed me, others probably would’ve as well.”
Another snort. “If you think I’m going to openly stand against Mara Daniels like that …” I shake my head. “You’ve got a lot to learn about this town and how it runs.”
She narrows her eyes. “Mara Daniels is a lovely woman. She told me tonight how much she appreciates the updates I’ve made to the decor.
She said people have been talking up the photo backgrounds while in line to see Santa, saying how much they love them, and she suggested creating some for the summer as well. ”
I dip my chin in agreement. “Yes, Mara’s great.
I never said she wasn’t. But she thought your photo backgrounds sounded like a good idea already.
The fact that they’re a hit will help you for next year.
But coming in and trying to make too many changes in your first year is a sure way to set people against you.
Even if your suggestions for vetting new vendors is a good idea, Mara’s the heart and soul of this event.
It was her baby, and she and Jake raised it from infancy and made it what it is.
She set up those guidelines years ago, and as far as she’s concerned, they work just fine and there’s no reason to change them.
You need to bide your time, Jenna. If you mean to stay for the long term. ”
“I do,” she shoots back, her brows crimping and her chin lifting at the slight challenge in my words. She’s feisty. Doesn’t back down from a fight. I like that about her, even if it’s annoying as shit when the one she’s fighting with is me. It makes me respect her, though.
Another dip of my chin, and I take another drink.
“Good. You’ll have to forgive us locals, though, if we’re a bit slow to trust that’ll be the case.
There’ve been too many people who’ve swept in full of big ideas that cost money and all too often leave an eyesore—developers, speculators, people who see the untouched land around here and want to bulldoze the trees to sell luxury condos and timeshares, not realizing that bulldozing everything will destroy the very package they’re trying to sell.
They don’t care about Arcadian Falls. They just care about making money. ”
Her eyes go wide, and she lays her hand on her chest after swallowing her latest sip of her drink. “You think I’m just here to suck the town dry? Seriously?”
Biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling, I shake my head slowly. “No. Not that. But small towns resist change. You’ve been living in a city for too long, and you think you should make all of us country folk catch up with the times. The problem is, we don’t want to.”
“So instead we’ll just keep doing things like we always have, even when the world moves on without us, getting scammed and sucked dry until all we have left is a few trees and a dying town?”
My eyebrows shoot up at that. “Bold of you to include yourself as one of us.”
Her eyes narrow. “I live here. I work here. I am part of this town, whether you like it or not.”
Inwardly, I can’t help but respect that kind of loyalty. “You’ll have to forgive me if I reserve judgment about that,” I drawl. “The thing about keeping up with the world—is it worth it if we destroy all our values in the process?”
She scoffs. “Updating the vendor application will destroy your values? Are you listening to yourself?”
This time I let my chuckle out. “Well, no. I do think you make a good point about making sure the vendors are selling handcrafted items and not reselling cheap junk. I do think we’ve done a pretty good job of that so far, though I’ve noticed an increase in those types of applications, and I agree with you that they’re not always easy to spot.
Including a few extra parts to the application to make weeding them out easier isn’t a bad idea.
But like I said, you have to get people on your side. You’re still an outsider.”
She huffs another sigh, turning back to the bar and spinning her drink around on its coaster. She only has a few sips left, and I hold up a finger to catch Amy’s attention. “Another round for Jenna and me. Add it to my tab.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—” Jenna starts, but I cut her off.
“Consider it a peace offering.”
She gives me a quizzical look. “What would make you want to have peace with me”—she lays her hand on her chest again—“a lowly outsider?”
Biting my cheek again to keep from laughing at her flair for drama, I drain my glass while Amy fills new pints for us both.
“Well,” I say, accepting the new glass and watching Jenna drain hers.
Amy’s smirking at the both of us as she drifts off, clearly having overheard most if not all of our conversation up until now.
“You did alert me to a problem with the potted trees.”
“A problem that you tried to blame on me, I might remind you,” she points out.
I nod. “True.”
“Because you, like nearly everyone else, have decided that I’m actually the Grinch in disguise, here to steal Christmas from all the good little boys and girls of Whoville.”
That makes me laugh out loud. “I don’t know that I’d go that far.”
“You might be the only one.” She shrugs, tilting her head to one side. “Well, I don’t think Mara and Brit think I’m a Grinch. Not really. Even if they shut down as many of my ideas as they backed. Well, more actually.”
“Who’s called you a Grinch?” I ask, the humor leaking out of me.
I might not agree with all her ideas either, and I’m as resistant to major changes to our town’s biggest festival as anyone else around here—and I’m not too proud to admit it—but Grinch seems to be taking things a bit too far.
Sure, she’s not from here, and she probably tried to make too many changes too fast for most of our liking, but she’s never tried to destroy anything.
Not on purpose, anyway. And a Grinch is definitely intentional about stealing Christmas.
She gapes at me a second, mouth hanging open. Then she snaps it shut, looking away. “Uh, no one. Don’t worry about it.”
“Nope. Wrong answer. Try again.”
“Seriously.” She glances at me. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Yeah, no. I’m not buying that one either. Who was it? I want names.”
Looking up at the ceiling, she blinks a few times and lets out a humorless chuckle. “Why, so you know who to invite into your fan club? Or, what’s the opposite of a fan club?”
I scratch my chin, taking the bait for just a second. “I guess it’d be a hate club, wouldn’t it?”
Another sidelong glance. “Doesn’t have the same ring to it as a fan club.”
“True. Guess you better tell me who they are then so I can stop the terrible club before it has a chance to get off the ground.”
Another humorless laugh, but she faces me again. “What? You gonna go beat ‘em up?”
“Well, that wasn’t my exact plan. I figured I’d talk to them, though. It might take us a while to fully trust outsiders—especially ones coming in and trying to change long-held traditions—but we generally pride ourselves on not being openly antagonistic. Did they call you a Grinch to your face?”
She sighs, and this one sounds defeated.
“No.” The word is little more than a whisper.
“No one called me that to my face. Well, there was the one committee meeting …” I flick my fingers, dismissing that event.
“That was more of an aside than directly to me, so you don’t need to talk to anyone about their failure to roll out the welcome wagon.
Everyone here—barring you—has been perfectly nice to my face.
I overheard a couple of ladies who volunteered to help set up complaining about the changes to decor I made and they compared me unfavorably to the Grinch, saying something like they were surprised I’d left even as much as I had.
They said that maybe my heart was only one size too small instead of two sizes like the Grinch. ”
“You still haven’t given me names.”
She meets my eyes, her face blank. “And I’m not going to. It’s seriously not that big of a deal. You need to let it go. I have.”
“Have you?”
“Yes.”
I grunt, because what else am I supposed to say?
No wonder she got so defensive about me accusing her of not taking care of the trees.
I did make it sound like it was some kind of moral failing on her part without acknowledging any of the other variables at play.
I didn’t even consider that someone would be dumping excessive amounts of cream and sugar into the trees. I mean, who even does that?
That guy, obviously.
“So,” I blow out a breath, “what I’m really hearing is that I need to punch myself in the face for being openly antagonistic. Is that right?”
That gets a soft chuckle and a hint of a smile out of her.
Thank god. At first she shakes her head, then she turns to face me again, her eyes narrowed, a malevolent smile curling the corners of her lips.
They’re extra red, probably from the dark red of her cider, but I can’t tear my eyes away from them.
“Actually,” she says, her voice silky smooth and dangerous. “I’d like to watch that.”
My eyes jump to hers, and I don’t know what she’s talking about for just a second. “Huh? Oh. Uh …”
She laughs again, this one sounding more genuine, and waves a hand.
“I’m joking. I mean, well, if you wanted to punch yourself in the face, of course I wouldn’t stop you.
But you don’t need to flagellate yourself on my account either.
” She finally picks up the new cider Amy set down in front of her.
“I will, however, accept your peace offering.”
Thank fuck. I lift my beer and hold it out for a toast. “To good ideas, a successful ChristmasFest, and stopping the tree poisoner.”
She giggles, and it’s downright adorable. Dear god. How did I miss how attractive this woman is before tonight? “To showing the town that I don’t want to steal Christmas—or ChristmasFest—and maybe even fitting in.”
My lips part, and I want to say something to that, but before I can formulate anything, she clinks her glass against mine, says, “Cheers,” and drinks deeply.
And while I’ve apparently been a giant asshole to her, I’m not such an asshole that I can’t follow toast protocol. “Cheers,” I murmur back, taking a drink of my own.
I’m reeling a little from all the realizations I’ve had in the last few minutes, though.
Jenna’s lonely. That much is obvious from that last bit of her toast. I’ve been so focused on how much I dislike change and on resenting her for trying to force too much too soon, that I haven’t paused to think how it makes her feel to have nearly every suggestion rejected on its face.
And on top of that, I like her. She’s pretty.
She’s feisty. And she makes me feel alive when we’re verbally sparring in a way I haven’t felt in …
too long. So much of my life is ruled by routine and order—numbers, work, Colin’s various routines to keep us on track.
Amelia’s the big wild card in my life, and I’ve done everything to minimize the disruptions she causes.
But I want to get to know Jenna. It’s only fair that I treat her as a person, at minimum, instead of an adversary sent by the universe to make my life more difficult, which is how I’ve thought of her before now.
I really am an ass.
“What made you decide to take the job in Arcadian Falls?” I ask.