All three walk me outside, and I jam my feet back into my still-muddy boots, and freeze.
There’s a reindeer in my front seat, and my door is open. I must have forgotten to shut it when I retrieved a brownie earlier.
“Corn Dog,” Chris barks behind me, voice dropping into a warning.
The reindeer lifts its head. Its entire muzzle is smeared with crumbs. It blinks at us, unbothered, then casually dips his head back down.
“No. No, no, no—ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” I shout.
That gets everyone moving.
“What the hell—” Kane jogs forward just as Corn Dog snuffles deeply on the tray of goodies.
Noel and Kane don’t say a word, he just moves. Fast. Accurate.
They are at the reindeer’s side in seconds, one big hand on Corn Dog’s withers, guiding him back out with the kind of authority that somehow works.
“Buddy,” Kane tells the reindeer, hands braced around his neck, “those weren’t for you. And you can’t eat them in her Honda. Where are your manners?”
Corn Dog snorts crumbs at him.
I step back, mortified, watching these men wrangle a reindeer who clearly has zero shame and a new addiction.
The tray sits crooked in the passenger seat, the carrot muffins half-devoured, every top bitten clean off. The brownies right beside them are untouched. But they might have been slobbered over.
Chris takes one look at the carnage and sighs with the genuine heartbreak of a man who just lost something he loved.
Noel and Kane wrangle Corn Dog back toward the barn, still laughing, and I’m left standing by my car, feeling mortified, with Chris. “God, I’m so sorry. I’ll bring you fresh new brownies.”
“Hey, it’s not your fault. No one can control Corn Dog.” Despite everything, he’s laughing.
“Anyway, I’m curious. Why do you call him Corn Dog? I asked Noel, but he didn’t tell me.”
Chris grins. “He got into our kitchen as a baby. Found a plate of corn dogs Noel was planning to deep-fry for a barbecue. Ate about a dozen before we caught him.”
“Oh, shit.”
“His stomach swelled up like a balloon,” he adds. “Thought he was going to die. Emergency vet visit, whole dramatic ordeal. But he survived, and the vet started calling him Corn Dog, and it stuck.”
I’m laughing now. I can’t help it. “That’s the best origin story I’ve ever heard.”
“He’s a menace,” Chris says. “But he’s family.”
I turn to Chris, and the laughter fades. “Look. I’m sorry for breaking in, for letting him escape, for all of this. For not trusting you.” I pout.
“Hey.” His voice softens. “I get it. I do background checks before working with anyone new. You needed proof. That’s smart.”
“I should’ve just asked.”
“Honestly? I respect the commitment.”
“You’re not mad?”
“I’m entertained, and I can’t wait to watch the footage.”
Relief washes through me while I’m partly mortified. “Okay. Good. That’s good.” I climb into my driver’s seat, which smells like reindeer now, and start the engine. “I should go. Before I cause any more trouble.”
“See you tomorrow,” Chris says.
