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I think Ryan’s kinda like that.
Plus he’s got that whole chiseled jaw thing going on. And really kissable lips. And tuggable hair.
Or maybe I just love a challenge. Who knows.
“Come on,” I say. “I won’t bite.”
Not unless you want me to.
Ryan grabs what he can from his car, including his overnight duffel, and tosses it into the back seat of my black Jeep. It’s an oldie but a goodie, my trusty car, and it can weather the snow better than any fancy sedan.
Ryan, however, raises a single cynical eyebrow at my car. Which is offensive, since it’s me—and my car—rescuing him.
I realize, however, the source of Ryan’s ire isn’t his rescue. It’s the Santa hat sitting on the passenger seat. There’s also my elf hat next to it. I snatch them before he can touch them.
“Are you offended by literally anything joyful?” I demand, tossing the hats in the back.
“Just your excessive Christmas obsession.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, this is Reindeer Falls. I would’ve thought you noticed that growing up.”
“I did,” he says. “It’s why I left.”
I huff and turn the radio up as he shuts the door. We’ve moved onto Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. Who could be mad at that?
Ryan Sheppard, apparently.
“Christmas music? Is that really necessary?”
“My car, my rules,” I say. “You’re welcome to go back and freeze in the snowbank, though. It’s a short five-mile walk back to town.”
He grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “I might prefer that,” but I turn up the music to drown him out.
I can’t believe anyone would be so hellbent on hating a town this magical. Even if you hate Christmas, it’s not like Reindeer Falls is just Christmas. The thought gives me an idea. A brilliant idea, actually. An idea that definitely isn’t cemented by the grumbling of my stomach.
“Wait, this isn’t the way to my house,” Ryan says.
“I know,” I say. “You’re buying me dinner for my troubles.”
“Deal,” he agrees, more quickly than I’d have expected. He even adds a playful grin. “But Maggie,” he adds, drawing my name out like a warning. It makes me shiver. “If you take me to some candy cane factory—”
“No, I’m not doing that,” I say. “You’ll like this place. I promise. Unless… are you a vegetarian?”
He folds his arms over his impressive chest. “Do I look like a vegetarian?”
“I don’t think vegetarianism has anything to do with physical fitness,” I object, giving him a little side eye.
“So you think I’m physically fit,” he says, smirking.
“I never said that.”
“You implied it.”
Ugh, save me, Frank and Dean! I turn up their rendition of A Marshmallow World, singing along as I drive.
“Are you even paying attention to the road?” Ryan demands.
“Shush,” I say. “This is the best part!”
He sighs and leans against the passenger door, but I’m pretty sure it’s pure exaggeration on his part. He’s watching me while I drive and sing, his eyes trailing over my profile every time I glance his way. I’m about two minutes from abandoning my Christmas playlist for Hot in Herre by Nelly, but I refrain. Just barely. Thankfully, Zehnder’s isn’t a long drive. Nothing in Reindeer Falls is, but Zehnder’s Restaurant is right around the corner.
Ryan turns his head to examine the old sign, flashing neon in dark blue and red at us as I park the Jeep. It says “Zehnder’s Famous Reindeer Falls Chicken Dinners” in big, bold letters. Ryan turns back to me and raises both eyebrows in apparent interest.
“Chicken?”
“The very best,” I say. “And a historical landmark. Technically, this place has been here since 1856.”
“I know the history of Reindeer Falls, Christmas cop,” he says. “I grew up here. Remember?”
“So you’ve been to Zehnder’s?” I ask, hopping out of the front seat. It’s a bit of a steep drop for me, seeing as I’m vertically challenged, but I manage to not trip, and that’s a win.
He shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t remember.”
That means he’s never been here. Because if you’ve been to Zehnder’s, you remember it.
I hate to judge, but I’m really starting to question how his parents raised him.
Trudging along, boots cutting into the snow, I wonder if Ryan was close to Uncle Joe.
The thought makes me suddenly sad. I only knew Joe through my Christmas cop—I mean, my holiday enforcement job. He was always a happy old guy, eager for a little small talk. I don’t like the idea of Ryan in Joe’s old house, missing the old guy. But I shake off the thought and any sympathy I might have for Ryan.
When I walk inside I immediately feel like a blanket of warmth and hospitality’s been draped over my shoulders. We’re greeted by a hostess and whisked off to a table where the world’s friendliest server—wearing reindeer ears, obviously—rattles off the specials. My mouth waters as she talks, but I’m focused.
I have a favorite here, and I’m sticking to it. “All-you-can-eat, family-style chicken dinner, chicken noodle soup and garlic toast to start.” Then I sit back, waiting for Ryan to put in his order.
