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I scrunch up my nose. “So you want it because you think you’re supposed to want it?”
“That’s not what I said.”
I feel like it is what he said, but I don’t push the issue. Instead, I let the silence and the Christmas music speak for me.
Finally, Ryan takes a bite of his chicken. Immediately, he groans, and I’m back to thinking sexy things about him.
“Holy shit,” he says. “This is incredible.”
“I would hope so,” I agree, rolling my eyes. “They’ve had over a hundred and fifty years to get it right, haven’t they?”
“Fair. One point for Reindeer Falls it is.”
I sigh, exasperated. “You do know that the Food Channel films two shows here, right? That Keller James opened a restaurant here? That small towns don’t have to be culturally dead or architecturally dull?”
His eyes flash, the surprise in them clear. Then his whole face turns thoughtful as he looks at his chicken.
Jiminy Christmas, am I the first person to ever tell him that?
I force myself to relish the moment. I just stunned Ryan Sheppard into silence with my statement. I was right, and he couldn’t come up with one Grinch-y rebuttal.
I request the apple strudel for dessert, to celebrate this small victory, and I don’t feel the least bit bad about making Ryan pay for it.
Chapter Eight
I spend the entire drive back to Ryan’s place internally congratulating myself on my victory and externally singing along to Jingle Bell Rock louder than necessary. I’m not a great singer, I’m terribly off-key, but I don’t care. It’s worth it to watch Ryan stare straight ahead, eye twitching, trying to pretend that he doesn’t see or hear what I’m doing.
But of course, there’s no ignoring me. I don’t just sing along. I use one hand to do a little dance in the air along with the beat, and I do a full wiggly seat dance when I get to a stop sign for dramatic effect before turning to him. I throw my hand out like I’m a newscaster with a microphone.
“Would the Grinch like to report on his experience being rescued by a Christmas elf? Any words on the chicken at Zehnder’s? Care to comment, sir?”
A ghost of a smile flickers across his lips, but he tamps it down. “I could have gotten better chicken in Chicago,” he says.
He’s lying. I know he’s lying. That face he made when he bit into the chicken was straight-up nirvana. He loved it, and there’s no denying it.
I’m winning. I’m winning him over to loving Reindeer Falls, I just know it.
I pull the Jeep into his driveway and turn the ignition off. Then, before Ryan can say a single word, I bound out of the car and up to the doorway.
“Maggie, do you want to come in?” he asks, looking faux surprised since I’m already at the door.
“Gotta get those decorations up,” I quip, giving him a little wink of my own. “Since you’re stuck in town now, no time like the present. Besides, I know where they are and I know where the blueprint is.”
“I told you,” he counters. “I probably threw it all away.”
“I don’t believe you,” I counter, not backing down. “I’ll need to check for myself.”
He shrugs, but opens the door. I expect Rudy to come running, but the house is quiet.
“Where’s Rudy?” I’m disappointed to be honest. I have more biscuits in my bag.
“With Carter,” he says. “He inherited the dog.”
“Yeah, what’s that about anyway? You got a house and your brother got a dog? What did Jake inherit, an old shirt?”
Ryan just grins, tossing his keys onto a side table by the door. My realtor eyes take in all the details. This house is an old charmer, that’s for sure. Original woodwork, the kind builders don’t bother with nowadays. The staircase alone would cost as much as a car to recreate. A fireplace with a mantel ideal for hanging stockings. A front window that is most definitely crying out for a Christmas tree. Like the exterior, the inside could use some updating. But it’s got what we in the business like to call good bones. And potential. So much potential.
Kinda like Ryan.
“So no one is home?” I question, glancing around. It’s awfully quiet. This is exactly why a person needs holiday music. And tree lights. And a dog. Ambiance.
“Those two are never around. They’ve both been zero help with this place—too distracted by the delights of Reindeer Falls, I guess.”
Ha!
“See!” I beam, nearly bouncing on my toes. Ryan is so close to getting it. “See, they understand the spirit of Christmas!”
Ryan stares at me for a long moment, as if trying to determine if I’m joking. As if.
“I can assure you the spirit of Christmas has absolutely nothing to do with what’s distracting them,” he deadpans.
Huh. I thought Sutton said Jake Sheppard was a total Grinch-y pain in her ass?
