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No. I won’t have it.
“You have very little time to deal with these infractions,” I tell him. “I expect you to fix this within the next two days.”
“Look, it’s not like I’m destroying the neighborhood with an inflatable circus clown,” he says. “I’m just gonna sell the house, so it would be a real waste of my time to put up holiday decorations.”
I roll my eyes. What a goddamn excuse. “Haven’t you ever heard of staging? You should watch some HGTV. And obviously you’re going to sell it.”
“Obviously,” he repeats back, his tone inquisitive, but he has the beginning of what can only be described as a glare.
“Far too much work for a city boy like yourself. It needs updating and you can’t even hang a few strands of Christmas lights, let alone operate a hammer.”
“Operate a hammer?” he volleys back, full-on glaring now.
“I said what I said,” I reply, refusing to back down. I put my hands on my hips and return his glare. This guy, trying to come into my town, looking like an ad for a sexy Santa calendar, thinking he can just stomp around and do whatever he wants because he’s gorgeous. That’s probably gotten him far in life. But not here. Not with m—
“I’m a goddamn architect,” he says, interrupting my mental tirade. “I build skyscrapers. It isn’t too much work. It’s too much… here. Too much Reindeer fucking Falls.”
He gestures at the other houses, all of which are very much in decoration compliance. The house on the left has those big bulb lights, the vintage type, in bright colors strung along the painted shingles. Then there’s the friendly Frosty the Snowman that turns and waves at night, along with a set of reindeer that leap over the windows. And the house on the right has a North Pole replica in their front yard, complete with Santa that appears every Saturday night in December.
An A-list Santa. Not a cheap suit ordered online worn by some kid making pocket change.
And this city boy can’t even come up with some basic lights.
As I said, the audacity.
“Oh, look at me, I’m a Handsome Busy Man who’s too good for my hometown!” I say, throwing my hands up in the air. “You’re like a caricature from a holiday movie!”
Those blue eyes narrow at me dangerously. I don’t know if I want to slap the smirk off of his face or kiss him. Wait, no. Where did that thought come from? Obviously I want to do neither of those things. I want to politely bid him a good day and head back to the office. I don’t know where the kissing nonsense came from.
Though to be fair to myself, I do tend to romanticize things around the holidays.
Like jerks.
And it’s hardly my fault he’s genetically blessed. But I have self-control. And any man who so obviously hates Christmas is a no-go in my book.
“A handsome caricature,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Whatever, I’ll pay the stupid fines and be done with this.”
He puts a hand into his pocket to fumble for his wallet. Unfortunately, this draws my attention to the sweatpants again. And I definitely don’t think that’s a candy cane I’m seeing.
I throw my gaze to the ground, pretending like I’m examining my boots.
He pulls out a credit card as he looks over the tickets that he’s plucked from the door.
“Oh, sorry. I don’t collect fines door to door. They have to be paid in person at City Hall. On Tuesdays.”
He stares at me. “There’s an actual office? In City Hall?”
“Well,” I say, brushing a snowflake off my jacket. “I use the comptroller’s office while he attends Cocoa with the City Council on Tuesday mornings.”
“Unbelievable,” he says, shaking his head. “As if this town couldn’t get any worse.”
Ugh. It’s the last straw. I pull my hat down another inch and jingle my way off of Ryan Sheppards porch. I don’t care how hot he is, he is not Christmas fantasy material.
Chapter Three
After my encounter with Ryan Sheppard, I’m annoyed. Like when you go to the bakery dreaming of cinnamon rolls, but they’re sold out. Like that level of annoyed, except worse because you don’t want to have sex with a cinnamon roll.
How dare he refer to this town with disgust and disdain?
Doesn’t he have any idea that his hometown is the hottest destination for tourists in the Midwestern market? Okay, yes, maybe I’m exaggerating just a teensy tiny whole lot. Sure, Chicago gets more tourists. And any city with a Big Ten football team. And the Wisconsin Dells probably do okay for themselves. Minneapolis has the Mall of America, which, fine, probably draws a crowd or two. But for Christmas? For Christmas Reindeer Falls is the destination. The Food Network doesn’t film The Great Gingerbread Bake-Off here for nothing.
