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Our mission complete, we’d started to unload the packed trunk of my car back home in my driveway. There had to be at least twenty bags of lights and decorations, plus the backseat had two gorgeous, six-foot-tall nutcrackers I’d snagged at an incredible pre-season sale. As I collected another handful of bags, Mr. Grumpy’s big, obnoxious truck came down the street. I hadn’t seen him since our lovely last encounter at my mailbox a few days ago. He shook his head as he rolled by and parked in his driveway.
My friend turned and caught a glimpse of the man behind the wheel. “Ooooh…” she cooed. “I forgot all about him. Hot Neighbor moved in during the spring, right? Why didn’t we see him at all over the summer?”
I shrugged. “He bought the house in April, I think. But he wasn’t around much until recently.”
Sarah looked across the street and waved. “God, he’s really gorgeous. Emily Vanderquint’s husband mentioned him at your Labor Day party. He said he’s some sort of author. Something about a summer book tour? Apparently he’s very popular—that’s probably why he wasn’t around much.”
“Yeah, well, he’s also a jerk.”
“Really?” She licked her lips. “I don’t mind jerks. The bigger the chip on the shoulder, the hotter the sex. Are you…interested in him?”
I scoffed. “Definitely not. If he doesn’t already hate me, he’s going to in six days.”
“So…you wouldn’t mind if I went over and said hello, then?”
An unexpected pang of jealousy hit me, though that was ridiculous. I shrugged and closed the trunk. “Suit yourself. Have at it.”
Sarah smiled, smoothed her hair, and gave a little tug to the hem of her sweater, which caused the V-neck to showcase more cleavage.
“Leave the big nutcrackers in the backseat,” she said. “I’m going to ask him for help lifting them out.”
“Uhhh... That’s probably not a good idea. The man loathes my Christmas display.”
But Sarah was already walking across the street. She raised a hand and called out as he walked to his front door. “Yoo-hoo! Mr. Neighbor Man!”
I rolled my eyes and headed to the garage to store the packages from my trunk. A few minutes later, Sarah came back with Mr. Grumpy in tow.
“Cole here is going to help us lift out those heavy nutcrackers.”
I smirked at him. “Cole? Is that your real name or what old Saint Nick leaves in your stocking because you’re such a scrooge?”
Mr. Grumpy tried to keep a stoic face, but I caught the little twitch at the corner of his mouth. Sarah opened the back door of my car, and he peered inside.
“Gee, a nutcracker for the woman who likes to bust my balls. How appropriate.”
“Good one.” I laughed. “Your wittiness doesn’t make up for your grumpiness, though.”
Sarah interrupted, “I, uh, actually have to run—late for an appointment. Have fun!”
She disappeared, getting into her car before I could even give her a dirty look. She’d intentionally left me alone with this curmudgeon guy.
He watched her drive away, then turned to me. “So why exactly am I contributing to this holiday vomit again?”
I tilted my head. “Because deep down you have a soul, Cole?”
“Nope, that can’t be it. I gave up my soul for Lent last year and never got it back.” He winked, flashing a mischievous smile that made me tingle a bit.
Cole the Asshole was downright hotter than hell.
“Well, I appreciate you letting me borrow your muscles in any case,” I said.
He looked around at the decorations and lights I’d put up thus far. “Seriously, why do you bother with all this? It’s a lot of work. Why not just go visit lights somewhere else?”
“If everyone thought that way, there would be nothing in life to enjoy. Sometimes you have to be the change you want to see in the world.” I tried to disregard the emotions bubbling up, because deep down, I knew that wasn’t my only motivation. “Anyway…I have my reasons.”
Cole raised a brow. “You get off on the attention?”
“If attention means making other people happy, then yes, I get off on it.” I squinted. “And by the way, given that you’ve chosen not to participate in our block’s line of lights, don’t be surprised if you see kids crying when they pass your house because it’s such a disappointment. You’re going to stick out like a sore thumb, being the only dark house.”
“There’s only five houses on our little block, and I haven’t seen a light on in two of them in weeks.”
I pointed to each home as I spoke. “The Martins’ son will be here this weekend to put up their decorations. They winter in Florida, but their son still comes and sets up a simple display that works on a timer. The Ackermans hire a company to set up theirs, and old Mrs. Becker comes out and puts up her own lights even though she’s nearly eighty. It’s for charity, and it looks nice when the whole block is lit up around my display. You’re the only scrooge.”
