Elves with Benefits (Reindeer Falls)

Very attractive.

Thick, dark hair. Bright blue eyes. And a strong chiseled jaw.

There’s no doubt about it. Between the fact that I’ve never seen him before and the fact that I’m standing in front of the Sheppard house, this must be one of the hottie brothers whom Sutton and Lexi were gushing about.

I make some kind of inaudible squeak and jump back, which causes the jingle bells on my hat to, well, jingle. Both of his eyebrows rise.

“Can I help you?”

It might help me if he was hideous, I think. But really, it doesn’t matter because Christmas violations are excused for no one. Unless it’s Santa himself. Besides, Santa would have decorated.

“Are you the owner of this house?” I ask, forcing myself to sound as non-accusatory as possible. ’Tis the season and all that. He probably got distracted looking at himself in a mirror and forgot to decorate.

“I am,” he says. “And I’ll ask again. Can I help you? Because right now, you’re in my way.”

In his way? Did he really just say that? Rude. And during the season, which is even worse. Whatever happened to small-town charm? Whatever happened to inviting a girl inside for hot cocoa? It’s like this guy hasn’t seen a single Hallmark Christmas movie.

There’s no doubt about it now. This is Ryan Sheppard, nephew of former resident Joe. The nephew who inherited the house. But one thing’s for sure. He is not Reindeer Falls material. He’s rude big city material, that’s what. He probably spends his days in expensive suits and ties that can’t be dry-cleaned. Though at the moment he’s in navy sweatpants and a gray sweatshirt that’s clinging to his impressive chest. I force myself to move my eyes where they belong. Which is his face. Not his—

Focus, Maggie.

“I’m here about your holiday violations,” I explain, gesturing behind me to the tickets that are accumulating on his door.

Ryan blinks, looking dumbfounded as he steps past me to examine the tickets. I ignore the fact that he smells delicious, like a pine tree simmering on a stovetop with a hint of orange peel and a dash of cinnamon.

Err, fine. That was oddly specific and totally made up. But he definitely smells good and I definitely felt a certain kind of way when he brushed past me.

Lustful, was the way.

“I thought Jake and Carter did this to fuck with me,” he mutters, confirming his identity. “But you’re telling me that these are real?”

“Oh, they’re real.” I stand up a little straighter, making my hat jingle.

He stares at my hat, then his gaze drops to my green winter coat and the ticket book I’m still holding in one hand. “So you’re a… Christmas cop?”

“Holiday enforcement officer,” I clarify, because it’s important not to impersonate an officer of the law. The Reindeer Falls Police Department fights crime. The holiday enforcement brigade fights… for the spirit of Christmas. We stay in our own lanes. “You have several offenses to correct, and the clock is ticking.”

He scans the ticket labeled ‘decoration violation.’ “This cannot be real. There’s a cartoon elf on these tickets.”

I grin, glad he noticed. I made the tickets myself. They’re far more festive than the tickets were when I got the job. I even had one of my graphic designer friends do up the art so that the elf was Reindeer Falls-specific. If you look closely, he’s got the town logo embroidered on his hat.

“It’s not even December,” Ryan sputters, breaking through my smugness.

“Lights go on the Friday after Thanksgiving,” I tell him primly. “Friday. Saturday if necessary. Sunday is a grace period, which I extend sparingly. In emergencies.”

“Do you even hear yourself? You sound like a deranged Christmas elf.”

I’ve been called an elf before, on account of my job. And my petite height. And I suppose my curly red hair gives me another tick in the elf column. But a deranged elf? No.

Who the hell does he think he is? This is Reindeer Falls, not New York or Los Angeles or wherever he’s moved to. He was born here, in this Christmas wonderland. He should know better. Besides, I’d rather be a deranged Christmas elf than a joyless jerk.

“Jingle all the way, buddy. No one likes a half-assed jingler,” I snap, and then, for good measure, I shove another ticket into his chest for ‘unsportsmanlike Christmassing.’

He stares at me, those blue eyes as frosty as a snowfall at the North Pole.

Actually, scratch that. Nothing about Ryan should be compared to the North Pole. The North Pole doesn’t deserve that kind of negativity. Because clearly, growing up in the most magical place on earth did nothing for Ryan Sheppard. Which makes him the worst sort of person. He had all of this and he ditched it the first chance he got.

And now he has the gall to come back here and try to ruin Christmas?