Rebel Without A Claus

“I’ll ask. I promise.”

“All right, good. Give me a second, I need to ask you about something.” She turned to the person behind me and took their order. She fixed it quickly and handed it over with a smile, then turned back to me. “What’s this I hear about you kissing Nick?”

I pursed my lips. I did not want to be reminded of that, thank you. I had enough going on in my brain right now without being distracted by that little incident from last night.

God only knew I’d dreamed about it last night.

“We were manipulated into it by a little girl with far too much mistletoe and way too many one-dollar bills stuffed in her little reindeer purse.”

Deb grinned. “That’s Maisy. She’s Sandra Bingham’s stepson’s daughter. Last I saw she was bugging Sandra at her stall, so it looks like Sandra gave her some mistletoe and told her to make herself useful.”

“Yes, well, next time I see Sandra, I’m going to tell her exactly what I think about that.” I sipped my coffee as my phone pinged in my purse. I stepped to the nearest table as a group of six entered the bakery, rubbing their hands together as the warm air hit them.

I pulled out the phone and almost groaned when I saw Nicholas’s name on the screen.

NICHOLAS: Help.

ME: What?

NICHOLAS: My tree has been delivered and I don’t know how to decorate it.

ME: Why exactly is that my problem?

NICHOLAS: Are you busy?

ME: I might be.

I was not busy, Your Honor.

NICHOLAS: You’re not busy, are you?

ME: I’m not, no.

NICHOLAS: Then you can come and help me.

ME: That’s not how it works.

NICHOLAS: Come on. Come and help me decorate my tree, Scrooge.

ME: I suppose Scrooge is better than Azazel.

NICHOLAS: If you don’t come help, I’ll use Azazel again.

ME: I hate you.

NICHOLAS: See you soon.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It’d been a long time since I’d been anywhere near Nicholas’s late grandma’s cottage. It occupied a weirdly shaped plot of land at the end of a dirt track between our farm and the one behind us, but it was right at the back of our land where my mom and sister’s horses lived.

I wasn’t a horse person, so I never went there.

I sure as hell wasn’t going to walk across eighty acres in one direction to get there, either, and since that property was just on the town boundary, I never went in that direction.

I had no reason to leave Snow Cove.

Actually, I had a lot of reasons, but it didn’t mean I was going to.

I turned onto the dirt track that had only one destination. It was a wet, slushy mess, and puddles that glinted with an icy surface dared me to drive over them. I was no rookie, though, so I took it slow, and some of the icy puddles cracked under the truck’s heavy wheels.

It was bumpy and uneven, but I finally made it to the front of the cottage where it was decidedly a lot snowier and a lot less slushy. Snow crunched under the tires as I parked up behind Nicholas’s truck and jumped out, making sure to fetch my coffee and breakfast sandwich that I hadn’t had a chance to eat yet.

The cottage was older and more run down than I remembered—some of the concrete siding had come away from the chimney stack at the side, and the fence on the porch had paint peeling away from it. There was a row of evergreen bushes along the foundation of the porch, but they were raggedy and overgrown, and a part of me wanted to find a hedge trimmer and cut them back.

The stairs creaked under my feet when I walked up, and I noticed a small crack on the window to my right.

Wow.

I knew Nicholas hadn’t lived in town for years, obviously, but his family did. Hadn’t they tried to upkeep the house? It was a true shame because this house was gorgeous.

I gently knocked on the door, then tried the handle. It was unlocked, so I pushed the door open and poked my head in. “Hello?”

“Quinn?” Nicholas’s voice came from inside.

“Hi,” I said, stepping in. “Sorry. I didn’t want to knock too hard in case I broke the door down.”

He appeared in the hallway with a grimace, cradling a bright green mug with a hand-painted train on it. “Yeah. My parents didn’t help out taking care of this place as much as they could have. Neither did my cousins, apparently. I’m trying to fix it up as best I can, but it’s not like I have all the time in the world. My parents aren’t really helping, either.”

“I’m sorry. Why didn’t you say? You should be sorting this place out, not playing San—”

“Don’t even go there. There’s so much stuff in this house to sort through that being Santa is a good escape.” He shook his head. “You can hang your coat up there.”