Elves with Benefits (Reindeer Falls)

Now I’m ready to start another afternoon of being the best realtor in Reindeer Falls.

I’m ready not a moment too soon, because the bells jingle on the door. I smooth a lock of errant curly hair off my forehead and stand, ready to offer my most charming smile for the next potential client. Probably a smitten tourist ready to talk relocation.

“Welcome to Mistletoe Lane Realt—” I begin, but I cut myself off.

Because it’s him.

And he looks a little dumbfounded to find me here. Which is silly, because where else would I be? Sure, maybe I didn’t exactly spell it out for him that I was the town realtor when he mentioned selling Uncle Joe’s house, but everyone knows surprises are extra fun at the holidays.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ryan mutters, hands in his leather jacket pockets, glancing around like he’s expecting someone to jump out and make sense of this for him. “You’re the town realtor?”

I offer another bright smile, determined to win him over with kindness. “Yup.” I nod. “I sure am.”

Should I tell him that, technically, there is also Sam Knight of Knight Realty? I could. But this is more fun. And, besides, I wasn’t lying about being the best. At least when it comes to houses. Sam might have a lock on the business side of realty in Reindeer Falls, but everyone comes to me for their forever home needs.

“Am I being punked? Are you actually real or is this some prank Jake and Carter are playing on me? You’re the town Christmas cop”—he pauses when he says that, shaking his head a little as if he’s still doubting that’s a real thing—“and the town realtor? What’s next? Are you also the town mail person, the town grocer and, oh, I don’t know, the town Christmas tree lot owner?”

My eyes widen. I wish! Imagine owning a Christmas tree farm? I’d add a hot cocoa stand. And a gift shop. It’d be the most magical—I stop myself, forcing myself to focus on the here and now. I can play Christmas fantasy later.

“I’m real,” I point out, unnecessarily. “I’m standing right here, obviously.”

Ryan shakes his head again and takes another visual inventory of the room, like he’s still waiting for his brothers or a camera crew to pop out and yell ‘Surprise!’ He stays close to the door, then, arms folded, turns his attention back to me.

“I need to list Uncle Joe’s house.”

I sigh, back to my annoyed-at-Ryan sighs. “I’m afraid there’s a moratorium on selling houses in Reindeer Falls during December.”

“Of course there is,” Ryan agrees slowly, his tone all sarcasm. “And why is that?”

“It’s not a good look. Not in keeping with the spirit of things,” I explain. “Pity you didn’t do this in November.”

“November was yesterday,” he practically growls. “And you could’ve told me this days ago.”

I could’ve, but I didn’t want to. Sometimes you have to make difficult choices when you’re doing Santa’s work and helping a person realize the true meaning of Christmas. I smile in spite of myself. Ryan is awfully sexy when he’s grumpy. And he’s still got a little bit of bedhead. I can just imagine how his hair would feel if I raked my hands through it.

I clear my throat. “I can try to make you an appointment for January third, but I’m usually pretty booked up the first day back, so… Anyways, you’ll have plenty of time to decorate now!”

I smile again, but he just groans and rubs his hands on his temples.

I soften a little. I’m not going to win him over by torturing him. “I checked with my friend Lexi, and she confirmed that Uncle Joe keeps the decorations in the attic,” I tell him. “Let me know if you can’t find the décor blueprint, I can always get you a copy from City Hall.”

Ryan’s eyes narrow. “The what?”

“The décor blueprint,” I repeat. Sheesh, these city folk. “I don’t know how you decorate in the city, but around here we don’t just fling lights around willy-nilly. Do you just casually throw up a skyscraper?”

“Please stop being ridiculous,” he mutters, one hand rubbing at his forehead.

“I’ll stop when you stop.”

For a second, I think he’s just going to turn around and walk out. I’m surprised that I feel a pang of guilt at the thought. Did I lead him on a bit by not telling him that I work here? Maybe. Do I keep finding excuses to be closer to him? Yes. But it’s because I’m trying to save him from a lifetime of Ebenezering it. It has nothing to do with my imagining him naked.

Almost nothing.

“Okay, you win,” he says, and for a moment I’m stunned because holy spirit of Christmas, that actually worked?

But then he continues talking.

“I’ll go back to Chicago and come back to Reindeer Falls at the beginning of January.”