The joy of us, p.3
The Joy of Us, page 3
“I have to get this article just right.”
“Article or exposé piece?” he challenges.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I retort.
“You said you already hate it here. Just wondering if you came with good or bad intentions. An article written in a bad light could ruin our town’s businesses and tourist attractions.”
“Are you trying to intimidate me to write a puff piece?”
He grins slyly. “I don’t think anyone could intimidate you. Especially with you carrying around deadly weapons.”
I roll my eyes at his dramatics. “As of now, my only priority is to be truthful. I want to visit the local farms and meet the people who run them, along with interviewing the mayor, business owners, and tourists. I’ve done some research and read a few blogs. As of now, I don’t believe it’s all that it’s cut out to be.”
“I can’t believe they sent a Christmas-hating journalist to one of the jolliest places on the planet who also happens to have the last name Joy. Do you find the humor in that at all? Or is your heart really made of coal?” He laughs, taking a bite of eggs.
“That’s so funny coming from a guy with the last name of White…whose family owns a Christmas tree farm and is obsessed with reindeer and Santa.”
He taps his temple. “It’s called smart marketing, baby.” He shoots me a wink, and I hate how heat rushes through my body when he looks at me like that.
I finish eating, then place my plate in the sink. “Thanks for breakfast.”
“You’re welcome. I’m making it my personal mission to get you to like this holiday before you leave. You’ll be singing Christmas songs in no time.”
“Don’t get your hopes up. Christmas has been dead to me for years,” I say without thinking as I make my way to the stairs.
“Wait, what?” he calls out, but I go to my room and ignore his question.
I wish I could call Taryn and tell her what’s going on and how memories of our childhood flood my mind every time I stare at one of these trees. But since I can’t do that, I open my laptop and pull up a blank document.
At least we still have electricity…for now.
First impressions are everything, and based on what’s happened since I’ve arrived, this place seems more like a winter hell than a wonderland.
So I place my fingers on the keys and do what I fall back on anytime I get overwhelmed—I write.
CHAPTER FOUR
LEVI
Getting stuck during a blizzard with a complete stranger who maced me while I was buck-ass naked was the last thing on my Bingo card.
But here I am, isolated with Little Miss Seattle and her Christmas-hating attitude.
There's no telling how long cell service will be out. My best guess is at least until the wind dies down. The last time a storm this big came through, I didn't have reception for a week.
I pray that isn't the case this time.
Only a few hours have passed, and Fallon's already driving me crazy because she needs to get ahold of her assistant or boss or whoever-the-fuck knows. The girl couldn't live off the grid if her life depended on it.
After we eat lunch in awkward silence, I go outside and make sure the generator is ready in the event we lose power. The lights have been flickering, so I have no doubt it’ll happen.
The cold doesn't bother me, but given that Fallon's already wearing two layers, I assume she’s not a fan.
After I look everything over, I contemplate hopping on my snowmobile to check on my parents. The snow is falling heavily, and I can’t risk getting stuck at my folks’ and leaving Fallon here alone. Only God knows what would happen to her, and I can't bear that responsibility.
Plus, my mom and dad have been through countless blizzards, so I know they're fine.
When I walk inside carrying as much wood as I can, Fallon’s pacing the living room like reception will magically appear. I stack the logs neatly by the fireplace, wondering if I should make another trip outside.
“This is unreal,” Fallon mutters, tossing her phone on the sofa with a huff. Her laptop is open on the coffee table, and she curses under her breath. “How am I supposed to charge my laptop if we lose power?”
“What will you need it for if there's no internet?” I ask.
With a hand on her hip, she twists and glares at me. “I can still write, but I won't be able to make much progress if the battery dies.”
I scrub a hand through my hair, biting my tongue by how worked up she is. “If the electricity goes out, the generator will automatically kick on to run the fridge, a couple of lights, and the water well pump. There’s one plug that’s connected, but should only be used on an emergency basis. If it’s overloaded, we could overheat or destroy the generator completely. That’d leave us in complete darkness and without food. However, if you need to charge your computer for an hour, that should be fine.”
She rolls her eyes as if I'm responsible for this inconvenience.
“On the bright side, I have propane, so we can still use the stove and take hot showers.”
“Great,” she says with fake enthusiasm. “I didn't know people actually lived like this.”
“Like what?” I kneel to pet Dasher and try not to sound offended.
“Off the grid...” She waves a hand through the air. “In the wilderness...the middle of nowhere. Sounds dangerous if you ask me. What if there's an emergency?”
I chuckle because her idea of being off the grid is comical. “I'm twenty minutes from town. I'd hardly say that's roughing it.”
“You don't even have cable. Or food delivery.”
“No, but I have working appliances and a pantry full of food. Plus, I can stream shows and movies, which works decently enough on my Wi-Fi...well, except in this weather.”
“Of course.” She sighs, her hands smacking her knees when she finally takes a seat and gives my rug a break.
“I'm gonna grab some more logs while I can and let Dasher run around. Wanna join me?” I ask politely.
She frowns with a side-eye that confirms she will not be going outside.
As soon as I open the door, Dasher flies off the deck and into a huge snow bank. He still has as much energy as he did the day I brought him home two years ago. If it were up to him, he'd live outside twenty-four seven.
“C'mon, Dash. This way.” I head toward the wood shed. I'm used to being out here alone. I like it and don't mind the quiet. It's peaceful, and the views are irreplaceable. Having Fallon here for the past couple of days has been an interesting change and a reminder of what it's like to have someone around. Too bad she's a grinch who wouldn't know happiness if it plowed into her.
Also, who the hell hates Christmas?
A beautiful woman who's snippy as fuck, that's who.
I can't help but wonder if her biases will find their way into her writing. She could have a huge impact, and not in a good way. It's already hard enough for local small businesses to keep up, and a bad feature could negatively affect their revenue. The holiday tourists shop a lot, and that money keeps them afloat throughout the year.
I was born and raised here and won't let some grumpy spoiled city girl tear it down.
If I could talk to my best friend, Finn, he'd tell me to do whatever it takes to make sure that doesn’t happen. Show her what the town is really about—community, holiday spirit, and a place people visit to reconnect.
As soon as this storm passes, I'll give her a personal tour and show her everything we have to offer. It’s a shame she’s so reluctant because the town goes all out to create a magical holiday experience for visitors. Even if her first impressions haven't been great, I'll personally make sure she enjoys herself the rest of the time she's here.
As soon as the wheelbarrow is full, I whistle, and Dasher comes running behind me, beating me to the house. I roll and set the load down on the deck and then open the door.
“Hey, Fallon!” I call out and wait for her to approach. “Hold out your arms.”
She raises her brows. “For what?”
“You stay here, you work here. Bring these logs inside.”
I scoop them up and wait for her to comply. “You want extra heat or not?”
She sighs, finally agreeing. Carefully, I set a small stack of wood in her arms, and my hand runs along her wrist, repositioning a few so they don’t fall loose.
“Got 'em?”
“Yeah. Now what?” She glares, which is unfortunate. She's too pretty to always be scowling. Her long dark-brown hair is silky smooth, and images of yanking it hard as I take her from behind run through my mind. Just thinking about widening her thick thighs as her green eyes pierce through me has me growing hard.
“Set them next to the fireplace, then come back for more,” I say, adjusting myself when she turns around.
Dasher follows her into the house, and I hear her scold him for stepping on her heels. I snicker at how eager Dasher is for her affection.
After the fourth load, Fallon stomps back to me and huffs. “How much more? My arms are tired.”
I hand her one more pile and wait as she secures them. “Last one for now. I'm gonna go grab more.”
“Since I unloaded this one alone, you can do that one, then.”
I arch a brow in amusement. “If we're playing by those rules, then you can cook dinner since I made lunch.”
“Alright, but don't blame me if you get food poisoning.”
“Oh, c'mon. You can't be that bad.”
“I once set my oven on fire making a cauliflower pizza,” she deadpans. “So yeah, don't trust me in the kitchen because I'm never home in time to eat dinner.”
“Wait...how'd you manage that? Also, cauliflower on anything sounds disgusting.”
She looks too embarrassed to answer and spins around, marching toward the fireplace. Instead of letting her get away, I follow her.
“You left the cardboard on, didn't you?”
“Maybe.” She walks in a maze around Dasher as he relentlessly tries to get her attention.
“What'd you have the oven set to? Five hundred?” I taunt.
She drops the logs beside the others, then brushes the loose bark off her sweater. “If I tell you, no laughing.”
I withhold a smirk and cross my arms. “No promises.”
She scoffs. “You're...not wrong. I was reading something on my phone while setting the temperature, and I guess I didn't realize what I’d done until it was way too late.”
Scratching a hand over my beard, I hold back laughter as I grin. “Yep, that'll do it. So no pizzas, then. Doesn't mean you're completely helpless.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Anyone can learn the basics if they try.”
“I can manage a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios.”
I pat my stomach. “I do love me some cereal.”
She snorts, and I swear a faint smile touches her lips, but it quickly vanishes. “Fine, I'll help as long as you don't make me cook.”
“Deal.”
We go through the process again. Dasher closely follows her every move, and she curses when she trips over him during the final load.
“You okay?” Luckily, I catch her before she does a face-plant on the floor.
“No, I'm not.” She blows out a frustrated huff, and I quickly release her. “I don't have coffee, internet, or any type of delivery services. When I’m pissed or annoyed, I usually go for a run, and now I can't even do that!”
“Fallon...” I say carefully, hoping to pull her off the ledge.
“For all I know, you're a murderer and put up the fake listing to get me here. It's probably why you live out in the middle of fucking nowhere! Trap your victims in your big secluded mountain cabin and then slaughter them.”
“Mm-hmm...and I suppose I'm to blame for this blizzard too, right? I mean, I must've planned that. Summoned the angels above to bring us over twenty inches of snow and hurricane-level winds. I had to make sure there was no possible way for you to call for help or have access to your precious outside world. Damn, you caught me.”
“Don't deflect with a smart-ass attitude. I watch enough true crime to know how serial killers premeditate their kills.”
I chuckle, entertained by her theory. “If that were my plan, wouldn't I have killed you already instead of given you a place to sleep?”
“Some psychos enjoy playing with their prey first. Get me to trust you, and then that's when you make your lethal move.” She makes a throat-slit motion, and I crack up.
“No wonder you're a writer. You have quite the imagination.”
“But you're not denying it.” She arches a brow, and I can't believe how serious she is.
Leaning in, I dip down to her ear and whisper, “Keep talking shit, and I'll put a pearl necklace around your throat instead.”
“Uh...what?” She looks thoroughly confused until it finally hits her, and her eyes widen in shock.
I flash her a wink as the blood drains from her face.
Fuck, she's too damn easy to mess with, and although it's fun to rile her up, I have to finish gathering supplies right now.
“I'm gonna grab the extra lanterns, flashlights, and batteries. I have a kerosene lamp, too, just in case we're without power for a while.”
She stays glued to the couch with Dasher next to her. I quickly build a fire since there's a chill in the house from the door being open, then search for everything we'll need.
When I return, she silently watches me like she’s concerned I'll really gut her like a fish.
“Hungry?” I ask.
“Sure.” Fallon sounds less than enthusiastic. While I’m sympathetic because she's not used to this, she better suck it up. This storm is just getting started.
A loud pounding startles me awake, and I roll over in bed to check the time on my phone. I went to sleep a few hours ago after Fallon and I ate dinner.
I whip open the door, and Dasher rushes toward Fallon. From what I can see, she's wrapped in a blanket.
“What's wrong?” I ask, hearing her teeth chatter.
“The heat's out, and I’m turning into an ice cube.”
“I put extra blankets in your room,” I explain, feeling the chill in the air. “The furnace should still be working even with the power out.”
“Well, it's not,” she whines. “And the blankets aren't enough when it’s negative thirty outside.”
“One was wool,” I tell her in disbelief. She's being dramatic.
“Hey, I can't help it if I’m always cold.”
“Because you’re cold-hearted?”
“Can you save the insults for later, please? I’m having a crisis at the moment.”
I smirk, grabbing her hand so she doesn’t trip down the stairs. “C’mon, I’ll build a fire.”
Dasher zooms to the living room, and I grab a couple of flashlights and the matches.
“Hold this up for me so I can see.” I hand her a flashlight.
I grab some kindling, but because of the draft, it takes me a minute to get it started. Once I have a nice flame going, I stand. “Is that better, Little Miss Seattle?”
She sits directly in front of the fire on the shag rug. Dasher settles in beside her, much to her disdain.
“Can you get him off me, please?” She tries to push against him, but he's a hundred-plus pounds of dead weight and doesn't budge.
“It's a mystery to me why he likes you so much. At least you can use his warmth.” I grin.
She groans.
I can hear the fridge running. “Generator kicked on, so at least the food in the fridge won’t go bad.”
“And heat?”
“The pilot light must've blown out. That sometimes happens when it's this windy. I'll check it in the morning when it's daylight.”
She shoots me a disapproving glare. “So now what?”
“I'm going to bed. You should go back to sleep.”
“Where? It's an icebox in my room.”
I point at the couch.
“You're kidding.”
Shrugging, I call for Dasher, who gives Fallon's cheek a final lick before following me out of the living room.
“There are more blankets inside the wooden bench by the window. Help yourself,” I call out, and as I make my way upstairs, I swear I hear her cursing me. But I expect nothing less, considering her attitude.
CHAPTER FIVE
FALLON
DAY 3
I'm in hell.
No, scratch that.
It's too cold to be hell.
More like if hell was in Antarctica, and it was hailing and snowing ten-inch icicles.
Dramatic? Maybe.
But I hate it and loathe being cold even more.
My apartment is set to seventy-five nearly year-round, and although Seattle doesn't get super hot, it also doesn't get super cold. It rains half the time, which means I'm often wearing layers anyway.
This weather, though?
My worst fucking nightmare.
Waking up on Levi's couch, barely able to feel my fingers—even though I'm wearing gloves—has me groaning. Flashbacks of last night have me grinding my teeth with frustration. Levi suspects the furnace's pilot light blew out, and with how my luck's going, who knows if he can fix it.
The fireplace is down to its last log, so I begrudgingly stalk over and throw two more inside. As soon as I do, ash blows my face, and I cough.
Of fucking course.
I wipe my eyes and cheeks, then wrap a blanket around me before going to the bathroom.
Once I'm done, I stare at my reflection in the mirror and wince. I need a hot shower, an avocado breakfast bowl, and a gallon of coffee.
I splash water on my face and brush my teeth. A rush of cool air seeps in through the vent, and I shiver. Last night, the wind howled against the windows, and I felt like I was sleeping outside. There is no way I can stay upstairs if there’s a repeat of that. Although the couch wasn't uncomfortable, being cold and in a new place made it hard to fall into a deep sleep. Every little sound woke me, and I constantly had to remind myself where I was.
