When his kettle whistles, he opens a package of hot cocoa and mixes it in a mug. “I plan to make some calls to see if there is any lodging in town for you.”
“Great.”
“But…”
The way he lingers is unsettling.
“Don’t get your hopes up. It’s the holiday tourist season, and a lot of skiers are waiting to hit the slopes after the blizzard. Plus, with Christmas coming up, people come in for the festival and to visit their families. It’d be a miracle to find something right now.”
Considering what Peggy told me, I know he’s telling the truth.Just lovely.
Just as I open my mouth, our phones blare with an alert that nearly has me jumping out of my skin.
“Looks like all the roads in and out of here are closed,” he says as I read the message from the National Weather Association about dangerous winds, snow, and ice.
“Of course they are,” I mutter dryly. “Do you have Wi-Fi?” I ask when a notification pops up to connect.
“Yeah, the password is Jolly1225 with a capital J. No spaces.”
“You’re joking.” I raise a brow, and he shakes his head. I glance at the Christmas tree, the town scene on his mantel, and then back at him. “Is there a reason it looks like Christmas threw up in your house? I lost count of how many decorated trees and ridiculous amounts of décor you have everywhere.”
He arches a brow.
“Wait. Do you have kids or something?” I blurt out.
This makes him chuckle. “No. But maybe one day.”
“A girlfriend or wife going to barge in on us and think something’s going on?” I ask just in case. There’s no way he did all this for himself. It’d take months.
He shakes his head. “Nope. It’s just Dasher and me.”
“Oh.” Not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.
“Did you touch my reindeer?” he asks.
“Huh?”
He points at the mantel. “I noticed he had been moved.”
“I was looking around and wanted to see its face. I was in disbelief that someone actually lives like this.”
He shakes his head. “I should’ve known something was off when I saw that.”
“You’re telling me. You missed my coat hanging on the rack, my boots by the door, and not to mention my whole-ass minivan in the driveway, but you noticed a small figurine not in the right spot?”
“I came in through the back door. Never saw your car or items. Besides, I like Christmas.” He shrugs unapologetically.
“You’re a little too old to be nerding out for Santa,” I tell him, finding it quite refreshing, but I’d never admit that to him.
“Never too old for holiday spirit.” He winks and makes his way into the kitchen.
“You hungry?” He flashes a boyish grin, showing off his perfect white teeth.
“Actually, I am.”
He places a cast iron pan on the stove and turns on the burner. Then he pulls bacon and eggs from the fridge. Not that I’m purposely gawking, but it’s hard not to as this lumberjack of a man cooks for me.
He glances over his shoulder at me as I try to understand his schtick. “So…is this Christmas thing a part of your identity or something? Do you work for Santa?”