Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
“Anderson is nice.”
“Nice.” She gags. Now I’m the one that gives her a crazy stare.
“What’s wrong with being nice?”
“I want naughty.” She wiggles her brows. I push my glasses up my nose as I try to hide the warmth that fills my cheeks. “I see it. You want naughty too. Don’t even try to deny it.”
“Take these over to the table.” I push the stack of books toward her before I point to the table I’ve already strung lights around. To me, it’s not only about making the outside festive; the inside has to be decorated too.
The spirit of the holiday needs to flood out from each building. You can put up lots of decorations on the outside, but if there is no warmth behind it, I think it takes some of the magic away. People always ask why we win the holiday competition each year. I believe it’s because you can feel our Christmas spirit, not just see it.
It’s not about winning; it’s about all the fun we have doing it. Well, it is for me. Eve and my mom can be a bit competitive. Okay, maybe it’s more than a bit.
“Fine.” She jumps down from off the table, pulling another book out of the stack to keep for herself before she hauls one load and then another over to the table for me.
I check the time. We’re closing up early today for our traditional town meeting. We have it every year in case anyone has any new ideas they might want to bring to the table for decorations or events. I have a few things up my sleeve. But I never divulge all of my secrets. I like to surprise people.
I think this year is going to be the best year yet. I glance down at the books Eve set aside for herself. As I scan them for checkout, I stare down at the cover with the happy bride. I love Christmas. It’s my favorite time of year, but living in Snow Hills makes me wonder if I’ll ever have the Christmas that I’ve always dreamed of.
3
CRANE
Snow Hills is just as picturesque as it sounds. It’s nestled on the top of a gentle ridge overlooking a wooded portion of countryside. It strikes me about the same as Winter Heights. A lovely little town full of boring people with boring lives. I doubt they have any idea there’s a whole wide world outside the bounds of this place.
My gaze flicks to the photo of Liza I’ve propped on the dash. I wonder if she feels content here in this small town. I suppose she must. After all, she’s in charge of making this place a Christmas town each year. From the photos I searched on the web, she’s damn good at it, too. Makes sense that Mayor McGovern is gunning for the Grable women.
I drive slowly down Main Street, the shops on either side of the road beginning to put out Christmas décor. The light poles are wrapped like candy canes, and old-timey wire lights in shapes like angels and holly glow at the top of each one. It’s a far cry from what I’m used to, but I suppose it has its charms for some.
There’s a banner strung across the last poles on the street. It says there’s an annual town meeting tonight. McGovern told me it’s a planning meeting, so I intend to get my first taste of what Snow Hills is planning.
Pulling up in front of the town hall, I park and pull the rearview mirror over so I can see my reflection. I look ridiculous. My dark brown hair is a bit mussed, no longer in smooth, straight lines like I prefer. I’m wearing a pair of glasses with simple brown frames, and the rest of my clothes make me want to laugh. A buffalo-check button-down shirt, blue jeans, and a Patagonia jacket. The only thing I wouldn’t compromise on was my shoes. They’re boots, but not some damn Land’s End bullshit. These are Italian leather with a decent shine to them.
A family parks beside me and gets out of their car. The man gives me a two-fingered wave. It raises my hackles. Does he want his ass kicked? I shove the rearview mirror away and glare at him.
His eyes widen, and his wife walks up and gives me the same wave.
Oh, shit. He wasn’t being a dick. He was genuinely waving at me. To be nice. And now he looks like he’s about to piss himself.
I plaster a fake smile to my face and give him the two-finger salute, which makes me snort in and of itself.
He grabs his kids and hurries his family away from me.
Not good. I need to work on fitting in. That means waving. And smiling. And being generally non-threatening. Fuck. I’m not good at any of that shit.