Page 4 of Frosty the Farmhand (12 Days of Christmas)
3
REID
T he smell of garlic floats merrily around the kitchen as the pot of sauce simmers on the stove. The lasagna is in the oven, and a bottle of red sits open on the counter with two glasses just waiting to be filled.
Now all I need is Wren.
Looking at the clock again, I tap my foot and scroll through a social app for the hundredth time before her key jingles in the lock.
Thank God.
“You’re late,” I say, only half kidding as she bursts through the door.
She grins, kicking it closed with her foot as she drops her bags on the floor and unwraps the scarf from her neck. “I have gossip.”
“I met Harlan Frost.”
Her mouth drops open and she stomps her foot like a petulant child. “Dammit, you win.”
“I know.” I grin as I pour the wine and hand her a glass when she crosses the room and leans against the counter.
“Spill.”
“He’s gorgeous. May or may not swing your way, but definitely interested in men even if he was trying to be a stone-faced jerkwad this morning.”
“That’s a colorful description.”
“And accurate,” I say before taking a sip and letting my mind wander to the man who was trying desperately to be rude and unapproachable but wasn’t. Or my personality won’t allow me to be so easily deterred.
“But he’s hot?”
“Unfairly so,” I confirm as she studies me.
“You’re not going to make him your next little project, are you?” she asks with her glass halfway to her lips.
“What?” I ask, gasping in indignation even though that’s exactly what I intend to do.
“You know exactly what. You can’t make everyone love you, and you can’t make them all happy either,” she says with the same amount of sass, but concern has replaced amusement in her brown eyes.
“I know that,” I huff, “but it doesn’t mean I can’t try. It’s Christmas and it’s Wintervale—everyone should be happy.”
Her smile is soft and affectionate as she takes my hand and squeezes. “I love your big heart.”
I’m saved from responding when the oven timer goes off because I hate thinking my optimism is anything but good. I want to spread joy in my community—what’s so wrong with that?
Wren thankfully doesn’t comment on my track record for applying this little theory to emotionally unavailable men who have wandered through this part of Montana. It’s a blessing and a curse, but I’d rather have loved and lost than never orgasmed at all.
Or however that saying goes.
“Tell me about your gossip.”
“Well,” she starts as I cut two pieces of lasagna and set them on the plates she’s holding. “Apparently, the buyer is some big shot from New York City looking for a quieter life.”
My eye roll matches hers because it’s a story we’ve heard more than once. It’s a toss-up which of those looking for greener grass actually find it here.
“Should I make my surprised face now or later?”
She snorts. “Better save it until we meet him.”
“Him?” I ask, my brows lifting. “Is that going to change the dynamic?”
Currently, Mountain Side is separated into two parts, the salon and spa, and scheduling is up to the respective supervisors, but Erika has always been hands-on with the day-to-day operations. She knows her clientele and has worked hard to meet their expectations—to provide a luxurious and relaxing experience no matter who walks through the door.
It’d be a shame to see the new owner come in and try to make it more like something in a big city.
“I have no idea; she was very tight-lipped about who it is,” she says. “I’m hoping he’ll at least be willing to listen to a few of the ideas I have.”
Wren had been working for Erika for the last five years as a massage therapist. My cousin has been loyal, hardworking, and so personable, her clientele refuse to see anyone but her.
But none of that seems to matter because Erika’s daughter, Holly, has made it her personal mission to sabotage Wren at every turn. Things escalated after my cousin Beau turned Holly down, and even though we couldn’t prove it, we all knew Holly had slashed Wren’s tire last summer.
Raising my glass, I say, “To new opportunities?—”
“Both penis and professional,” Wren deadpans and I snort out a laugh.
“Cheers!”