A Very Grumpy Christmas (Arcadian Falls Christmas Book 1)

by Jerica MacMillan

my brother back there said that all the fairy tale creatures know each other, and so I was figuring maybe you could get a message to an angel? To deliver to my parents in heaven?”

“Did you tell Santa you were good this year?” I ask. Her nose scrunches, and she tilts her head to the side. “I feel like I should get a pass this year, what with becoming an orphan and all.” I can’t help barking out a laugh at her answer. “Good point. Did you run that by Santa, though?” She shrugs, pulling her hand from mine to unwrap her candy cane and shove the straight end into her mouth. “Didn’t come up,” she says around the candy.

“I finished braiding Sophie’s hair. Looks pretty cute, if I say so myself. I told her I’d leave my number so you can call me in case of another braiding emergency.” I let out a sound that’s halfway between a sigh and a growl. Her eyes widen in that way girls do when they’re tired of your bullshit, and she raises both hands. “Oookaay. Welp. I guess I’ll just wait for her to come knocking on my door the next time a hair emergency strikes. And for the record?” She pokes a finger toward me. “This isn’t about pity or feeling sorry for you or,” she waves her hand around, “whatever stupid thing you’re thinking. This is about a little girl who wants her hair braided. I can braid hair. I’m good at it. You’re not. Maybe get over yourself for her sake, yeah?” And with that she spins on her heel, clearly intent on leaving. “Wait. Please,” I manage to get out before she can take more than one step. She pivots, giving me her profile, crossing her arms and cocking a hip, her body language an obvious non-verbal request to make it worth her while. This time my sigh is just a sigh, no growl in the mix. “I’m sorry. Thank you. Please leave your number.”

“I like her,” Sophie declares, hands on her hips. “You need to be nice to her,” she admonishes me. “Otherwise she won’t braid my hair anymore, and lord knows you’re fucking hopeless.”

“Okay. Start the popcorn. Time for our movie. Sarah, you can sit there.” She picks up a throw pillow and moves it to the other corner of the couch. “Shane, this is your spot tonight. And I’ll sit in the middle!” “Oh, uh …” Movie night? I glance at Shane, not sure if I’m actually welcome for this or not. Shane’s eyes slide from me to his sister and back again. “Sophie, I’m not sure Sarah has time for a movie night. We just asked her to come over and braid your hair.” Lower lip poking out and arms crossed, Sophie stomps a foot. Shane cocks his head. “What have we talked about, Sophie? If you’re going to have a tantrum, then we might have to cancel movie night altogether. Let’s do your hot cocoa breathing, okay?” Her eyes narrow, and she looks like she’s about to say no, but then she drops her arms and says, “Fine,” on the world’s most exaggerated sigh.

I’m melting into a puddle of goo at the sight of this big, gruff man doing deep breathing exercises where he pretends to blow on hot cocoa with his six-year-old little sister. There’s something inexplicably hot about a guy taking care of a little kid. Bonus points if said guy is already hot on his own. And discovering this gooey center inside his crusty exterior?

Sometimes I wish Mal, my other sister, lived at home still. Or was willing to come home for Christmas break, at least. She’d know how to braid Sophie’s hair. And if she were here, I wouldn’t be in the awkward position of forcing my very pretty young neighbor to spend her evening watching Disney movies with us. But when Sophie started in on her pouting and foot stomping routine, I knew that no amount of hot cocoa breathing would stave off a tantrum if Sarah said no. Now I’m torn between relief at her willingness to stay and discomfort at having a woman in my house who I’m attracted to.

She’s wearing Christmas socks again, these ones with reindeer … hang on, are those reindeer fucking? When I glance at her, she ducks her head, hiding a smile, and attempts to tuck her feet under her even more. “I like festive socks,” she says around a mouthful of ice cream, as though that’s explanation enough for socks featuring fucking reindeer. They’re just outlines, the style like the kind you see on sweaters, but still. Their activity is very clear. Shaking my head and biting back a grin at her semi pornographic socks,

“So I just grab a handful and dump it in?” Sarah asks, eyeing me cautiously. I lift one shoulder. “You don’t have to start with that much. You can just do a few pieces to try it out. But yeah, that’s pretty much what we do.” Sarah seems to go for the middle ground, getting more than just two or three pieces, but far less than what Sophie and I get. Sophie stares at Sarah as she scoops up some ice cream with a piece of popcorn perched on top, watching intently to see her reaction. Trying to be less obvious about my desire to watch her, I sprinkle popcorn onto my ice cream, monitoring Sarah out of the corner of my eye

When she lets out a soft groan of satisfaction, I jerk, my dick lengthening and hardening in my pants. Christ on a cracker. The last thing I need is a hard-on while I watch Frozen with my baby sister. “Oh my god, that’s really good,” Sarah says. “See? See?” Sophie shouts, bouncing on her toes.

When I glance at Sarah again, I notice she’s changed to sitting cross legged, her socks carefully tucked under her legs. She catches me noticing, and leans over to whisper, “I didn’t know I’d be going shoeless at someone else’s house when I put them on this morning.”

Sophie reaches for the remote so she can flip through the available choices and surprises me by picking Moana instead of one of the Frozen movies or Tangled, which we’ve been cycling through for the last few weeks. “Oh, I like this one,” Sarah says, surprising me. She glances at me. “What? You think I only watch Christmas movies or something? I like Disney too.” Grinning, I face the screen, realizing that I’m feeling happier and lighter right now than I have in … a really long time.

“Sarah. If I’d wanted to put up lights, I would’ve done it on Thanksgiving Break. I’m not too busy to decorate.” Her mouth forms an O of surprise, and the guy at the top of the ladder curses. “Are you kidding me, Sarah? Not only do you have to involve yourself in everyone’s business, but now you’ve dragged me into it, and you don’t even have the guy’s permission? Motherfucker.” Tearing her attention from me, Sarah glances up, her expression morphing from surprise to irritation in a heartbeat. “Shut up, Dylan. I’m gonna tell Mom you’re cursing at my neighbors if you don’t cut it out.” “I’m not cursing at your neighbors!” he yelps in protest. She just smirks as she refocuses on me and shakes her head. “I’m sorry,” she starts, not sounding the least bit apologetic, “I assumed since you have a tree and a variety of indoor decorations that you simply lacked outdoor decor to join in the festivities.” “Goddammit, Sarah,”

“If I have to take this shit down …” She bangs on a ladder rung. “I told you to shut up. And don’t worry, we’re not taking it down.” “You’re not?” I ask in the same way I ask my students if they’re really sure they want to do whatever boneheaded thing they think they want to do. But she’s entirely unfazed by the clear warning in my tone. She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms. “No. We’re not. Dylan’s almost done. You can finish if you prefer. Either way, you’re participating in the neighborhood lights display.” Something about her defiance, the tilt of her chin as she stands at the foot of a ladder where her brother’s still complaining about getting dragged into this, has my adrenaline pumping and my blood racing south. But I ignore the lengthening chub in my track pants. “Oh, I am, am I?”

“Yes. Whether you like it or not. You’re part of this neighborhood now, even if you did refuse my cookies when you moved in. We have a reputation to uphold.” Somehow me refusing her cookies sounds like a dirty double entendre, even though I know she literally means cookies. But I don’t remember refusing them. “When was that?” She throws her hands into the air and drops them at her sides. “This summer!” I can almost imagine her stomping her foot like Sophie does when she gets mad. “Right after you moved in. I made a batch of cookies and brought them over to welcome you to the neighborhood. You took one look at me and the covered plate in my hands, said, ‘Thanks but no thanks,’ and shut the door in my face!” I fight back a laugh at her deep-voiced impression of me, rubbing my hand over my mouth to cover my smile. “That must’ve been when we were still eating the leftovers of t...

“I don’t have room in my life for a relationship right now. I’m sorry I kissed you like that. I shouldn’t have, and …” She straightens in her chair, her nostrils flaring as she pulls herself upright, her lips tightening in displeasure and making me trail off. Somehow I’m getting this wrong. “Look, I appreciate all your help with Sophie and the lights yesterday, even though I know I acted like I didn’t want them. But you’re right, they look great, and that wreath is amazing and Sophie thought it was the greatest thing. She had a rough day and that cheered her right up. I mean, an elf came over and decorated her house for Christmas. What kid wouldn’t love that?” I’m rambling. Clearing my throat again, I pull myself back on track. “But between Sophie and work and coaching and therapy appointments and helping her with all her homework, I just—” Sarah waves a hand, cutting me off, and while I’m grateful for a reason to shut up, I’m also worried that this isn’t necessarily out of kindness. “It’s fine, Shane,” she says, standing. “I get it. Say no more. If that’s what you came all the way down here to say”—she lets out a slightly unhinged laugh—“well, thanks, I guess. But this is entirely unnecessary, I assure you.” Stepping closer to me, she leans over the table, giving me a tight lipped, angry smile—another variation to add to my list. “I’d just like to remind you that you kissed me. So maybe you should go home and give this speech to your mirror, alright?”

“About the other night …” he starts. And I scowl. Immediately and entirely without meaning to. He sighs, this time sounding frustrated. “I’ve been informed that I’m an idiot for apologizing.” That makes me blink. “By who?” He waves a hand. “That’s not important. So now I’m apologizing for apologizing. You seem really great, Sarah—” I hold up a hand, stopping him. “Please stop. I really don’t want any more apologies or ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ speeches. You regret kissing me. You don’t want it to happen again. I get it. Say no more.” His eyes narrow, and his jaw flexes like he’s grinding his teeth. Then his hand cups my cheek, and he brings his mouth to mine. Again.

Me: Can I take you out for a coffee sometime? I don’t even pretend not to be anxiously waiting for her answer this time. Who would I be fooling anyway? Sophie’s in bed. I’m in the living room by myself. I can’t even focus on a TV show because I’m all wound up about Sarah. Having her here again confirmed it—I don’t want to stay away from her. I don’t want to leave her alone. Trying to is pointless. Even if I still wanted to, Sophie wouldn’t let me, for one thing. For another, when Sarah’s here, nothing feels as bleak as it does otherwise. When Sophie convinced her to stay for movie night, that’s the most enjoyable evening I’ve had since before my parents died. Sure, movie nights with just Sophie and me are fine, but Sarah seems to light up the place. Sophie feels it too. I can tell. She’s at her happiest when Sarah’s here, and not just because she’s getting her hair braided.

Sarah: Why? Not exactly the response I was hoping for, but not an automatic no. That seems hopeful at least. Me: I want to have a chance to talk to you without being interrupted. Sarah: You could just call me now … Me: I’d rather talk face-to-face The dancing dots appear and disappear a few times, and disappointment has my dick softening. Then I get another alert. Sarah: I could just come over now if you want, since I’m assuming Sophie’s asleep already A surge of adrenaline has my heart racing, and I straighten my pants on my way up the stairs two at a time to make sure that Sophie is, in fact, asleep, before I answer. Me: That works. She’s out cold Sarah: Be there in 5

“So …” She layers her forearms on the counter and leans on them. “You want to kiss me, but neither of us have time for a relationship. You asked me to have a conversation face-to-face about … something.” She flips one hand over and makes a graceful gesture to encompass ‘something.’ “What did you have in mind?” Clearing my throat, I set my forearm on the counter and lean in her direction. “I really enjoyed our kisses. And I’m not actually sorry for them. I never was.” Her eyes focus on my lips. “Good. Me either.” “Since we seem to be on the same page that kissing is fun but we’re both too busy for a real relationship, I was thinking we could have fun together when we can and not worry too much about the rest.” She lets out another thoughtful hum, and I hold my breath, waiting for her answer. But she’s taking too long for my liking. Planting one foot on the floor, I move closer, covering her lips with mine.

“I meant that you make me laugh. You make me feel good. I like that. I like you.” His words warm me from the inside. “Well, thanks. I like you too.” Another soft chuckle, and his eyes roam my face. “I really can’t imagine why. Especially at the beginning, I wasn’t very nice to you.” I shrug. “To be fair, I didn’t really like you at first. But then I saw you with Sophie, and you’re so good with her, and that’s unfairly hot. Plus, I found out the grumpiness is a front. Once you get past that crunchy outer layer, you’re just a soft nougaty center.” He laughs again, and I like that I can make him laugh, make him feel better, even if it is likely to be just in stolen moments like this.

After months of therapy we’ve both come a long way—giving me tools to use to help her and me, and her tantrums are finally lessening. She’s a headstrong kid, so probably she’d still be having some no matter what. But despite the approaching holiday causing a little uptick in that kind of behavior, we’re mostly evening out and settling in. Maybe having Sarah around has helped calm her down as much as it has me. It’s sure made a difference with her hair, at the very least.

I want to talk to Sarah. But I don’t want to text her. I want her here, with me, waiting for me with open arms, wrapping her arms around me and letting me rest my head on her fantastic chest, running her hands through my hair and telling me that I’m doing a good job. More than anything that reassurance from her, the way she watches me with admiration when I interact with Sophie, that fills me up with … something. Pride? Assurance? Confidence? All of the above, I guess.

She’s fun and easy to be around, she makes me laugh, she makes me … happy. In ways I didn’t think possible for me.

“You can go if you want,” he tells me, matter of factly. “She’ll be out in the next five minutes if she’s not already.” “Oh. Alright.” I pull my feet under me, preparing to get up. I mean, I do kinda want to go home and get cozy. But I also like spending time with Shane. I know we won’t be having naked time together tonight, for obvious reasons, but I thought maybe we could … I dunno. Hang out. Cuddle. A kiss or two would’ve been nice. “You don’t have to,” he says quickly. “You’re welcome to stay if you want. I just … you’ve been grimacing off and on all night. I figured you’d be more comfortable at your place.” With my feet on the floor and my hands poised to push me off the couch, I look up at Shane, a lopsided smile on my face. “If you want me to stay—ever, not just tonight—it would be nice if you would say so. It’s pretty easy. All you have to do is say, ‘Sarah, would you stay for a while longer, please? I enjoy spending time with you without constant interruptions from my sister.’” His lips curve in a small smile, and amusement dances in his brown eyes. “Sarah, I would love it if you would stay for as long as you like. But I know you’re not feeling that great, so if you want to go home, I understand.”

Having a big heart means you can get hurt easily. But sometimes it’s worth risking the hurt to get to experience the joy.”

My big brother Ty wraps his arm around my neck, putting me in a headlock just as I’m heading to my seat. “Ty!” I shout, scrabbling at his back. “Let me go!” “But, monkey, why would I do that?” “Ugh. I hate you.” He just laughs. “You love me, and you know it.” I slide my fingers under his shirt, laughing when he flinches. I was just moving things around in the freezer, and my fingers are chilly. “Aren’t we getting a little old for this?” He hums thoughtfully. “Nah.” “Fine. Remember, you started it.” I delve my hand below the waistband of his jeans, grab his undies, and yank. “Hey!” he shouts. “Stop it!” “Dylan! Li’l help?” Dylan laughs, but doesn’t sound like he’s coming over to help me give our brother a wedgie. So that means I’m on my own. Crawling my chilly fingers up his side, I start digging my thumb in between Ty’s ribs, which has the unfortunate side effect of making his arm clamp tighter around my neck. “Ow!” he shouts. “Let me go!” I dig my thumb in harder.