Jingle Wars

by R. Holmes

  "I'm here now to make up for lost time." He shoots her a wink and she rolls her eyes in response.

  “How about I go and make you boys some hot cocoa for all the hard work that you’re going to be doing?” She smiles warmly, like she didn’t just half ass bribe us with delicious treats. As usual, my stomach is a damn traitor and as always I’m a sucker for anything that Grams bakes.

  She sets down her knitting and rises from the rocker.

  “Alright boys, ready to get started? I’ve got lots for you to do.”

  West and I share a look. Anything for the women we love, right?

  In a matter of days, the town square at the heart of Hollyridge looks completely different. It was festive before with its cheerful seasonal flags on lamp posts and wreaths on doors, but now it’s like the holiday season has exploded from every crevice, flooding the small square with a sea of red, green, gold, and silver. The Jingle Wars competition begins today, the one the posters plastered throughout town have been advertising, inviting businesses to strut their holiday spirit for a national audience.

  And I signed up.

  I saw the advertisement three days ago when I almost busted my ass on the slippery sidewalk in my soaked UGG boots, too focused on taking the perfect shot for the resort’s Instagram story, and I couldn’t get Jingle Wars out of my head.

  Finn stuck in my thoughts after meeting him, too. I don’t need distractions that are tall, look like they can throw me over their shoulder, and have that sexy beard with hints of red shot through the brown, but…he’s totally my lumberjack fantasy wrapped up in a muscular, climb-me-like-a-tree package. The kind that has me biting my lip anytime he pops into my head. Total panty-melter with a charming smile and he literally swept me off my feet.

  I mean, I was falling—ungracefully as hell, seriously, who knew UGGs have zero traction—but there was definite feet-sweeping going on. I’d be lying if I tried to play it like I’m not looking forward to our coffee date.

  After he shows me around town, hopefully he’s down to show me other things, like the backseat of his truck and his bedroom.

  Hell, I’ll take the hallway. Finn has WSE—wall-sex energy. It’s written all over him.

  I sink my teeth into my lower lip and momentarily lose myself thinking about how his scruff would scrape against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs and my neck. He might have that handsome gentleman’s smile that melts me, but, god, I bet he knows how to kiss dirty.

  My thirsty ass brain is in overdrive at the first chance of some non-vibe action. Down girl. But who wouldn’t be attracted to Finn? He’s incredibly handsome.

  My goals come first, though. They have to. Don’t let yourself stray from why you’re here, I remind myself, shaking my head as I wander the bustling square with Riley.

  The hundred grand prize isn’t that important to me, but the recognition and publicity? Huge. Representing the Alpine in this Christmas-on-crack competition—Riley’s word’s, not mine—is the edge I need for my efforts with the resort. If I win the competition, the marketing I can do with the social proof to back it up will bring fantastic buzz to the Anderson Resorts brand.

  An icy breeze moves through the grassy area behind the gazebo where a backstage area has been set up. It cuts through my thin, off the shoulder gray Chanel sweater, skating down my spine. I hold the warm cardboard cup of coffee with both hands and brace against the instinct to shiver. I’m freezing in my outfit, but the red leather pants and Santa Baby-level heels are worth it. Impressions are everything in business and marketing, so I want to look good for the competition’s first airing where the contestants are introduced.

  A stage is set up in front of the huge gazebo, both structures decked out in garlands of fresh cut pine and red velvet ribbons. Holiday songs blast from a speaker system before the broadcast with the host begins. The crowd of people filling the live audience gathered in front of the stage create a low murmur floating in and out as we walk around in the production area.

  “You know,” I say to Riley, “when you said this town loved this competition, I didn’t think you meant it would be like this.”

  Riley shrugs as a woman in a volunteer shirt with honey blonde curls shot through with gray waves to her. I’ve seen the volunteer woman running the bakery when I’ve ventured into town in the last couple of days. She makes sinfully good bear claws and I might be addicted. The show volunteer-slash-bakery owner isn’t the only person Riley recognizes. This whole competition really has taken over the quaint little town of Hollyridge.

  “Yeah, it’s always been loved like this by locals. But then the tourists get a bigger kick out of it every year, so it keeps growing. Look at it now.” Riley nods at the camera crew setting up. “All professional and shit with filming teams. It used to be on the public service station when I was in high school and put on by local volunteers. Now it’s a big to-do.” She tilts her head. “But I would’ve thought something like this wouldn’t surprise you, Hollywood.”

  She keeps calling me that to tease me. Ever since I walked into her pottery class at the Alpine on my first day, when I was looking for one of my lobby managers, phone pressed to my ear as I talked while sending an email on my tablet. Exec life waits for no one. It took me a full two minutes to realize I’d interrupted the class. Riley had told me where to find the business center, assuming I was a lost suit, only to find out I was her new boss when I took my sunglasses off.

  My nose wrinkles. “Ew. I didn’t live in the Hills. Before here, I lived in Malibu.”

  “Ew,” Riley mimics, exaggerating my California accent, which sounds hilarious in her soft Montana drawl.

  I poke her side with an amused sound. “Not everyone in California is just walking around movie sets all the time. I’m too busy in the office at Anderson Resorts, so this is new for me.”

  “You’re all about diving in, huh?”

  “I’m a take life by the horns kinda gal,” I say, imitating a twangy accent. “I’m bringing home the blue ribbon for the Alpine family, baby.”

  Riley smiles, the corners of her pretty green eyes crinkling. “I hope this isn’t like the first time you rode the ski lift yesterday.”

  I release a dramatic, scandalized gasp, pressing a palm to my exposed collarbones. “Traitor! How could you? You promised to never speak of that debacle ever again. That thing is like a death trap. There has to be a safer way up a mountain.” My coffee sloshes in the cup as I gesture wildly. “Honestly, you guys are crazy for ever getting on it.”

  During the Ski Lift Incident, she had keeled over in hysterics. Even as one of the part-time ski instructors, she couldn’t get me on that thing again. Who ever thought it was a good idea to dangle people from a swinging basket on a cable high above the mountainside?

  She releases a hearty cackle and shakes her head. “Who put you in charge of a winter resort? You’re the opposite of all things winter.”

  My amusement at our banter disappears as the weight of my doubt slams into me unexpectedly. I clear my throat and flick my nail against the plastic lid of my cup.

  Goals are only wishes we dream up if they’re unconquerable.

  I swallow past the lump forming in my throat. This is silly to get all twisted up over. Sometimes it hits me out of nowhere when I least expect it, because I focus so hard on work.

  I’m not a little girl pining for my parents at Christmas every time I watch a holiday movie wishing my family could be perfect like that. I’m the woman who works her ass off to achieve what she sets out to do.

  “My father.”

  “Well, jeez, don’t go sulking like someone pissed in your Starbucks cup.” She nudges my shoulder. “Buck up, buttercup.”

  I shake my shoulders out and offer her a smile. “You’re right. I’m sorry for being a downer. I think I’m nervous.”

  “You? Psh. Girl, you exude confidence.”

  This time my smile is more genuine as my worries melt back into the shadows of my mind where they belong. I give them a mental middl
e finger. “Thanks. This’ll be good. I can do this.”

  “Anytime.”

  Another chilly breeze blows through the square, making me shudder. The tip of my nose is cold. I hope it doesn’t start to run when I’m on stage for the broadcast.

  “You’ll be an icicle before you’re even called up,” Riley points out with a smirk, bundled in her double-lined parka.

  She flashed me the fleece interior in my room at the Alpine before we left to come downtown for the filming. I want nothing more than to tear her coat open and sink into the warmth, sharing the coat with my friend, but that would be giving in and the weather won’t beat me.

  Riley’s head tilts, gaze skating over me from head to toe. “A cute icicle though. All the guys will want to lick you for a taste.”

  With a smirk, I pop my hip out and pose. “That’s the idea. I’m up there as a visual representation of how great the Alpine is. Marketing is all about subtle psychological messages, and I, my friend, have mastered the art.”

  “Sex sells,” Riley adds. “It’s already working. You’ve definitely caught my friend’s eye.”

  I follow her line of sight and my cheeks flush. Finn, my walking rugged mountain man wet dream, admires my red leather pants from several feet away while he brushes off one of the production company’s makeup artists buzzing around him. The corner of my mouth curls up. See? Entering this competition was the best idea.

  Suck it, doubts.

  When he drags his eyes up to meet mine, I give him a cheeky wink.

  Caught you, I mouth with a hint of flirtiness across the distance separating us.

  His gaze slides over me once more, unapologetic about checking me out in a way that has my insides heating up pleasantly, then shrugs and offers me a rueful smile.

  Oof. Double oof! The charm rolls off him in waves so strong, I feel my heart skipping a beat from all the way over here where Riley and I stand.

  Her breathy puff of laughter breaks me from the seductive Finn-induced spell. When I glance at her, she drinks deeply from her coffee with her brows raised.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing. Just witnessing another victim of Finn’s drool all over her designer sweater. It’s a time-honored pastime in Hollyridge for our hometown heartthrob. Townie or tourist, no one is safe from his dimples and warm whiskey-eyes,” Riley says with all the sageness of a town elder. “I’ve seen the best of us go down in all the years I’ve known him.”

  A protest catches in my throat as I hastily swipe around my lips painted with matte longwear lipstick, checking my fingers. No smudges. We’re golden. “I am not drooling. I am—admiring.”

  Riley laughs again. “Yeah, okay.”

  “Besides, who wouldn’t?” I make a subtle gesture in Finn’s direction, where the makeup artist has wrangled him for a touch up anyway. A snort escapes me at the sight of him grimacing while her powder brush swipes over his nose. It doesn’t make him any less hot. “That dude is stacked and I’m one hundred percent here for it.”

  His ass in those dark jeans? Here for it. That sexy deep voice? Here. For. It.

  Riley’s shoulders shake with her snickering. “See? Another victim of his hunky status. Nah, none for me, thanks. I’ve been friends with him too long and know too many of his gross guy habits.”

  Before I can say more, a man with thick-rimmed glasses, a headset, and a clipboard materializes at my side.

  “We’re ready for the contestants to line up now,” he says. “We’re live in ten with the host.”

  “Okay, thank you.”

  He moves on to tap the shoulders of several other contestants, including Finn. People start moving over to the stage and forming a line as they’re herded by the production team.

  Riley takes my unfinished coffee and I lift my brows. “Showtime.”

  “Knock ‘em dead, killer,” Riley says.

  “I think you’re supposed to say break a leg for good luck,” I say.

  She pulls a face. “Why on earth would I want you to get hurt? I’m already worried as it is, you can’t even manage a ski lift ride.”

  My mouth pops open and I hold up a finger. “Never! Again!” I hiss, eyes darting around to make sure no one heard her. “Quit harshing my vibe, dude! Now I’ll get all nervous again.”

  Setting our coffees on a picnic table, Riley takes me by the shoulders and gives me a little shake. “Get a hold of yourself. This ain’t the boss ass bitch who showed up in my pottery class. Go on now.” She spins me and smacks my ass as I stumble in the four inch heels. “Show the world who you are.”

  She’s right. Dad probably isn’t watching, even though I texted him the details and a livestream link. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to show him anyway.

  I sidle up next to Finn as the headset guy reappears to put us in order of how we’re being called to the stage. The host stands nearby in a bright red suit with coat tails and a top hat. He’s a portly man with a white whiskery beard.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” I say to Finn. I hold up my fists and pretend to box. “I guess this makes you my rival now. May the best Christmas lover win.”

  He grunts, scratching the back of his head. His demeanor is off from how easy-going he seemed when we met, his body language stiff. “Yeah. This was kind of last minute. Not my usual thing.”

  “What?” I fake a shocked gasp and plant my hands on my hips. Leaning close, I look side to side and whisper, “Are you saying you’re not a Christmas lover? The wolf in lamb’s wool sneaking in?”

  Finn’s lips twitch and he swipes his fingers around his mouth, tracing his scruff. He relaxes, losing the tense set of his shoulders. I bite my lip and flutter my lashes up at him. A warm ember glows in the pit of my stomach just being around him.

  Or maybe that’s because he smells fucking fantastic—cedar and spice, adding to the whole outdoorsy lumberjack hottie vibe. Yes, please.

  I press closer, whipping out my phone. “Let’s take a behind the scenes selfie. I bet the hashtag for the competition is poppin’. We’ll give the viewers a little reality TV drama. Maybe they’ll start shipping us. Do you think they’d put your name first or mine in our portmanteau?”

  “Uh, what?” Finn blinks at me in the wake of my rapid rambling, his hand automatically finding my waist.

  Mm, big hands. I shake my head and beam at him. Jesus. Cool it, brain, you thirsty bitch.

  “Come on, let’s do it!” I elbow his side as I tease him. “You can’t be much older than me to not know what a selfie is. Definitely not old enough to call Daddy—”

  “What?” Finn chokes and squeezes my waist, practically massaging it. Damn, that feels nice. With a rough, almost growled cough, he clears his throat. His eyes go wide and his thick brows rise into his wind-tousled brown hair line as he stares at me with intensity burning in his gaze. “You—”

  Laughter bursts from me and I lean into his side. “Sorry, oh my god. The look on your face. Too easy! But for real, let’s take a selfie.”

  As soon as I’ve snapped a photo of us snuggled together, a trilling trumpet takes over the holiday soundtrack, drawing everyone’s attention.

  “It’s starting,” Finn says. A determined look settles on his face, a crease forming between his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth tipping down.

  The host jogs onto the stage, waving for the crowd that cheers for him. He’s more spry than I would’ve guessed. Maybe the beard is dyed. Or these country boys are just made of sturdier stock than the people I know his age.

  “Ladies and gentleman, holiday enthusiasts far and wide, welcome back for another year of Jingle Wars! Your favorite Christmas competition that tests hopefuls every year to be crowned the champion of the best holiday of the year,” the host announces with flair. “We’re live in Hollyridge, Montana and the contestants are lined up backstage waiting to meet you. I’m Cornelius Frost, your host! This year we’re bigger than ever with competitions you voted on to challenge our contestants.”

  While he talks, I p
ost my photo with Finn to social media, tagging the competition. The cold still bites through my clothes, so I huddle close to him to absorb some of his body heat.

  “You know, I’m surprised you’re here, too,” Finn says. “First you’re tripping over snow, and now you’re competing in this?”

  I shrug. “I like trying new things. It seemed like the perfect way to prove something to my dad.” My lips pull to the side as I hesitate, searching for a way to phrase it. I don’t know Finn very well, and I can’t unload my family baggage on him all willy nilly. “I have to be loud to get his attention.”

  “So a game show?” Finn frowns, studying me. After a beat, he nods to the stage, where the first person in line is climbing the steps for their introduction. “This thing gets pretty intense and wild. Last year there was a camping challenge in the woods.” His deep brown gaze slides over me, lingering on my exposed neckline from the off-shoulder designer sweater. “Are you sure you’re up for something out of your element if you’re not used to a Montana winter?”

  My mouth pops open to give him an immediate denial, then closes so I can think first. I purse my lips. It’s true. I’ve discovered how averse I am to real winter nonstop since arriving in Hollyridge from California, but I’m not letting anything stop me, not my doubts, or the company’s vulture executives biting at my heels—or Finn, no matter how good his intentions.

  The tall snow-capped peaks catch my eye from above the shop roofs in the square. There’s something about looking at these majestic mountains surrounding town that gives me the drive I need to keep going. I can do it.

  “The chivalry is appreciated, but unnecessary. I can handle myself just fine, thanks.”

  Finn tilts his head to the side and holds his hands up. “Alright, darlin’. Meant no harm.”

  “And now for our next contestant!” Cornelius’ voice booms over the loudspeaker. “Let’s welcome Finn!”

  “You’re up,” the guy with the headset prompts.

  Before he heads for the stage, Finn seems to give himself a pep talk, flexing his hands. The stiffness from before returns as he takes the steps two at a time.