by R. Holmes
“That’s the spirit! Give the audience a wave!” Cornelius makes a sweeping gesture with his arm.
From my vantage point off-stage, I catch Finn’s grimace. He lifts his hand as if he’s a robot. He hasn’t struck me as the shy type, but he’s definitely not cool with the cameras pushing in on him as Cornelius introduces him.
“You’re here to represent a local favorite, Mayberry Inn,” Cornelius says, coming to Finn’s side to clap him on the shoulder.
The business he’s representing makes me blink. Mayberry. That’s the picturesque bed and breakfast next door to the Alpine, isn’t it? The hashtag cabin goals one. Finn never told me his last name when we met. I knew the inn was Alpine’s neighbor, but I didn’t realize that meant Finn was my neighbor, too.
“Your family’s history runs through Hollyridge. Both locals and visitors from out of town are fans of Grams Mayberry’s famous cookies and the resident reindeer,” Cornelius continues. “Jingle Wars is glad to see you join our ranks for your chance at winning the game, Finn.”
“Uh, yeah.” Finn shifts his weight. “Thanks.”
“Any messages for our audience?”
When he shakes his head, I practically bounce in place. The tall heels make it difficult, throwing my balance off slightly. Dude, that was your marketing opening! If he’s here for his family’s business same as I am, why isn’t he taking every chance to put himself out there? It’s Marketing 101.
“Time to bring out our next winter warrior hopeful, then!” Cornelius checks the prompter screen set up next to one of the cameras. “Let’s give a warm Hollyridge welcome to rival the California sunshine, where our next contestant hails from. Let’s introduce Freya!”
I give my blow out a fluff to perk up my styled bombshell curls and stride onto the stage to strut my stuff. My smile is so wide my cheeks cramp as I give the crowd a holler and wave.
“Thank you, Cornelius! Howdy, y’all!” Could’ve been better in my delivery, even though I practiced that. It’s ok, girl, just keep it together. Reality TV is all about fake it til you make it. I follow Cornelius’ silent invitation to take my place next to Finn in the lineup, allowing his comforting woodsy cologne to calm me down. “I’m so excited to be here! There’s nothing I love more than the holiday season!”
“Cute as a button, too, isn’t she folks?” Cornelius grins into his microphone. “You’re here to represent a newer business in town, the Alpine Mountain Resort.”
Finn was stiff before, but I feel the undeniable shift in the air when he goes absolutely rigid beside me.
A rough breath leaves him and he mutters something unintelligible under his breath. I throw him a quick glance and am taken aback by the iciness in his gaze. The warmth of his brown eyes is gone, swallowed by a frozen lake of cold regard.
“That’s right, Mr. Frost.” Ignoring Finn, I switch on marketing mode, my voice taking on a perkier quality than my usual tone. “We’re a luxury lifestyle resort to meet all the needs of vacationers with a number of amenities. Whether you come to Hollyridge to unwind, take advantage of its historic shopping district, or are adventurous thrill-seekers looking to take on the beautiful Montana mountain range, allow the Alpine to be your home away from home.”
Finn scoffs softly. My eyes flick to him. What is his deal?
“Fantastic. Welcome to Jingle Wars,” Cornelius says. “Let’s meet our next contestants before we go over the rules!”
I tune the rest of the host’s words out as the next few people are brought up. Attempts to catch Finn’s eye are fruitless. He’s even turned slightly away from me to give me his shoulder. What the hell crawled up his ass!
This can’t be nerves from the spotlight. Something about him changed as soon as I was introduced. The corners of my mouth tug down, but I force them back up into a smile for the cameras, compartmentalizing Finn’s attitude until the opening ceremony broadcast is finished.
Cornelius Frost runs through the rules after the introductions. “We’ll have three rounds of challenges between now and our finale, when we crown our Jingle Wars winner just in time for Christmas. The competition is tough, contestants, so bring your holiday A game for the chance at our grand prize this year: one hundred thousand dollars.”
The crowd seated on benches in front of the stage applaud. My focus is all over the place. Finn’s low grumbling keeps distracting me. He’s growing tenser by the second and I’m starting to worry that I’ve awoken a bear.
“Who’s ready to hear about our first challenge?” Cornelius addresses the audience. Their cheers crescendo. “That’s the spirit! Misty, my dear, if you please?”
A young woman dressed up as an elf pulls a gold cord on a plush velvet drape covering a table at the side of the stage. The curtain draws back to reveal a gilded frame of a perfectly trimmed Christmas tree.
“For our first challenge, which will be in a week and a half, our contestants will venture into the wilderness. The true mark of any holiday enthusiast is their ability to pick out the perfect tree.” He turns to pace in front of the lineup with dramatic flourish. “The catch is you’ll only have three hours to find your choice, cut it down, and bring it to the judging area to decorate. Trees must be complete before the iconic Jingle Bell in the square tolls, or you’ll be disqualified.”
Woods? Cutting down trees? I chew the inside of my lip. Ok, maybe I didn’t think this whole competition thing through before diving in. I take in the framed photo of the decorated tree and realize this might be out of my depth.
I’ve never had a real Christmas tree. What if I suck at picking one out? Hell, what if I can’t cut it down? I fight the urge to twist my fingers anxiously, a nervous habit I kicked long ago.
Every Christmas movie I’ve ever fallen in love with has prepared me for this moment. My favorite comfort showed me what I was missing out on whenever I was lonely. The momentary anxiety bleeds away, replaced by a burst of anticipation.
So what if I haven’t done it for real? I’ve seen pretty much every holiday movie ever made. I was born to pick out the perfect tree.
Bolstered by the surge of confidence, I throw Finn an excited look, only to be reminded of the sudden stick up his butt. His surly expression tries to strangle my enthusiasm. I narrow my eyes. Is this him challenging me? I’m here to win this.
“Be sure to tune in for round one for a holly jolly good time! I’m Cornelius Frost and this is Jingle Wars!”
Our host does a twirl and then someone off-stage yells cut. In a flurry of motion, the contestants head for the steps to leave the stage.
Finn brushes by me without a word, eating up the length of the stage in quick strides of his long legs. I have to double-time it to catch up with my much shorter legs and these heels. He’s not getting away from me that easily without an explanation.
As he stalks down the steps, I chase after him with conviction burning in my chest.
“You,” I seethe, whipping around to face my surprising foe. The second I step off the stage, she’s at my heels.
I feel betrayed and I don’t even know why, but it fucking burns. The fire whipping around my wounded pride.
“Oh, hey, Finn.” She props a hand on her hip. “I see we aren’t going to have a friendly, neighborly rivalry. I didn’t realize you lived next to my resort.”
Freya looks up at me through her dark, deceitful eyes paired with a sickly sweet smile painted in red. She has the audacity to look me in the eye and not feel even remotely bad for what she’s done. What she’s doing.
Doesn’t matter that she’s so fuckable, a perfect present in a pretty bright red bow waiting to be unwrapped. Now that I know who she is, what she is, our would be date is out of the question.
Freya is a traitor.
A traitor of the worst kind. One who goes against everything that Hollyridge is.
And after the revelation on the stage, I realize that she’s my new neighbor. She’s the reason that Grams and Gramps might lose the inn.
It's been bad enough with t
hat damn resort opening next door, bad enough when my friend Riley had to start working there to pay her bills, but this...this is the icing on the fucking cake.
“How about we skip the sweet neighbor shit. I see right through it. You knew I owned the inn next door,” I accuse. My voice must be louder than intended because the people walking around us pause to look on to our soon to be argument.
Her dark eyebrows furrow with confusion. “Actually I didn’t know that, not until they introduced you. But I wasn’t aware that I shouldn’t be friendly to my neighbor.”
“Oh that’s rich. Your “neighbor” that you have no problem stealing business from and trying to drive our business into the ground, right?” I scoff.
Her eyes darken at my accusation and she steps closer to me before she speaks. I try my best not to watch her tits rise against her gray sweater as she crosses her arms across her chest. “You are seriously being an asshole, Finn Mayberry. Way to be warm and welcoming to your new neighbor.” She throws her hands up in exasperation. “I haven’t done anything wrong!”
“Did you pick your land just because we were next to it? Easy competition?” My teeth grit together in frustration.
“How self centered of you. We chose our land because it’s prime real estate. I can’t help it if somehow you’ve gotten it in your head that I am out to get you or your inn.”
Freya steps closer, and so do I. Our toes meet. An inch more and her amazing, completely off limits tits would be pressed against my chest.
The thought of that does nothing but make me more angry, and horny. Two lethal combinations.
“Right. You chose the piece of land directly next to ours and set up shop. Did it ever occur to you that as a small business, we would be directly affected? Of course not. You come here in your Mercedes, throw up a five star resort with little consideration to the people who have worked their entire lives for what they have. Daddy’s money isn’t so common ‘round here, Princess.”
My face is centimeters from her, even while looking down on her and I can feel the rise and fall of her heaving chest with each pant. I’m so pissed I want to put her over my knee and spank her here, right now, just to teach her an important life lesson to keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.
Because that’s exactly what we are now. Enemies.
“You are such an asshole. I’m trying to run my family business, same as you are. Don’t make assumptions. You don’t know me, Finn, and now you never will.” She narrows those striking blue eyes and huffs.
“Well great. Consider our date cancelled. It’s never happening,” I spit back at her. “I’m not fraternizing with my enemy. ” I feel my blood pressure rising with each second I have to spend in her presence. My hands tighten into fists at my side on their own accord.
“Fine. I don’t care.” She doesn’t step back, remaining toe to toe with me, a mutinous look on her face like she’s ready to throw down. I’d like to see her pint-sized, five-nothing ass try.
“Fine,” I say back, fueling her annoyance.
Good. Be annoyed. Hate me for all I care.
Because she just started a war.
Before she can leave, I get one last jab in. “You are so out of your element here, Princess. With your fancy clothes, and high heels, and holier than thou attitude. You won’t make it through the first round of this competition. You started a war that you won’t be able to finish.”
“We’ll see about that. May the best one win.”
She turns on her heel and stomps off, leaving me standing there, no less angry than I was ten minutes ago.
A whole lot angrier, in fact, and even more determined to win this stupid competition.
Hours later, I’m still somewhat annoyed. Every time I hammer another nail into the wood, I feel my frustration dissipate slightly. Then I look over and see her towering resort looming over me and I’m mad all over again.
Grams walks over to the ladder I’m on, peering up at me with an amused look on her face.
“Hammering awful loud out here, Finn. Everything alright?” She asks.
Hammer. Hammer. Hammer.
“Yep, everything’s great, Grams.”
Another string of Christmas lights, another nail. Maybe if I make the inn ten times better than her resort, we can win back some of our business. Or maybe if she wasn’t so damn beautiful, I could think straight for five minutes, and that just makes me hate her even more.
“Finn, did you hear me? You’re gonna hammer a finger clean off. Come on down from that ladder before we end up in the emergency room and you know tonight is Pokeno night.”
I sigh, then set the hammer and nails down on the shelf of the ladder before climbing back down. I guess now is the best time as any to tell her about Jingle Wars. It’s up to me to save the Mayberry.
“I’ve been thinking today Grams…” I trail off as I follow her inside to the warmth of the inn. It’s cold as shit out here, but lights don’t hang themselves.
Grams busies herself in the kitchen alongside Bell, our chef, making what looks like chocolate chip cookies. My favorite. She always tries to have treats available to the guests. Part of her “homey” touch. Even if we only have a few guests right now…it doesn’t stop her from making way more cookies than needed.
“I’m sure you’ve heard by now... I entered the Jingle Wars competition...”
She stops stirring and looks at me, unblinking, then throws her head back and busts out laughing. She laughs and laughs until Bell joins her and they both have tears streaming down their faces.
“Glad you find this amusing Grams,” I mutter.
“Oh Finn, honey,” she coos as she walks over and pulls me into a hug. “Of course, I heard. But why in the world would you join the competition? I know you are not a fan.”
“The grand prize is a hundred thousand dollars this year. We could fix the inn, we could pay the remainder of the mortgage off and everything would be alright.” My voice breaks when an unexpected bout of emotion hits me full force. If anything in the world could make me soft, it’s my Grams.
Her eyes water, and fill with tears. Real ones this time, not from laughing. She pulls back to look at me. I know she’s not one to show how stressed or worried she really is, but I see it. It’s there in her eyes every time a stack of mail is brought in. Or when something breaks. I’m doing this for my Grams. So I can take the worry from her shoulders.
She brings a hand to my face, “Darling Finn. You are doing more than enough around here to help Gramps and I. You don’t need to enter that competition, we will figure it out dear, we always do.”
That’s the point. They shouldn’t have to figure things out. It’s not their fault someone decided to build a resort right next to the inn and cause bookings to plummet. They shouldn’t have to worry, or struggle when they’ve spent their entire lives putting everything into this inn.
“Don’t worry about a thing Grams, I’m going to take care of it. Now, I’m gonna go take care of Saint and the stalls and talk with Gramps. I’ll be back later for some of those cookies, ‘kay?” I give her a wink and walk out the kitchen into the dining room. I try my best to downplay the emotion because I can’t stand to see the tears in her eyes.
She’ll have me crying in the kitchen like a damn pussy.
I find Gramps in the stalls, petting Saint—the real star of the show here at the Mayberry. Really, a donkey is what brings people back here. Not the quiet, quaint inn. Not Grams’ chocolate chip cookies and hot cocoa, or even the fact that Gramps is basically Santa in the flesh. A damn donkey.
I won’t lie though, that damn donkey is the best friend I’ve ever had. He’s as old as me but still as perky as the day we got him. Which, we never really intended to do. Get a donkey that is. Gramps was driving back on County road one snowy night and Saint stumbled out across the road. His mother died and he was left alone, freezing and starving. Gramps brought him back to the inn and nursed him back to life. Bottle fed him and all. Now, he’s a permanent par
t of the Mayberry as much as me, Grams, and Gramps.
“How’s it goin Gramps?” I ask as I join him in Saint’s stall. I pick a few carrots up from his treat bucket and feed them to him. He loves carrots, but don’t let him fool you, he loves Jolly Ranchers the most. It’s our secret and I don't tell anyone because I’m about ninety percent sure that donkeys shouldn’t have them, but hey we all have our vices.
“Finn, my boy! Good, good. Just brushing Saint Nick here.” He brings the brush across his coat in leisurely strokes. Saint’s ears twitch and he lets out a hee-haw.
“It’s funny, this donkey has heard a many of things over the years. He listens and never has much to say, but it’s everything that I need to hear. Never thought he’d be a part of the family the way that he is.” He pats Saint Nick in a loving gesture.
“Talked to Grams just now.” I pause and pet Saint gently. “I entered Jingle Wars.”
Gramps looks up from his job of brushing and laughs. “Bet she had a lot to say about that.”
I grin. “You know Grams, she speaks her mind.”
“What made you decide to do that?”
We’ll lose the Mayberry if I don’t.
I don’t want to worry Gramps, but looking over the numbers last night, things are a lot worse than he originally let on. So I give him the watered down version that won’t make his heart give out.
“The grand prize is a hundred thousand. That would solve every problem we have and then some. Hell, it’s just a few “Christmas” games, and that money is too much to pass up.”
Gramps nods, but doesn’t offer any words of wisdom for me. This is a sensitive subject for him because he feels like I’m having to pick up slack, but his heart just can’t take it. I’d rather do everything at this inn than lose my Gramps.
“What the hell is that awful smell?” I hear a high-pitched whine from the fence that runs between our property and the resort.
Gramps and I both look up to see none other than the traitor herself standing at the fence, trying to peer over the top at us. It’s almost as tall as her but I see her eyes, dark and demure, peeping over the top.