by Score, Lucy
Just like the wreaths and grant applications.
Just like a team of inexperienced volunteers trying to recreate six months of state reporting.
Just like a funny, sparkly, sexy veterinarian with a pathological helpful streak getting matched to his unworthy, loser cousin.
Ryan hated waste. And he hated the idea of his cousin getting within one hundred yards of Sammy. No one in their right mind would try to match her up with a shiftless, immature, overgrown, entitled child.
Of course, no one in their right mind would concoct a fraudulent mortgage scheme just to hook up two complete strangers either. That was the problem. He’d be leaving Sammy in the unfit hands of the deranged Beautification Committee.
“They can’t be serious,” he complained to the sheep. “My cousin and Sam? It’s laughable. She deserves someone who’s going to reel her back in, to keep her focused on her own plans. Not someone who’s going to take advantage of her.”
Stan didn’t seem nearly upset enough at the prospect of Sam and Shithead Ryan ending up together.
“You’d hate him if you met him,” he insisted. The idea of it made Ryan mad enough that he picked up a stone and hurled it into the adjoining pasture.
“This is crazy. This makes no sense,” he muttered to himself, pacing in front of the trees. “I can’t just move here for a woman I met less than seventy-two hours ago. I don’t owe a town full of strangers anything. People will survive without wreaths, and trees, and state funding… Well, maybe not that last one. But Sam’s smart. She can take care of herself. And everyone else will figure things out.”
The sheep ignored his argument and turned his attention to grazing.
“I don’t owe anyone anything,” Ryan said emphatically.
And yet he couldn’t quite stop his plan from rearranging itself. Couldn’t stop plotting out the steps as his mind turned the problem over, examining it from all angles.
“Shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.
His plan felt wrong. Worse, the only thing that felt right was the one that made absolutely no sense. It was Blue Moon’s fault. This trippy town had finally got its psychedelic hooks in him and macraméd him into a cocoon of crazy.
“Come on, Stan,” he said. “We have some phone calls to make.”
The sheep pranced ahead of him on the way back to the house while Ryan pulled out his phone and dialed.
“Hey, Mom. I know it’s not Tuesday, but…”
27
It was after seven by the time an exhausted Sammy found a parking spot two blocks from One Love Park. Her muscles sang, her head ached, and her heart… well, it felt a bit dented. She’d been tempted to go straight home and dive headfirst into a shower. But missing out on the Winter Solstice and Multicultural Holiday Celebration wasn’t an option. She’d never missed a year. And despite her weary body and belly full of murdered hope butterflies, the lights and laughter coming from the park were too much to resist.
Besides, she wasn’t ready to face the ghost of naked Ryan in her bedroom… and living room… also the dining room.
She’d grab a bite to eat, a hot chocolate for old time’s sake, avoid Mistletoe Corner, and head home when she was too tired to remember how much she liked Ryan Sosa.
Solid plan.
It had been a long, tough day. The farm had been a series of dilapidated outbuildings, each one in worse disrepair than the one before. The owner was a frail seventy-year-old suffering from a mental illness.
Love hadn’t been the issue. But resources and cleanliness had.
Thanks to the efforts of dozens of people—some professionals, some volunteers—forty-two animals were in safe homes that night.
A local farmer with two daughters in 4H had taken the four painfully thin Jersey cows. An organic lavender farm stepped up to take the goats and chickens. Two dog groomers showed up with their mobile grooming van and volunteered for several hours. Once checked and groomed, the dogs and cats—so many of them—had been divvied up between three foster rescue networks.
Best of all, thanks to the Blue Moon gossip group and a sympathetic TV news reporter, adoption applications were already pouring in.
The helpers, the people who showed up and stepped up, were what gave Sammy hope for the world. Especially on her darkest days. But today, she couldn’t help but think how much closer she’d be to making a bigger impact if she’d prioritized those grant applications.
It was a painful lesson learned.
If Ryan Shufflebottom had helped guide her toward veterinary medicine, Ryan Sosa had dragged her to a mirror and made her take a hard look at her priorities. She would do better and have Wrong Ryan to thank for it.
“Happy Solstice, Dr. Ames,” Mrs. Quan trilled from the other side of the street. She had a wreath looped over her arm like a gigantic purse. It jingled with every step. Apparently, the festival committee had found a more reliable wreath maker.
“Hi, Mrs. Quan,” she called back with a weary wave. She turned the corner and let Blue Moon in the middle of a good time draw her back to the present. The drumming circle was working their way through holiday classics. The scents of roasted peanuts and wood smoke mingled together while thousands of Christmas lights glowed above and around the festivities.
“Sammy!” Layla, in her deputy’s uniform, waved her down.
Sammy crossed the street. “Hey,” she said, hunching her shoulders against the cold. They hadn’t talked since the lecture at Peace of Pizza and she didn’t have it in her to jump into an argument.
“So listen,” Layla began, falling into step with her. “I feel like I owe you an apology.”
Someone walked by eating a slab of lasagna out of a biodegradable container. Sammy’s stomach grumbled. She’d missed lunch and dinner and had been forced to break into her protein bar stash between animal exams.
“Apology for what?” Sammy asked.
“For the tough love routine yesterday,” Layla said, shoving her hands into the pockets of her Blue Moon Sheriff’s Department coat.
Sammy waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. It was overdue.”
“I also wanted to say that Ryan seems like a pretty decent guy,” her friend said, keeping an eye on a toddler trying to gnaw his way through the child safety tether attaching him to his father’s parka.
Sammy wondered how long it would take before she could hear his name and not feel painfully disappointed. Or think of him without her vagina rising for a standing ovation. It had only been about twelve hours since he’d last wowed her. She’d give it some time.
“Yeah. He was pretty great,” she said lamely.
“Was?” Layla asked. There was something inappropriately smug about her smile.
“His old job called him this morning and wanted him back. He’s probably deplaning right about now,” she guessed.
Layla stopped in her tracks and peered into her face. “Well, holy shit. You slept with him didn’t you? You slept with the guy and you didn’t tell us. Not cool, Ames.”
“There wasn’t much time between the having of the sex, me getting an emergency call, and him leaving town,” Sammy said dryly.
“That sucks. I’m sorry. Do you want me to run him through the system to see if he has old arrest records? That always makes you feel better,” Layla offered.
She shook her head. Nothing short of a miracle would make her feel better.
Layla pointed to the Pierce Acres petting zoo. “Remember the great sheep escape?”
“Oh, I remember,” Sammy said. And for a moment, she could picture John Pierce grinning at her from across the path, could taste the Butterfinger hot chocolate on her tongue, could feel the excitement of a new crush.
“What are the odds of two sheep and two Ryans on two solstices?” Layla mused.
“The odds are zero. I’m the first official Beautification Committee failed match,” Sammy explained. “They got the wrong Ryan.”
“The wrong Ryan?”
She filled in her friend on
the particulars while they got in the fried tofu line for old time’s sake.
“But did they actually get the wrong Ryan?” Layla asked.
“He wasn’t the one who kissed me fifteen years ago.”
“Yeah, but you liked this Ryan enough to sleep with him. And now that he’s gone, you’re mooning like a lovesick teenager.”
“Who’s mooning? I’m not mooning,” Sammy snapped, taking offense. “I’m tired. I didn’t accomplish any of the things I set out to do. And the guy I stupidly let myself fall for left town today.”
“I’m sorry, Sammy. I don’t think any of us realized how hard you were working to help everyone else and how far behind you were with your own stuff.”
“Yeah, well, I guess I didn’t either.” She took a breath and blew it out slowly, trying to dull the ache. “I really wanted him to stay,” she admitted.
Layla slung an arm around her shoulders. “If it were up to me, you’d get everything you want.”
Sammy gave her a small smile. “Thanks, friend.”
They got their tofu and continued their tour of the park. Sammy’s booth had been taken by a crochet lingerie artisan that was doing a brisk business with the over-eighty crowd. A couple wandered by with two stylish wreaths looped over their arms. They looked better than any wreath Sammy had cobbled together. The thought served to depress her further.
“What’s all the fuss down there?” she asked, pointing to the end of the park where a crowd was gathered.
“Just the tree farm.”
“Did Carson come back?”
Layla shook her head. “Nope.”
“Wait a second.” Sammy stopped on the concrete. “Layla Gunnarson, why do you have glitter on your face?”
Layla grinned and pulled her toward the crowd. “Hang on to your heart, Sammy.”
Between Mooners with fists of cash, Sammy spotted the hand-lettered signs for Fresh Cut Trees and Handmade Wreaths.
All proceeds benefit Down on the Farm.
“How did you do all this?” Sammy asked. Her throat felt tight.
“I helped. But I can’t take credit for it.”
Sammy watched in shock as Carter Pierce and Nikolai Vulkov fed Christmas trees through a baler. Emma sat nearby wrapped in a blanket with her feet up and a plate of French fries in her lap. Evan and his stepdad Beckett schmoozed the hell out of the dozens of customers while Phoebe and Franklin made change. Next to them, Eden and her boyfriend Davis were pouring samples of mulled wine and hot cider.
The donations jars on the tables were overflowing.
“Hey, Mom,” Jax and Joey elbowed their way to the front of the line. They were both wearing Santa hats. “Are you up for taking Caleb overnight on New Year’s Eve?” Jax asked.
Phoebe and Franklin exchanged a devious look. “I don’t know,” Phoebe mused. “It’s awfully short notice.”
Joey placed her palms on the table. “What’s it gonna take?”
Phoebe and Franklin shrugged in unison. “Gosh. I don’t know. What’s the name of that spa you like in Pennsylvania?” Franklin asked his wife.
“Oh! The Hershey Spa,” Phoebe said. “I adore their chocolate massages.”
“Would a gift card to the Hershey Spa make you available for babysitting New Year’s Eve?” Jax asked.
Eden spotted Sammy and Layla and skirted the table to throw her arms around them.
“I can’t believe you guys did this for me,” Sammy whispered, hugging her friend back.
Elvira Eustace breezed past with four wreaths, two on each arm. “Happy to support you, Sammy, my dear,” she said.
Carter wandered over when the hug broke up. He looked like a magazine-worthy lumberjack in a heavy barn coat with a thick scarf that matched his wife’s eyes. “You do a hell of a lot for our farm and this town,” he said. “It’s about time you let us do something for you.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Sammy said, feeling her eyes well up for the second time today.
“How about ‘cheers’?” Davis suggested, handing them each a glass of wine. He slid an arm around Eden’s waist and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“Davis, how are you here? Shouldn’t you be manning the winery stand?” Sammy asked.
“The dads are handling the stand while the moms hand out samples to the parents in line for Santa,” he explained.
“All of the parents?” she asked. The feud between the Moody and the Gates families had come to a very recent end. A little too recent to expect Davis’s two fathers, his mom, and Eden’s parents to be around each other for any extended period of time.
“No bloodshed yet. But Sheriff Cardona is keeping a close eye on them. We believe in what you’re doing, what you plan to do,” Eden said. “All of us. Especially Ryan.”
“Ryan?” Sammy asked.
“He called us,” Layla said. “And half of Blue Moon.”
“He berated us for being too self-absorbed to notice that you were floundering,” Eden added. “Then he let us into your place.”
“Ryan did this?” Sammy asked, certain she’d heard them wrong.
“You’ve got yourself a good man, Sammy,” Phoebe said, joining their little circle with a glass of her own.
“He’s a great guy,” Sammy agreed. “But he’s not my great guy. He went back to Seattle today.”
There. She said it without bursting into tears or curling up into the fetal position.
In her self-pity, she noticed everyone exchanging knowing glances.
“What?” she demanded.
“I think it’s time you wandered over to Mistletoe Corner,” Phoebe suggested, pointing her in the right direction.
“If I find the Beautification Committee and Ryan Shufflebottom from Des Moines there, I will start throwing tofu,” Sammy warned.
“You never know what you’ll find unless you start looking,” Phoebe said innocently.
“Good luck,” Layla whispered, her no-nonsense gaze looking just a little misty.
Sammy followed the path in the direction of Mistletoe Corner and tried to talk herself out of hoping. Those little bastard butterflies were starting to show signs of life again, despite her best efforts.
“He’s not here,” she reminded herself. “He went home. He wouldn’t give up his shot at normal to spend another day in a town that tried to force him into an arranged marriage.”
The cozy clearing was the same as it always was, the tall spruce decked out in multi-colored lights from tip to trunk. More strands of lights, soft and white, crisscrossed over her head. Tiny clumps of mistletoe hung every six feet.
But there was one thing that was different this year. One perfect, grumpy thing.
28
Ryan Sosa stood scowling at the flowers in his hand as he muttered to himself.
“Why aren’t you thousands of miles away from here?” Sammy demanded.
He looked up at her, surprised out of the argument he was practicing. “Christ. It’s about damn time, Sam.”
It was such a Grumpy Ryan thing to say that she couldn’t help but smile.
“Gee, sorry. I was busy doing my job and saving animals.”
He rolled his eyes. “You got to the park almost twenty minutes ago. I’ve been freezing my ass off waiting for you since Layla texted that you were here.”
“Why are you here freezing your ass off?”
“You know why, Sam.” He crooked his finger, in that deliciously bossy way of his, and she couldn’t fault her feet for automatically carrying her toward him.
She stopped when she was a foot away, not willing to throw herself at him in case this was some unfortunate misunderstanding and he was here holding flowers because something terrible had happened.
“Is Carson okay?” she asked.
Ryan frowned. “He’s fine. He’s on his way home. Why?”
“What about Stan? The chickens?”
“You think I’m standing here under mistletoe with stupid flowers in thirty-degree weather to break bad news to you?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“Goddamn it, Sam. For a doctor, you can be incredibly obtuse sometimes. I’m here because of you.”
She tried to rewind the words and listen to them again, but nothing made sense. “I’m sorry. I think I’m not processing language correctly.”
He growled, and the sound of it both delighted and terrified her.
“You’re just doing this because of the Beautification Committee,” she insisted. “I don’t know how they do it. Maybe it’s mind control or something. But you aren’t here of your own free will. Did they make you drink anything or force you to watch a slide show or something?”
He was in her space now, the toes of their boots touching. “I’m here for you. I’m staying for us,” he said, his voice low and rough.
“You’re not thinking straight,” she insisted. She couldn’t think with him this close to her. But when she tried to take a step back, he reached and grabbed her by the front of her vest.
“Snap out of it, Sparkle,” he warned, dragging her against him. “I’m here because I want to be. Not because a couple of nutcases pulled some half-assed stunt. I’m here for you. I’m here because the thought of waking up and not seeing you tomorrow scared the hell out of me.”
“Oh,” she said weakly. This was happening. Really happening. She was getting her happily ever… scratch that. She was getting her grumpily ever after.
Someone cleared their throat theatrically. “Is this where the line starts?”
Sammy and Ryan dragged their heated gazes away from each other to find Fitz standing indecently close to them.
“The line?” Sammy managed.
“The kissing booth line?” He took a hit of breath spray and licked his thin lips.
Sammy shuddered.
“Fitz, if you don’t get the hell away from my girl, I’ll send you to IRS jail,” Ryan threatened.
“Jeez. Okay,” Fitz said, holding up his mittened hands. “Mind if I hang out?”
“Aren’t you late?” Sammy asked.
He frowned. “Late for what?”
“The Pants Off Dance Off at the gazebo,” she improvised.