The Grump Who Stole Christmas: Kringle Family Christmas Book One

by S Doyle

“Oh, hi. Welcome to the Kringle Inn. Do you have a reservation?”

  “I’m Kristen Kringle,” I announced.

  “Oh, well then, you’re probably related to the owner.”

  “Something like that. And you are?”

  “I’m Lexie Platzski. Ethan’s wife. Well…” She laughed. “Ethan’s wife for right now. I came here to get a divorce, but apparently you guys are in a bind and needed my help. So here I am. Helping.”

  Here she definitely was. It took a few seconds, maybe because I was still a little loopy from all the sex last night, for me to catch up.

  “I’m sorry, so you’re not a supermodel here to see Matt?”

  “Oh, that’s so sweet. Not a supermodel. Vegas showgirl, actually.”

  A bark sounded from behind the counter.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  Lexie bent down and picked up a tiny dog. It was one of those dogs people carried around in purses and backpacks like a toy, only it was a dog.

  “Not a what. A who. This is Baby Girl.” Lexie petted the dog and then dropped several loud kisses on top of the dog’s fluffy head. “Aren’t you, my baby girl? Yes you are.”

  The dog barked at me.

  This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be real. A Vegas showgirl and her dog, Baby Girl, were working the front desk of the Kringle Inn?

  Ethan’s wife?

  “I need coffee. I need, like, serious amounts of coffee, right now.”

  “I just put on a pot in the kitchen. Help yourself.”

  She was smiling, wearing this incredibly sexy red sweater that kept falling off her shoulder. Was she wearing a bra under that? And the dog was nuzzling something in her mane of blond hair. I think it was holly.

  At least it was Christmas themed.

  “You’re Lexie,” I repeated, like I was slow on the uptake. “And you’re a Vegas showgirl and you married my brother Ethan. Ethan Kringle. Ethan going-to-be-mayor-of-Salt-Springs Kringle.”

  “I know, right? Can you believe it? Crazy times.”

  I walked away, not knowing what to think, and headed to my office. This wasn’t happening.

  Ethan was married? To a stripper from Vegas. Or showgirl, whatever. How did that happen? How did he not tell anyone?

  Things I could not deal with right now. Instead, I just went into my office, opened up my laptop with all my spreadsheets, and got down to the business of saving the inn.

  Paul

  I watched her from just outside the doorway of her office. She was pacing back and forth in the small space in front of her desk, talking to herself again.

  “What about combination holiday packages? Other vendors and services we could partner up with. Ski resorts? No. Competition. Definitely need to talk to the Kane Co. folks, though, about creative ideas for cross promotion.”

  I smiled. She talked to the space around her like I talked to the trees. Except I was way less crazy because trees were alive and so they could hear me.

  I knocked on the door and watched her jump, then watched her get all fidgety with the silk blouse she was wearing. Yeah, I figured she was going to be jumpy given everything that happened last night.

  We’d crossed over from teasing fun sex, to intense and deeply intimate sex the minute I’d slid into her bare.

  I’d never had sex without a condom in my life until that. Not even with my fiancé. She always insisted I wear one because she said she didn’t like the mess. Since I’d always worn one it never bothered me.

  But there was something about Kay-Kay. Some drive I had inside me to fill her up.

  And the reality was, the mess was part of the fun. It was sticky and earthy and sexy.

  Not sugar-coated sex, or performance sex, just real sex between two people who couldn’t not have it. Even though we both knew it was probably a bad idea.

  “Hey,” she said, adjusting the collar of her silk blouse. Making sure it carefully obscured the love bite I gave her.

  “Hi,” I returned.

  Damn. Just damn. She looked good. She made me feel good. My day suddenly felt perfect, where before it had been just a little off.

  “I’m sorry, I left this morning without saying anything. You were sleeping and I…”

  I held up my palm to stop her. “It’s okay. I figured you had to get to work.”

  “Oh. Yes. I did. Work. Which is why I left. So…how are you?”

  “Sold ten trees today.”

  Her face lit up like I said a hundred trees.

  “That’s great!” she said. A little too enthusiastically.

  “Kay-Kay, don’t get weird on me. We’re two adults who can be mature about this. We had sex. It’s not a big deal.”

  It was a big deal. It hadn’t just been hot sex. It had been meaningful sex. But if I said that, I had a feeling she would freak out.

  She grimaced. “I know. I wish I could be one of those cool people, but I just don’t do it that often…so I’m not. Cool. You should have seen me the first time I had to put a dildo in my mouth during blow-job class. Total loser. But I will strive to be less weird. I promise.”

  And that was it. The moment it happened. I’d heard about stuff like this in movies and books. On television. That moment when you fell in love.

  I thought the concept was ridiculous. You can’t possibly know the minute it’s happening. Love is a slow burning experience that happens over time. It’s why they used the term falling. It was a drop, a descent from being a stranger to someone, to being a person to someone, to being in love. I hadn’t been in love with my fiancé when things ended, but I had always figured eventually I would get there because I really enjoyed her company.

  Only I was wrong. Because in that moment when I had to visualize high-powered business executive Kristen Kringle in a sex class in Manhattan with a dildo in her mouth so she could master blow jobs and get an A, I knew.

  That was the moment I fell in love with her.

  I almost had to slap myself in the face to wake me out of the trance that had fallen over me. I had to act like a normal person now, and not someone with this bombshell knowledge of being in love.

  Besides, she was supposed to be the flustered one. I was the guy who threw her for a loop. Who ruffled her feathers and made her fidget with her blouse. I was the cool one.

  “What’s the matter with that collar?” I said, just to be a jerk. “You keep covering your neck with it. You’re not hiding something, are you?”

  “Not funny,” she hissed.

  “A little funny,” I told her.

  It was going to be okay. Yes, I’d had a scary revelation, but I was in control of my emotions. Pretty sure I was in control of them.

  “So why did you stop by?” she asked. “Is something up? Something I need to know?”

  I shook my head. I certainly wasn’t going to tell her I’d stopped by because I’d wanted to see her. That would definitely not be cool.

  “I was thinking you haven’t had a break, not a real one, since you got here. We should go grab some dinner and relax for a bit. Unwind.”

  “You mean a date?”

  “No, not a date. That implies a little too much. This would just be friends having dinner.”

  “We’re friends?”

  “We’re friends with benefit. One benefit. Singular. We don’t have to let what happened last night happen again.”

  She nodded. “We really shouldn’t. I mean, it would only complicate things further. You want to move on with your life. Meet my future friend, Mrs. McCleer, and all that, and I want to go back to New York.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. Eventually. I mean, if the right offer comes along.” She was wrenching her hands together. “Of course it can’t be right now. There are too many things to do here. Too many things to fix. All of Jasmine’s plans. Not to mention the family drama. Did you see who was working the front desk?”

  I would have to be dead and buried for over a hundred years to miss who was working at the front desk.

  �
�I think she said her name was Lexie?” I said.

  It had been hard to hear her speak over the gahoogah noises happening behind my eyeballs.

  “She’s a showgirl from Vegas and somehow she’s married to Ethan. I called him, but he’s not picking up. I can’t wait to hear the explanation for this.”

  “Well, she seemed nice.” For a freaking smoking-hot Vegas showgirl. I did not add this. “So about dinner?”

  “Paul, we shouldn’t. We’re trying to make things less complicated.”

  “I was thinking steak.”

  I watched an emotion cross over her face. Need. Want. It stirred my dick.

  “I gave up red meat for the planet,” she said.

  “That’s nice. But I’m pretty sure these cows are already dead. The least we can do is eat them.”

  “And you promise me it’s not a date? That we’re not going to let ourselves get emotional, right?”

  “Absolutely,” I lied. “Some good steaks. A nice bottle of wine. We can talk about the opportunities you might have in New York, and maybe some more options for the inn and the farm after you’re gone.”

  “After I’m gone,” she said, only she didn’t say it to me. She’d already gone off somewhere in her head.

  Then she turned and looked at me. Like she’d come to some big decision.

  “I want rare steak.”

  Fuck, I loved this woman.

  15

  Kristen

  We were at The Cow Farm, which was the best steak restaurant in Salt Springs. Linen table cloths, the soft glow of candles. We were tucked away in a booth in a corner of the restaurant.

  Way too romantic for Not-a-Date.

  “We should have gone to the pub or the diner.”

  “You wanted rare steak,” he pointed out. “This is the best place to get it outside of Denver, if you ask my opinion.”

  “We should talk business,” I said. “If I’m talking business I can’t think of this as a date. Because it’s not one.”

  “I sold ten trees today.”

  I frowned. “You already told me that. And now I’m annoyed you didn’t sell any more after you left me.”

  “Had to take a shower, put on some actual clothes, fancy shoes.”

  The restaurant wasn’t exactly formal, but he would have been out of place in his typical flannel shirt, jeans, and boots. I wanted to mention how handsome he looked in his black slacks and charcoal gray sweater, but that felt too…personal.

  Yeah, Kristen, because when you had his dick in your mouth, that wasn’t personal at all.

  I flashed back to the sounds he’d made while I was sucking him and squirmed in my chair.

  Focus!

  I was wearing a simple black cocktail dress, and I’d pulled my hair back into a tight bun at the base of my neck. It was my serious businesswoman dinner outfit, and I thought it would help to remind me that this was not a romantic dinner out at a lovely restaurant with a man I’d engaged in super-hot sex with the night before.

  No, this was definitely not that.

  He had the menu open in front of him and was studying his options.

  I already knew what I was having. The five ounce petite filet mignon. Rare.

  “What do you think about sharing some family plates?” he asked me. “We could get some asparagus or mashed potatoes. I hear the creamed spinach is excellent.”

  “I don’t think we should share plates,” I suggested. “That’s a very couple-like thing to do. I share my food with you, you share your food with me. Things get messy. Lines get blurred.”

  “These plates are designed to be shared though,” he said.

  “I know, but I’m really trying to keep things as uncomplicated as possible.”

  “And ordering a shared plate is the thing that’s going to tip you over the edge? Not when I had you on your knees and was plowing you from behind?”

  I practically growled at him and all he did was laugh.

  “Paul, this is serious. I did not come home to have some type of entanglement. I need to be focused on my father, focused on the inn, and focused on figuring out what my next move is going to be professionally.”

  “That’s a lot of focusing.”

  “I know!”

  “Kay-Kay, relax. This is just dinner. I already told you that. We’re talking about stuffing ourselves with too much food and wine and not worrying about anything else. That’s why I asked you to come in the first place. Have you ever just had a night off, not worrying about anything?”

  I considered the last twelve or so years of my professional life. “No, not really.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What?” I cocked my head to the side, hearing the undertone of judgment in his voice. “Is this the part where you tell me I’ve let work consume me for too long? That the stress is eating away at me from the inside? Well, guess what? I love the stress. I eat stress for breakfast and wash it down with black coffee. Solving problems is what I do. It is who I am.”

  “Kay-Kay…”

  “My name is Kristen!”

  I’d shouted loud enough that other diners heard. Heads turned in our direction and I dropped my head slightly to avoid everyone’s gaze.

  “Sorry,” I muttered to him. My panic wasn’t his fault.

  “No, I’m sorry,” he said, reaching for my hand across the table and giving it a squeeze before letting me go. “I started calling you Kay-Kay just to get under your skin, but now it’s how I think of you. But if you don’t like it, I’ll stop. Kristen.”

  Actually it sounded weird coming out of his mouth. So formal and distant. Was I actually liking Kay-Kay?

  I was screwing this all up. Making an ass out of myself. Ruining what could be just a lovely night out.

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  I wasn’t expecting an answer. Just a moment of compassion maybe.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you,” Paul said, with a certain sternness in his tone. “And there is nothing wrong with liking what you do. I want you to have a nice night with me. I wasn’t condemning you for the job. I get it’s high stress. I lived high stress too.”

  “And then you walked away,” I said.

  “Sure. Because it’s what I wanted to do. That doesn’t mean everyone is built like me. It sounds to me like you thrive in that life. So good for you. I’m not judging, Kristen. I promise you I’m not.”

  I winced. “Okay, you can’t call me Kristen.”

  He glared at me. “Now you’re just fucking with me, right?”

  “It’s sounds weird. You’ve gone too long calling me Kay-Kay, and now that’s stuck with me. So that’s it. That’s what you have to call me and I mostly hate it.”

  I waited for him to ask for the check. To say I was too much, or this night was too much and he needed to bail. It wouldn’t be my first date that had gone in exactly that direction. Whatever. I didn’t care.

  Instead, his lips twitched under his beard. “You said mostly. That means you like it a little bit when I call you Kay-Kay. I think it means I’m winning.”

  Ugh. How did I stop myself from liking this guy too much?

  “Did you like it when I called you Paul Bunyan?”

  “Yeah. Made me sound like a badass. Didn’t that guy cut down a hundred trees with one blow or something?”

  “No, that’s not the story. I think he just wandered around with a blue cow.”

  “It was an ox,” he corrected me. “Baby? Babe? Blue Babe? Hey, maybe you can add that idea to one of your themed cabin rooms. Right next to Pantser.”

  I chuckled. “I looked it up. It’s Prancer.”

  “Yeah, it is, baby.” He smiled back. Then his face grew serious. “I’m never going to be that guy who tells you what to do, Kay-Kay. So stop reading things into what I’m saying.”

  I believed him. Besides, it wasn’t his opinion that was making me so crazy.

  “It’s just lately, I’ve been thinking about what’s waiting for me back in New York and I wonder why I want to go
back.”

  “It’s what you know.”

  I fiddled with the cloth napkin in my lap. Which wasn’t like me at all. I wasn’t someone who dithered. Decisiveness, up until now, had been my biggest strength.

  “My family is in Salt Springs. My dad needs help,” I said.

  “And you’re here helping them. What are you beating yourself up about?”

  “What’s going to happen when I leave?” I asked him, not sure what I wanted him to say. Maybe that I shouldn’t leave. Maybe that I was too needed here.

  Paul sighed. “Don’t know. But between me and Ethan, we’ll figure it out.”

  Right. Because he would never put any kind of pressure on me to stay. He’d just got done telling me that.

  Instead, Paul would quietly handle it. He’d help dad with the inn, and, of course, make sure the farm was taken care of properly. I had total faith in that.

  Then he’d meet a nice woman, settle down, and raise a family here. They might come to The Cow Farm for special occasion dinners. Hang out in the town square on the weekend as they watched their kids play with the family dog.

  Oh gosh. There was a dog too!

  And every year when Christmas rolled around, there would be the Jamboree in town and now a new tradition of Christmas Eve at the Kringle Inn. His kids would love it.

  Because of the magic of Christmas.

  While I was back in New York at whatever new job I managed to land, working all hours of every day to get back up to the next rung on the ladder. Hoping like hell my aggressiveness (code word for women making decisions in business) didn’t piss everyone off.

  “You’re in your head,” he said, putting the menu down.

  “So in my head,” I admitted.

  He leaned forward over the table. “Then what do you think we could do to get you out of your head?”

  “Lobotomy,” I offered.

  “Too final. How about this? I would really like to see your panties.”

  “I bet you would.” I laughed, then stopped when I saw his face was dead serious.

  We were sitting in a relatively obscured booth, but there was no way to casually hike up my skirt to show him my panties. Not that I had any intention of doing it. I was just noting that logistically it didn’t make any sense.