by Ellie Hall
They continued to bicker. Ryder wasn't looking for a fight, but he wasn't going to make an effort to avoid one either.
"When a woman asks you to leave her alone, you listen," Ryder said.
"You don't know Clara. She's—"
Ryder didn't let him finish but pushed Cole roughly against the wall.
Clara stepped forward. "There's no need to fight about this. It's Christmas Eve."
Ryder's gaze flashed to Clara. "If you're Santa's elf, then I'm the Grinch."
"Sure seems like it," Penny muttered.
At the distraction, Cole wrested himself from under Ryder's grip and scurried off, definitely the wimpier of the two.
Ryder brushed his hands.
Penny's mouth dropped open.
He didn't wait for what he knew was coming. In his wake, he heard, "Did you see who that was?"
"The Grinch?" Clara asked. "A vigilante who stepped in when Cole was getting a little too heated about the past? An overgrown ogre?"
He sensed they followed him toward the counter of the coffee shop. He just wanted to be left alone. Why no one understood that he didn't know. Then again, he supposed he shouldn't be out in public, but the coffee at the apartment came with too many memories.
"I told you he turned into a loose cannon and not a hot rocker. Well, he is handsome." As the line shifted forward, he couldn't help but see Penny wave her hand in front of her face as if she might swoon. Then she bounced on her toes. She leaned in, but wasn't quiet enough not to be heard. Great. Now everyone would know his identity. "Clara, L Ryder just flew in and saved the day."
Clara rolled her eyes. "That wasn't him."
"I have all his albums and watched all his specials. I follow him online. I'd know him if I saw him. And it seems like he's looking for a fight."
He silently urged the line to move faster. He just needed some caffeine and the café would be closing soon.
Their voices fell to a whisper and he tried to ignore them.
Someone tapped his shoulder. "Excuse me, can I buy your coffee to thank you?" Clara asked. She opened her wallet. Only three bills—ones—were in the billfold.
He looked at both of the friends in turn. Penny smiled like a fangirl. Clara nodded encouragingly and the bell on her hat jingled. Her eyes were like milk chocolate.
"Bah humbug," he said and started to turn back to the barista.
Clara lifted a finger. "Technically, that's a line spoken by Ebenezer Scrooge in Charles Dickens's Christmas Carol. I thought you said you were the Grinch."
He fought a smirk. "All the same."
"Prickly." Clara grabbed a to-go cup for her cocoa.
Ryder ordered a coffee and scone then stepped aside to wait, busying himself with his phone.
Penny continued to gaze at him with girlish adoration. He'd leave now, but half the city was closing early for the day and he'd already used the facilities and considered it rude not to patronize the establishment. His grandmother raised him up to be a proper English gentleman even though he felt anything but gentle.
"Can I get a photo with you? Or your signature. You can just sign my sleeve. That would be fine. Do you know I love British accents?" Penny rambled.
Clara didn't even look in his direction.
He let out an irritable breath. "I didn't know that. But do you know you can't hear me in a photo?"
"No, but we can hear you—" She pointed vaguely toward the speaker where his song played again.
He growled and brushed past her toward the coffee station when the barista passed him his order.
Penny followed him and then her phone beeped in her hand. "Oh no. Emma is having a crisis. We're out of baking soda. I'd better go before the market closes."
"Baking over boys. That was always yours and Emma's saying. At least until Everett came along."
Penny laughed. "I forgot about that. Or baking over men, in this instance." She smiled at Ryder, laughed, and hurried off. "See you tomorrow!"
The woman dressed as an elf stepped gingerly past the rock star, grabbed a cover for her cup, and left the coffee shop just as the radio went silent and the lights dimmed.
He followed a few moments later. Outside, the sky was gray and the sun hid behind the tall Manhattan skyline. Ryder crossed to the next block. The weather report said they might get a white Christmas. He figured it was time to return to the lonely apartment. He reached into his pocket to check for his keys, but they weren't there.
He turned back to the coffee shop and braced against the wind gusting down the street, picking up loose leaves and swirling them around.
This was the exact wrong moment to have lost his keys, especially since it was the only set. He fretted as he hurried and thought where he might have left them. As he retraced his steps mentally, he heard a low jingle and bumped into someone.
He wasn't quick enough to dodge the brown cocoa that rose up like a fountain and sprayed his front. The coffee and scone flew from his hand and landed in a slushy puddle by the curb.
Chapter 3
Clara
Clara looked up, meeting cold blue eyes.
"You again." It was the Grinch from the coffee shop—the one who'd be cute if he weren't so rude and miserable.
As a stream of people passed, Clara and Ryder blocked the sidewalk. She searched her bag for a napkin, anything to wipe the stain from the front of his shirt and jacket. "Are you okay?" she asked because she couldn't help it. She wasn't rude.
He didn't answer, but his expression matched the slate gray sky.
She huffed. "By the way, I didn't ask for your help back there." She dabbed at his shirt with a pair of socks she had for equipment at the gym. "They're clean, I swear."
"I'm not asking for your help now," he grumbled, backing away.
"I'm sorry. You're not burned are you?"
He shook his head, staring at the mess she made.
"Let's go back to the coffee shop. I'll get a towel and we can—"
"I don't need help."
She held up my hands in surrender. "Sheesh. Well, in that case, I'll go alone. I left my phone there." This statement reminded her that so often it felt like she was going it alone. Nevertheless, with a jingle of the bell on her hat, she lifted her chin and marched back the way she'd come.
The windows to the Grind were dark and only the red light of the espresso machine glowed inside. She checked her bag and pockets again for the phone and sighed when they were still empty. She couldn't afford not to have her phone when she'd finally come up with a strategy to find the dogs homes. "Merry Christmas Eve," she grumbled.
She turned to leave again when Ryder appeared. Perhaps he wasn't such a grouch after all and came to apologize.
"Closed."
"Obviously." His eyes scanned the windows and door.
"Listen, I'm on my way to—"
"I left my keys inside." He gripped the top of his head.
At least she still had those; she patted her pocket to be sure. "Would you rather lose your keys or your phone?"
His eyes narrowed. "I don't feel like playing games."
"It isn't a game. I left my phone inside. At least I think so. You left your keys. Whose shoes would you rather be in?" She wasn't sure she could answer.
He seemed to consider. "Are you sure you left your phone?" He peered through the window.
"No, but likely. Actually, would you mind calling it?" She prayed it wasn't buried in a snowbank somewhere.
He took out his phone in a sleek case and jutted his chin, ready for her number. She smirked because Penny would freak out if she knew Clara was giving L Ryder her phone number. Technically, he didn't ask but still.
The faint sound of his holiday hit song chimed from inside. The screen lit up on the counter by the coffee station.
Clara stepped back from the window and read the sign on the door. "Closed until the day after Christmas. Great."
"We could break in." His eyes flashed.
"For some reason, I don't think you're joking." She recalled the str
ing of misdeeds Penny showed her online.
"I never joke."
"You should try it." And because she had the sudden urge to un-Grinch-ify him, she asked, "What do you call an elf that sings?"
His face was unyielding like stone, chiseled from a Greek or Italian statue with a strong jawline, full lips, a perfect nose, and a broad brow over a pair of startling eyes. She gave her head a little shake because those were details she didn't want to notice. She had to stay focused on work, the puppies, and her future. Clara let out an unsteady breath. "An elf that sings is a wrapper. Get it?" She chuckled.
He didn't even smile. "Is that what you are? Why you're dressed like that."
The corner of her mouth lifted. "No, I'm helping Santa find homes for twelve puppies. Come on. You can help me."
He started to protest.
"You don't have your keys. I don't have my phone. You're covered in cocoa, and I can't get a refill because the Grind is closed. It's Christmas Eve. Let me do something nice for you."
"And that would be…?"
"You have to come with me to find out." She didn't mean it to, but her voice sounded like a dare, a challenge.
"Are we going to the north pole?"
She grinned. "I thought you said you didn't joke around." She tapped him on the arm and then as though touching something hot, pulled it away.
He grunted a laugh.
"There it is. That's the Christmas spirit."
Her nose was cold and pink by the time they reached Angel Ears Animal Shelter. Almost everyone who worked there begged the holiday off. Simon covered the morning shift, but he'd already celebrated Hanukah so he didn't mind. Clara couldn’t imagine leaving the dogs alone today so she volunteered even though it was typically a paid position.
She tuned the radio—the dogs loved Christmas carols. Sure enough, L Ryder's song came on.
"Seriously, again?" he asked with his gaze lifted toward the ceiling.
"It’s a good song."
"I'd be happy if I never heard it again." He shifted irritably or uncomfortably, Clara wasn't sure.
Then as she turned on the lights in the back, the music went silent. He must really not like that song. She gathered some toys and got ready to let out the dogs to play. "Release the hounds," she called with a flourish as she unlatched their enclosures.
While three of them circled and sniffed each other, Clara selected a sweatshirt printed with the Angel Ears logo from the shelf printed. She held it up in front of Ryder. "Before I forget. My Christmas gift to you. Sorry about your shirt and jacket."
He turned the hoodie around and gaped at the neon green fabric then wrinkled his nose.
"It's perfect. It's Grinchy." Clara cracked a smile. "Or elfy. Depending on your mood."
"What's this for?"
"Well, since you can't get into your house or hotel or whatever, I figured you'd want to clean up." She gestured to the brown stain across his front.
"I think I'll take my chances with the chocolate." He passed the sweatshirt back to Clara.
Her mouth fell open. "You can't reject a Christmas gift."
He huffed.
She wondered what she could do to crack his frosty exterior. No one should be that grouchy on Christmas. She gave Lavender, one of the dogs, a good pat while Frank, a brownish orange mutt, sat patiently in front of Ryder. Maybe the dogs could access his mushy middle.
"Thanks but it's not exactly—" Ryder yawned and stretched his arms over his head, revealing a sliver of abs that was anything but soft. "My style," he finished.
Her cheeks flushed and she turned to Frank. "He wants you to scratch behind his ears." She showed him how. "If you do, you'll have a new best friend."
"I don't—" The dog nudged his head under Ryder's large hand and as he did, their fingers brushed.
A surge of heat rushed through her hand. As she returned to her tasks, trying to focus, her skin actually felt warm, like she'd been sitting in front of a fire. Being near the musician ignited something in her she hadn't felt in a long, long time. She got a cold cup of water from the bubbler and took a steadying breath.
After the moment of bonding between man and dog, Clara said, "L Ryder, come with me."
He didn't move. "L Ryder?" he asked.
The color drained from her cheeks. "I thought that was your name. I'm sorry—"
"That's my stage name. Most people just call me Ryder." His eyes searched hers and lingered for long enough for the color to return to her cheeks and then some.
No one ever gave her such an intense look before. She detected warmth hidden under his exterior and felt it all over hers.
His lips quirked. "You don't know my name do you?" He seemed equally astonished and pleased by this.
"Uh, do you mean what the L stands for?" She shook her head. She had no idea: lyrical, loathsome, lonely?
Surprise rippled across his features but quickly disappeared into the stony mask he wore. "You can just call me Ryder." He spoke the name with disdain.
"Is that what you want to be called?" she asked, stepping closer, drawn to him, and wanting to help forge peace from whatever battled waged within him.
He didn't answer. Frank wiggled between them for ear scratch number two.
Clara turned away from Ryder as a smile bloomed on her lips. She wasn't flirting, just trying to make his day better. "In that case, you can call me Bubbles Sugarplum."
"What?"
"That's my elf name," she said in a singsong voice.
"What's your real name?"
She shrugged. "Most people just call me Bubbles." she echoed his words. "Jealous? Hmm." She tapped her chin. "What would your elf name be? Grouchy McCrabbypants." She turned just in time to see his jaw drop.
"Come on, Grouchy. I told you, I have something to show you."
They crossed the room toward the back and she doled out treats to all the dogs on the way, naming each one, giving them a scratch under the chin, behind the ears, or by the rump. Without realizing it, she started humming All I Want for Christmas.
"Please don't sing that." His voice was smooth, deep, and deliciously accented.
She wanted to hear him talk, sing, but she shook off the desire. "I wasn't singing."
"Humming whatever. Seriously, I don't want to hear it, sing it, or even remember that it exists."
"You really don't like Christmas, do you? Maybe this will bring you some cheer." She opened the door to the puppy room, outfitted with soft pillows, squeaky toys, and warmer than the rest of the rooms in the shelter. "Well, they'll bring someone cheer if we find them homes by tonight. Another twelve are scheduled to come in the day after Christmas, meaning these guys need to find their forever homes fast."
"Why are they here?"
"They're orphans."
Except for the playful yips of the twelve dogs, silence pressed against the walls of the room. Even though Ryder was at least over twelve inches taller than she was, he seemed to shrink.
She cleared her throat unsure if she'd said something wrong. "Each year we get an influx of puppies right before Christmas and then right after. People think dogs make the perfect Christmas gift then often find it's too much trouble and responsibility weeks later."
Clara folded her legs beneath her on the floor and a Labrador mix rocketed toward her and into her lap. "This is a Comet." She let him lick her cheek and laughed. "These guys came from another shelter that's already full."
Ryder remained by the door.
"Grouchy McCrabbypants meet, Dolly, Nick, Claus, Rudolph, Merry, Mittens, Snowy, Cookie, Doggle, Puff, you already met Comet—" she said as the dog with huge puppy paws pushed her onto her back. She giggled.
Ryder took a few steps forward, but that might have been because the other dogs swarmed him. "That was only eleven; I thought you said there were twelve."
Realizing one went missing, Clara scrambled onto all fours and looked behind the dog beds. "Dotty, where are you?" she called softly. "Do you mind helping me look for a little white dog wit
h brown spots? She's part Bichon Frise. You know, the kind with short white fur. They look like teddy bears."
At their level, the dogs grouped around Clara, eager to play and unaware she was starting to panic. She couldn't have lost the smallest and most timid of the puppies already.
When she looked up, the small, white dog pawed at Ryder's boot. When he didn't respond, the little fur ball nipped at his laces.
"Oh, you found Dotty."
The puppy continued to try to get his attention.
"I've never seen her act like this. Usually, she hangs back. Go ahead, she's small, but you can hold her."
His hands were so big he could practically fit her in one. Ryder exhaled but still didn't move.
Clara scooped Dotty up, holding her close to her heart. Maybe he really was a Grinch. Who could not fall head over heels with such an adorable little fluff?
Doggle, part Pomeranian, jumped at his legs.
"I think he likes you too."
Ryder still didn't move. He was more like a statue than just in looks alone.
"Don't you like dogs?" She put Dotty in his hands while she tended to two who started fighting over a toy. She gave the puppies treats and let them go into the play area with some of the other dogs she knew were friendly with pups.
Just then, Comet streaked out, knocked past her, and tackled the Christmas tree. It tipped over slowly and then landed with a thud.
Seeming to come out of his stupor, Ryder moved to help Clara stand it back up. A shiny piece of garland hung off the artificial branch. "Is that why you don't decorate it?" He eyed Comet who looked both pleased and embarrassed.
"No, we're understaffed, underfunded. We hang ornaments with each donation to recognize the "angel." So far, no one brought any. Times are tight, I guess. Last year I made paper snowflakes too, but this year I was too busy."
"Do you have another job?"
Clara had three and started to tell him about them, but noticed Dotty was no longer in his arms.
Chapter 4
Logan
Ryder couldn't help but notice Clara stood under a bunch of mistletoe wrapped in red ribbon. Comet walked over and licked her hand. "It's okay, boy. I know it was an accident. He just gets too excited." She patted his head.