Page 20 of Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal
I clasp at my chest in shock. “You?”
He points to his chest with a firm nod. “Me.”
“Wow.” I cross my arms. “What do I not know about you that would cause such close quarters to death by carrot?”
He smirks and says, “I spread too much Christmas cheer. I jingle, I jangle, I sneeze tinsel. It’s too much, and that white fluff of a tail wants me out.”
“Not the jingle, jangle, tinsel sneezing.”
He slowly nods. “The very one. And I have to warn you, you must not be seen with me. Not if you have any chance of taking out Cottontail.”
“You think I do?”
He places his hand on my shoulder and leans closer, his cedar-like cologne wafting toward me. “As the vigilante with the harpoon and harmonica, there is no doubt in my mind.”
“Very well. I’ll be on the lookout for jelly beans and eggs, a telltale sign of him being near.”
“Don’t forget the trail of carrot crumbs he leaves behind.”
“How could I ever forget?”
“Silly me.” He smiles. “Best of luck to you.”
“You too.” I start to walk away but then stop. “One more thing.” Pretending to pull something out of my pocket, I open my hand to him.
He gasps and takes a step back, horror written all over his face, which makes me chuckle.
Because where is he going to go with this?
“It’s... it’s... you. You’re Cottontail.” He shakes his head in disgust, and it takes everything in me not to laugh. “No, get those jelly beans away from me.” He playfully swats my hand away. “I will not surrender.” He sidesteps me and moves away, only to turn around and walk backward with that smirk of his stretching across his lips. Goodness, he’s handsome. “Later... vigilante.”
I point my finger at him. “That’s Cottontail to you.”
He laughs and then takes off.
I should have gotten his name.
Maybe his number.
Then again, do I really have time for something like that?
Probably not.
“How was your first night in the cottage?” Uncle Dwight asks as he takes a seat across from me at the Caroling Café, where he grabs breakfast every morning.
The fifties-inspired diner is decked out in Christmas decorations, baubles and trinkets hanging from the ceiling, as well as garland. Every booth has Mr. and Mrs. Claus salt and pepper shakers, while up front, a stage is prepped and garnished in trees and fake presents, ready for someone to take the stage and start singing.
It’s . . . cute.
And I feel like I’d appreciate it more if I wasn’t so shaken.
“Um, it could have been better.”
Uncle Dwight’s brows crease. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I was getting ready for bed when I kept seeing a flash of light in the woods. I didn’t think anyone should be on the property?—”
“You’re right. No one should be on the property but you.”
