A Festive Feud: A Holiday Romantic Comedy(20)

“Jackson, seriously. Do you like pissing me off?” she cries just as the first snow flurry begins to fall.

I hadn’t noticed how much the temperature had dropped until now, the cold seeping through my jacket and causing my skin to prickle.

“Emma, get in the truck, or I will throw you over my fucking shoulder.”

I know that’s probably only going to make her more defiant, but fuck, it’s freezing, and there is no goddamn way that I am getting in that tin can when a snowstorm is on the way. News says it shouldn’t be that bad, but I’m not taking any chances.

Her jaw works, and her arms are crossed over her chest as she contemplates what I’ve said.

She should realize by now that I say what the fuck I mean.

When a few seconds pass and she makes no move, I take a few steps toward her until I’m standing in front of her, and then I bend down and hoist her over my shoulder.

“Oh my God! You caveman, put me down!”

“Nope.”

“Put me down, or I’m going to scream.”

My shoulders shake with laughter. “Snowflake, there’s not a neighbor for fucking miles. Scream all you want—no one’s gonna hear you. Actually, better yet, let me give you an actual reason to scream. We both know how much you like to scream my name.”

Her tiny fists hit my back, but I can barely even feel them through the thickness of my jacket.

“Enough,” I say, slapping her directly on her jean-clad ass cheek, the sound echoing through the clearing. “It’s cold as fuck, and I’m pretty sure my dick has shriveled inside me. We’re taking my truck, end of fucking story.”

Maybe it’s the wind that suddenly seems to kick up just as I’m yanking the passenger door open and depositing her on the front seat, or maybe it’s because she’s decided to listen and stop being so damn stubborn for a single godforsaken second. But if I had to guess, it’s the former, not the latter.

I wouldn’t be lucky.

She squeaks as I toss her onto the seat and grab the seat belt, reaching over to buckle her in despite her protests. I shut the door and round the front to the driver’s door before opening and sliding inside.

“Fuck, how did it get so cold so damn fast,” I mutter, mostly to myself. My passenger princess grumbles under her breath but is otherwise silent.

Music to my ears.

Without another word, I put the truck in drive and head down the driveway that leads off my property. At first glance, this place isn’t much. Nothin’ to write home about, for sure. But… what made me buy it in the first place is what you don’t see.

You don’t see bones, and those are the things that really matter.

Kind of that way with people too. It’s what’s inside that tells you everything you need to know about who a person truly is.

That house has a story behind it, and growing up, there was always a story being told. That it was haunted, that someone had been killed there, that there was a family of squatters living inside.

Nothing remotely close to the truth. It was abandoned after Dr. Jacobson lost his wife and then died of a broken heart.

It’s a sad story, but when they showed me the house, Dr. Jacobson’s son, Brent, told me to try and see all of the happiness that this house used to carry. To try and remember all of the laughter and the love that lived here before it became what it was later.

I’m not a sentimental kind of guy, but I was halfway sold when I heard that story, and the house itself did the rest.

I’m proud of all the work I’ve put in on it over the last couple of years.

“Can you please change it? I hate this song,” Snowflake mumbles from the passenger seat. Her voice is so low that I can hardly hear it over the sound of the radio and the heater.

Snorting, I reach for the dial.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She huffs before she speaks. “Obviously something since you’re… snorting like something’s funny.”

“You just seem like the kind of girl who wouldn’t like George Straight.”

“Just not my vibe. I was actually hoping to maybe turn it off so I could go over the list for the party? I just feel like I’m forgetting something.” She rubs her fingers along her temples and sighs heavily.

Maybe I’ve been too busy trying to get a rise out of her to see how stressed she is, but I can feel it right now.

And apparently, I now give a shit about how Emma feels because I suddenly feel a little guilty for adding more to her plate.

“Hey, we’ll get it figured out, alright? Don’t stress over it,” I say. “You don’t have to do this by yourself. This is both of our punishment, not just yours.”

I think that’s the first time either of us has admitted that we were both at fault, not solely placing blame on the other.

She glances toward me, her lip between her teeth, and nods. “Thank you. I’m just… I’m feeling a lot of pressure to make sure everything goes according to plan. My parents are already disappointed, and I just don’t want to let them down again. My dad is also still recovering from last year’s… antics.”

Damn, I didn’t realize this party was that important to her. I mean, yeah, the feud has always been a thing, but judging simply by the expression on her face, I can tell that this is more to her than just a party. More than just not having charges pressed or a criminal record.