Page 22 of The Grumpiest Elf

Though if that were true, what’s Dylan’s problem? He’s been part of the magic his whole life, and, at least until the last couple of days, I’ve never had to interact with someone as consistently grumpy as him.

And if the movies are also to be believed, the newly divorced woman who’s just moved to town should be getting swept up by the local bartender dressed in flannel, or maybe the town doctor who comes to her rescue when she slips and falls and twists her ankle, or the bakery owner who learns her favorite pastry and has it ready every morning when she comes in …

Of course, Mom doesn’t walk to work, since she makes the trek Dylan and I are about to undertake instead, so she can’t stroll past a bakery and stop in daily. And she hasn’t slipped on the ice or frequented any bars that I’m aware of. She’s making friends at work and taking time for herself, she says.

Perhaps next Christmas, though she won’t be quite as new in town by then, so it won’t have the same je ne sais quoi as the movies.

Not that I expect life to actually be like the movies anyway. Because if this were a movie like that, and I were the protagonist instead of my mom, then Dylan and I would end up together and I’d somehow help him restore the meaning of Christmas.

An involuntary snort escapes at that thought, and Dylan glances my way, raising his eyebrows. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing.” I can’t tell him what I’m actually thinking. “I was on the phone with my friend earlier and she said something funny. I was just thinking about it. Sorry.”

He turns onto the highway that heads out of town. Low gray clouds make it seem like it never really got light today, and now the day-long twilight is giving way to full dark. It’s saved from looking dreary by the colorful twinkle lights outlining buildings and trees and the fact that gentle flakes start falling.

“Oh look! It’s starting to snow.” Even with Dylan’s quelling presence, I can’t keep the excitement out of my voice. Leaning forward, I look up at the clouds, grinning.

He sighs heavily, like this is the worst thing in the world. “Yippee. More snow.”

Sitting back, I scowl at him. “I think all the snow is beautiful.”

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “And I’m guessing you don’t have to shovel it. Nor are you driving in it.”

“And therefore I’m not allowed an opinion?” I ask, my voice acid.

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Of course you are. Even if it’s wrong.” He mutters the last sentence under his breath, but I hear him anyway.

Remembering that this is Dylan, so of course he hates snow just like he hates red and green and trees and poinsettias and joy, I decide to ignore him. Engaging with him is always pointless and just leaves me feeling irritable, and the last thing we need is two irritable elves tonight.

With Dylan it seems to be a permanent issue, so there’s no help for it.

As I turn and stare out the window, determined to do so the rest of the drive, a sense of relief settles over me. This is what interacting with Dylan is supposed to be like. The last couple days where he’s been trying to make small talk and be nice have been super weird, and if he’d started off that way, I’d like him. Likereallylike him. But since I know he’s actuallynotthat way, I don’t want to like him, so it’s been challenging.

This feels better. This is how our relationship is supposed to go. This I can handle.

After a moment, he sighs. “I’m sorry, Lydia. I’m not trying to be a jerk.”

“You just can’t help it?” I ask, glancing his way despite my determination not to look at him again.

He cracks a smile, and his smile is a thing of beauty, perfect lips pulling wide, a dimple flashing in the corner of his mouth. This close, I notice a little scar along the edge of his jaw, and curiosity makes me want to ask about it, but I stop myself before the question pops out.

“Exactly,” he agrees easily. He shakes his head, his smile slipping away. “You probably won’t believe me, but I swear I’m not normally this much of a dick.”

My brows jump in surprise. “You’re right. I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true, though.” The look he gives me is all puppy-dog sincerity, and it’s honestly difficult to maintain my disbelief.

“So is it something about me in particular that brings this out?” I ask, because if he’s not like this normally,somethingis causing it.

He lets out a bark of laughter. “No. God, absolutely not. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. No, it’s being back home that puts me in a bad mood.” He leans forward, looking up at the clouds as the snow falls more quickly. “It’s really starting to come down. I hope this doesn’t keep up for too long.”

I look out my window too and shake my head. “The forecast said we’d get a few flurries, but it shouldn’t be anything major.”

He chuckles. “A few flurries, huh? Would you call this a flurry?”

With a shrug, I settle into the center of my seat again. “Honestly? You guys have all these words to describe snow I’ve never used before. I’m not entirely sure I know what a flurry is compared to regular snowfall.”

That makes him grin. “Grew up on the coast, huh?” He glances over to catch my nod, slowing to go around a hairpin curve in the road. “Well, a flurry is usually a light, short snowfall. This looks more like a storm, and if I had to guess, it’ll go on for a while. Maybe not.Hopefullynot. Because if this continues, getting home might be interesting.”

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