Page 2 of Beards and Holly
“No. Thanks. Don’t worry about it. We won’t bother you again.” His bark abruptly stops my inner fantasy.
Then he pulls the big, shaggy dog down my stairs and across our lawns without a single glance back.
Feeling an unwanted sting of rejection, I turn and unlock my front door. Inside, I kick off my shoes, replaying our encounter, and decide I’m being ridiculous. The last thing I need is a crush on my neighbor. It’s better this way.
Gizmo is possibly the cutest dog known to man, but his surly owner is only superficially attractive. I have to remind myself of this when I spot him taking out his trash. Then again when I crawl into bed.
Good looks do not make boyfriend material. No thanks. I have a dead-end job to get out of and career to build. There will be no more thoughts of the grumpy Jenson ever again.
Of course, I tell myself this, but my dreams paint a different picture. That night, I toss and turn, and what little dreams I have are haunted by a cute, shaggy dog and his smiling owner. A look I’ve never seen because the man doesn’t even like me, but apparently, my brain wants to form an unwanted attachment.
CHAPTER TWO
Jenson
The mall is, by far, the last place I ever want to be, but when my grandmother asks for anything, I grin and bear it. The woman raised me after all. After the turbulence of my teen years, and her strength and support getting me through my parents’ death, what granny wants granny gets.
“What about her, Jenny?” my grandma asks me using the dreaded nickname I’ve been cursed with since childhood. “She looks like a nice girl.”
Except for one very big thing she won’t let go.
“I’m sure she’s nice, but let’s just worry about your Christmas shopping,” I say throwing my arm around her small shoulder and leading her away from the random woman walking toward us.
“How do you know she’s not the one? She could make you very happy. Give you lots of babies who can come hang out at my house. We could bake cookies together like we used to when you were little.”
It appears my grandma has baby fever. It’s been this way since she had lunch with Elenore, my best friend’s grandma, who successfully meddled and matched him with his teenage sweetheart, which is vastly different from my situation. I’ve always been single and plan to keep it that way.
I don’t mind spending an evening in the company of a woman as long as she’s comfortable with me being gone by morning.
“I’ll bake cookies with you, Grandma. And I am happy.” Much more so without a committed relationship, but that’s something she’s never understood.
“I just know you’d feel more fulfilled with a wife and family, though, Jenny.”
“I appreciate that, but I promise I’m happy just me and Gizmo,” I say.
“But what about her? She’s beautiful and look there. She’s good with kids, too.”
Following the direction she’s pointing, my eyes land on the mall’s North Pole set up and some poor woman dressed as an elf, wrestling a kid off Santa’s lap. The kid’s beet red and crying, refusing to leave Santa until the poor old man sneezes in the kid’s face. Watching the scene, I laugh out loud.
“Want to go over there and talk to her? I don’t mind waiting. I could mosey over to the Hallmark shop for some cards,” Granny pipes up.
“No, thanks, I don’t need a photo with Santa, Grandma. Let’s get you those cards.”
Her sigh is audible, but I just shake my head at her attempt. It’s never going to work. I hate that she’s so set on matching me up, but someday, she’ll finally accept it. I hope so, anyway.
As we pass the North Pole, the elf catches my eye, and low and behold, I know her. It’s my cute neighbor who’s far from my type. A woman with big, brown eyes and dimples when shesmiles, one who screams good girl. The wifey type who over-decorates her house for Christmas and keeps it up all year long.
Luckily, she doesn’t spot us. The last thing I want is to introduce her to my grandma. I’d never hear the end of it.
The rest of my day runs smoothly with a few dozen presents purchased and dinner eaten at our favorite Mexican spot in town, Just in Queso. Of course, Grandma doesn’t let up about finding a bride and points at every woman who appears to look single. I think she’s actually getting worse, and after I drop her off, I head home, exhausted from dodging her setups. I still can’t believe she stopped random women and asked them if they were interested in dating me. The embarrassment will haunt me for days. I’m not a desperate man. If I wanted to get married someday, I would date. I could pull a baddie, but these women looked at me with pity. So much so, I even got a few phone numbers. Not that I’ll call any of them.
After a long day, I’m looking forward to a night of Netflix and Gizmo. The mutt will surely put a smile on my face, but when I head inside, he’s not here to greet me like he usually does, plowing into me for sloppy kisses.
“Gizmo?” I yell into the quiet house. “I’m home buddy.”
Nothing but silence follows, and worry hits me square in the stomach.
Frantically racing around my small house only reaffirms he’s not here. Dread creeps into my thoughts.