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2. Grant

CHAPTER 2

Grant

T hings that annoy me:

Loud music of any kind—there’s no reason for it, no one else wants to hear your shitty taste in music.

Overly happy people—why are they so happy? Have they witnessed anything in the real world? Because if they had, they shouldn’t be that happy.

Christmas—call me Scrooge, the Grinch, Grumpy Grant, whatever. I hate Christmas. Too many people, too much money, too many obligations. What if I don’t want to go visit so-and-so? Oh, but it’s Christmas, you have to. Also, Christmas is one day, just one. Not two fucking months.

Things I love: Elsie Marshall.

I’ve loved that red-headed, overly energetic ball of sunshine for… well as long as I can remember. She’s absolute perfection. And she also stands for everything I hate. No one is happier, plays their shitty music louder or loves Christmas more than that girl. She is happiness, hope and love all rolled up in a way-too-pretty package.

So if I love her, why not tell her?

I’m single, she’s single. We both are settled into this town and I would do my best to make her happy.

Elsie’s brother, my best friend, died saving my life. Besides Nona, Elsie’s grandma, her brother - David, was all she had—fuck, he was all I had, too. I loved that man like he was my own brother. It’s coming up on six years now. It was right around Christmas—I was twenty-six, and believed I was invincible—completely untouchable.

I was a fucking idiot.

I had a rough day at work and went to the bar outside of town. I got way too drunk and instead of calling for a ride, I hopped on my motorcycle and sped off. I wrecked the bike and my leg was broken and pinned under it. The pain and trauma have caused me to block out a lot, so I only remember bits and pieces. Bits and pieces I’d give anything to forget. Like David’s car pulling up because he was headed back home with Elsie and stopped when he saw my wrecked bike. Or him rushing out of the car to get to me. Him trying to lift my bike off, but it had impaled my leg. I remember him telling me it’ll be okay and running to get his phone, then the horn of the semi going too fast, followed by Elsie’s screams in the distance.

He died because I was a drunk fucking moron. I lost my best friend and Elsie lost her big brother, right in front of her. I lost my leg in the accident. They had to amputate my right one above the knee and now I walk on a prosthetic. I should’ve died. I would gladly throw my life down if it meant Elsie and Nona could have David back.

I’ve spent these past six years doing everything in my power to take care of Elsie—but only from afar. I rarely spoke to her after that night, except to shout at her when I woke up in recovery. I didn’t mean to, but I was so full of grief and regret. Plus the surgeries and medications I was on didn’t help. And she was there. She was there, with her grey complexion, dull, red-rimmed eyes, and a scowl I’d never seen on her before. She was there during the worst time in her life and she was caring for me. I lost it. I lost it because I didn’t deserve her kindness. So I screamed until she left. It was months before I had the balls to see her again. How could I? She was twenty and I took her brother. How was I to ever look her in the eye again?

About two years ago, I was working for the town on a construction job with a few of my men, and every day for a month, Elsie would walk to our job site with coffee and pastries from the coffee counter at Nona’s bookstore, while flashing her high-wattage smile. God that smile. I’m convinced her smile could bring about world peace if shown to the world leaders. Elsie’s a firm believer that everyone is capable of being her best friend if they just got to know her. And she’s right, they would be. But it’s not for the sweet reasons she thinks. It’s because people are mostly shit and love to prey on those who have a big heart and generous personality. Which is why Elsie runs a successful coffee shop but has to live in the back of it.

Need money? Tell your story to Elsie.

Need food? Ask Elsie.

It’s fucking infuriating. I have watched that girl give money to people who didn’t need it and then go without actual food. And like I said, now she’s living in the break room at her shop in secret. Because when the city finds out, they will make her leave.

I’m constantly trying to find ways to sneak money to her. Whether it be through tips, Nona, or in one desperate attempt, I told her that I was moving shit at my place and found money that David had stashed there as savings. Elsie believed me and graciously took it because she was about to lose the coffee shop due to loaning money to an ex that “swears he’s good for it”.

I adore the woman, but it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to protect her from afar. And now she’s doing this fucking Christmas market thing. This will be what ruins her. The people involved will bleed her dry of not only her resources, but her joy. She’s a chronic people pleaser and I’m supposed to expect that she’ll be able to handle the bitching of the vendors who fight her over the “prime spots”?

No, absolutely not.

“I charge a viewing fee.” I jump and nearly spill my coffee as Nona’s heavily tattooed, tiny body seems to materialize in front of me.

“Fucking Christ, Nona,” I hiss while setting the book back on the shelf. “You trying to give me a heart attack?”

“I’m trying to figure out why you—Mr. Straight-laced, has a why-choose monster romance in your hands where the main character takes four at once.” My upper lip twitches as I look from the old woman to the book I had been holding— Tina’s Twisted Tails

“Uh-mmm…” Coughing into my fist, I look away from the book. “I was trying to wait for you to get back from the coffee shop.”

“Mhmmm… well, out with it, boy, I ain’t getting any younger.” I follow Nona to her back counter where she takes a seat behind her desk.

“Right.” I take a breath before looking at the woman. “I need you to take Els out of the town until the new year.” Nona snorts into her thermos while raising a brow.

“Uh-huh. And would this have anything to do with the Christmas Market?”

“No,” I say firmly… I think. “I just feel like she needs to get away, as do you. Go bond at the beach or something. It’ll be my treat.”

Nona slow-blinks before grabbing her tablet and typing something. After a silent moment, she looks back at me in confusion. “Was there something else?”

“Nona, come on,” I groan. “You know this is going to be a disaster.”

“And you know that my granddaughter isn’t stupid. You really think she’s not going to put two-and-two together? And then when she finds out it was your plan, because there is no way I’m going down for this, you will be the cause of her heartbreak. Do you really want that on your conscience, Grant?”

“I have worse floating around in there,” I mutter just as Nona throws a pen at me.

“You know the rules, boy. You start that self-hatred shit and I’m calling your therapist, you know I have him on speed dial.”

“First off—no one has ‘speed dial’ anymore. And second—you know I can’t see him anymore since I found out you fucked him.” Nona laughs loudly and shakes her head.

“You’re gonna find that most of the town has been in my pants, doll

baby. Now, what can I do for you?”

“How do I get Elsie to quit the market?” I sigh while running my hand over my face.

“You can’t. Try a different approach,” she says simply as I growl in frustration.

“Any ideas?” I mutter out.

“Sure, you could offer to help her so that you’re there to watch over her.”

I think when Nona made the suggestion that I join the Christmas Market project, it was done as a joke or a dare. Problem is, I don’t joke when it comes to Elsie and there’s no dare I wouldn’t take head on for her. Which is why I’m here, at City Hall, waiting to talk to Betty Rhodes. I don’t care much for Betty—I mean I don’t care much for anyone—but Betty is just a nuisance that I would rather not have to deal with. She’s the type who hires me to do a job and then is never satisfied with my work, yet hires me again. After the last shit show that ended in me finishing her deck and telling her I would never do another job for her again, I thought I was done. Now, here I am, sitting in the chair in front of her desk as she wheels herself in.

“Grant, to what do I owe the pleasure?” she inquires, her drawn-on brow arched.

“Elsie Marshall,” I say, not wanting to beat around the bush. “She’s been chosen for the Christmas Marketplace.”

“Yes,” she states slowly. “With my current injury, I’m unable to give it the attention it needs and Elsie has been wanting to head the event for years, I think she’ll be a great fit.” That’s a lie. Betty and Elsie couldn’t be more opposite. Betty wants Elsie because she thinks she can manipulate her into following her orders.

“Fire her.” Betty laughs in shock while shaking her head.

“What? Why? I have no one else to run this! I need the help, you of all people should understand my predicament.” My jaw tenses at the jab about my leg. I let it roll off though. I’ve never asked for help—even when I should’ve. So her words—while sharp—won’t pierce the protective armor I have in place.

“Then give me your spot,” I state, already regretting my suggestion. “If you’re so bad, make me the co-planner.” At least this way I’ll be able to keep an eye on Elsie, and I’ll have a say in the decisions.

Betty scoffs while shaking her head. “And why on earth would I do that?”

“Because if you do—” God I can’t believe I’m about to offer this. “If you do, I’ll build your gazebo.” Her entire body lights up and I know I have just made a deal with the Devil herself. But if it keeps Elsie safe, it's worth it.

Betty eyes me carefully, considering the offer. “Fine,” she says at last, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “But remember, Grant, I expect both the marketplace and the gazebo to be your finest work. If I feel the event is not exceeding my expectations because of your grinchy ways, or her childish naivety, I will rip you out of it without a second thought.”

I nod, biting back my pride. It's a small price to pay for Elsie's well-being. As I leave Betty's office and make my way to the coffee shop, my mind races with plans to ensure that the Christmas Marketplace runs smoothly and that Elsie doesn't get taken advantage of by anyone.

I walk back into the cozy little shop and the bell above the door chimes cheerfully. I have to try to resist the urge I have to rip it from the frame and stomp on it. Elsie looks up from behind the counter with a bright smile that could light up the darkest of nights.

“Grant!” she exclaims, setting down the coffee cup she was wiping. God, every time she says my name, it causes my heart to stumble over itself. “What brings you back here so soon? Oh! Let me guess, you decided you needed to try my yummy new flavors!”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the task. I love her, I love her, I love her.

“No,” I grunt, causing her body to deflate. Fucking hell. “Fine, give me something with peppermint.” Jesus that smile.

“Oh! Yay!” Elsie sings as she goes to work making me whatever hot drink she’s decided on as I head over to a table and slowly sit down. My leg is killing me. Usually after a long job like the one I was on last week, I try to take a break and stay home as much as possible. My leg is swelling and I know I have a sore forming which is making the prosthetic uncomfortable.

“You okay?” Elsie asks while sitting a cup in front of me along with a cookie I didn’t ask for.

“Never better,” I mutter, taking a sip of the drink which has too much whipped cream. Elsie giggles and I raise a brow. “What?”

She shakes her head and— what in the fuck is she doing? My breath hitches as her thumb runs over the corner of my mouth.

“You had a little whipped cream there.” She laughs before sitting across from me. She casually pops her thumb into her mouth, sucking the whipped cream off of it. Fuuuck this is an image that my cock will never let me forget.

“You going to tell me why you’re here?” she asks, still smiling and I notice a pink hue tinting her freckled cheeks. Fuck, she’s so pretty.

“Needed another coffee,” I state thickly while trying to discreetly adjust the semi I have happening in my jeans. She wrinkles her nose and shakes her head.

“Nice try. You’ve never changed your pattern, not even once. Always one at open and one at close. In fact, I remember bringing you coffee on job sites and telling you to let me know if you needed an afternoon pick-me-up and you stated that you needed more than three hours between my sugar in a cup.”

“Fair,” I mutter, taking another sip before leaning back in the chair to try and stretch out my leg. I should’ve driven, but I left my truck at City Hall so now I’m going to have to walk back there to get it.

“Is your leg hurting?” Her question is so caring and innocent but it fills me with ice cold anxiety.

“Betty is making me your partner on the Christmas marketplace,” I blurt out, causing her to jolt back.

“Wait.” Her red brows wrinkle together in confusion. “ My project?”

“Yeah,” I grunt, sipping the coffee again. It’s actually pretty good. Then again, it’s probably a pound of sugar so that’s not shocking. “ Our project now. I was talking to her today about a job and she said she couldn’t help you or something and offered me the job.”

“And what.” She lets out a small chuckle. “You said yes? You—Grumpy Grant—are going to team up with me for the Christmas marketplace.”

“Can you stop calling me that?” I groan and she shrugs while— is she taking a drink of my coffee? Oh my god she is. Why is this almost as hot as her licking her thumb? I stare in shock as she sets the mug back down.

“Stop being a grump and I will.”

“I’m not a grump!” I huff. “I’m old, I’m tired and people are loud and annoying.”

“You aren’t that old—”

“Mileage, not the years, Els.” I see a small, fond smile form on her pretty face. “What?”

“You are the only person who still calls me that. Everyone else calls me Ellie or Elsie.”

The only person.

Because her brother was the other, and after he died, she screamed at anyone who called her that. Except me. I somehow got grandfathered in, and as much as that should make me happy, it doesn’t. It doesn’t, because I’m the reason she switched from Els to Ellie. And I fucking hate Ellie. I mean, it’s a pretty name, I guess. But it’s not her name. It’s not my name for her.

“I should go,” I state—feeling overwhelmed. I stand and grunt in pain as my leg screams.

“Oh no!” Elsie’s hands press my chest and shoulder. “Are you alright? Where’s your truck?” She’s got to stop touching me and I really need her and that warm scent of hers to stop suffocating me.

“I’m fine,” I brush her off, wincing again. “I just need to get back over to City Hall.”

“I’ll take you!” she volunteers and moves to get her purse and coat.

“What? Elsie, no. I’ll be—”

“I know you’re a big, strong, independent man who's fully capable of doing big, strong, independent man things. But I’m either driving you to your truck, or following behind you while telling you just how silly it is that because you have a penis, you won’t accept help from a woman.” I blink, once, twice—I don’t know, twenty-seven fucking times while trying to come up with my response.

“Never,” I huff out as the heat floods my cheeks. “And I mean never, say penis to me again.” Her giggle does nothing to aid in this uncomfortable feeling. “And second, it has nothing to do with you being a woman and everything to do with…” I trail off as I scratch the back of my neck.

“Truck giving you hell again?” she asks softly and I respond with a grunt. My old truck means everything to me, but the girl is not doing well and I fear she’s not going to make it through the winter. I got her to City Hall but it was a struggle, and I know if I try to start it up, she’s not going to turn over and I don’t have it in me to work on it while Elsie stands there watching.

“Come on, Grant.” Her hand touches mine and I jerk it back in surprise.

“Sorry,” I breathe out, embarrassment consuming me. “You startled me, sorry,” I mutter again.

“Grant.” She lets out a sigh before flipping the open sign and motioning to the door. “Come on, I’m taking you home.” I want to fight her but Elsie isn’t one to back down when her mind is set on something. So, I relent and follow her out of the coffee shop.

“I’m sorry you’re having to do this,” I say under my breath as she locks the door before stuffing her hands in her coat pockets.

“No need to be sorry! I offered!”

“Yeah, but, this is an inconvenience.” I am an inconvenience.

“If it were an inconvenience, why would I have offered?” she asks while we round the corner to where she has her car parked. I notice that she’s staying back at my slowed pace and it angers me. Not because it’s not sweet—it is. And anyone else who hasn’t spent the years I have, watching her every move like some kind of psychotic stalker wouldn’t notice. But I have, and I notice. Elsie is a fast walker, especially when it’s cold outside. As much as she loves this time of year, she hates the cold and her little body doesn’t retain much heat. But she knows I’m in too much pain, she knows I can’t move faster, so she’s slowed her pace to match mine, and it makes me want to yell at her.

“Ah!” Elsie cries as she hits a patch of ice and her feet slip out from under her. Without thinking, I grab her upper arm to stop her from hitting the concrete sidewalk, but in doing so, I lose my footing and fall into a shoveled snow pile with Elsie landing roughly on top of me, her knee hitting my nuts so perfectly I think I might’ve died momentarily.

She does a small wiggle as she moves to sit up. “Fuck,” I gasp in a far less than manly way, but I mean, my testicles are in my fucking throat right now, I should be allowed this moment.

“Oh my god,” she gasps. “Did I break your ribs?” Instantly she tries to move again. And again puts more force on my nuts. I reach out and grip her thigh while trying to remember how to breathe.

“For the love of…” I’m going to throw up, I swear to fucking Christ. “I’m in pain because every time you move, your knee digs deeper into my nuts. Please… stop… moving.” She looks down between us before whipping her head back up and I can almost hear her telepathically begging me to feel her apology. Evidently I either don’t look like I hear it, or I don’t look like I forgive her because she begins verbally begging.

“I am so so so—”

“Els,” I state dryly while resting my head in the snow. “Stop talking.”

“I know but, I’m nervous and you know the more nervous I get the more I—”

“Stop moving that mouth or I’ll do it for you.” My voice is low and firm as I tighten my grip on her thigh. Her eyes go wide and her cheeks go red as she closes her pretty lips. Well, for half a second.

“How do I get off?” she whispers and I feel her shaking slightly due to being as still as possible.

“Right,” I breathe out. “The leg I’m holding.” The silky soft leg that I want to wear around my face like a goddamn scarf—No! Grant, fucking shut up. You’re not doing this! She may have broken your dick and re-homed your testicles. You are not thinking this shit right now! “Move it straight back,” I say over the two lumps wedged firmly in my throat. She obeys—too quickly, and I let out a whimper as she gets off.

“Oh my god, Grant.” She holds her hand out and, what is she going to do? She can’t lift me, she can’t— “Take my fucking hand, you butthead!” She snaps and… that’s not hot, that’s not hot. I grab her icy hand as she impressively pulls me up.

“You’re strong for such a little thing,” I rasp out, unable to straighten fully.

“I work out… sometimes,” she huffs before opening the door to a green Prius.

“You’re joking,” I state flatly while limping over to the toy car. “W-Where is your car?”

“In the shop. It needed something done to it. I don’t know, I tried to change the fluid and then it stopped working.”

Scrunching myself into this matchbox on wheels, I feel almost claustrophobic as I close the door. “What fluid?” I ask as she gets in and starts the engine.

“Uhhh…” She laughs uncomfortably while scratching her head. “Well, I was going to start with the oil and I was trying to follow the guy online and I don’t know, I twisted some stuff under the car and liquid started rushing out and—Oh I don’t know! You know I suck with car stuff. That was yours and David’s thing. I can’t figure it out.” She laughs but I don’t reciprocate. Mainly because she mentioned his name again. She says it so easily, like a knife isn’t being stabbed into her heart every time. Then again, maybe it isn’t. Maybe I’m the only one who feels this way because I’m the guilty party.

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