“Except potentially fail to save Rome’s Christmas.”
“Is that for sure?” he asks. “Have you talked to the reindeer guy? Maybe there’s still some hope.”
“You’re right. I’ll call him and let him dash my hopes for real.”
“Tay. Chin up. We’ll figure something out. I have never met a more stubborn person than you.”
I send him a warning look.
“I mean a more, um, perserverant person?”
“Dear writer: that’s not a word.”
“Persistent. I’ve never met a more persistent person. With a can-do attitude?” he adds when my expression doesn’t lighten. “Who is also full of, uh . . . ingenuity? And top-level problem-solving skills?”
“Heck yes, I am,” I say, snatching up my phone. He sags with relief, and I hide a smile. “Let’s see what Mr. Earl has to say.”
Fifteen minutes later, after more begging, bargaining, and reassurances and reindeer care facts from Levi, I hang up the phone and look at Levi. He’s taken the seat across from me, and he’s leaning forward, waiting for the verdict.
I pause to take a mental snapshot. Levi has no reason to care. Not really. Bummer if it doesn’t work out for Rome, but there’s no consequence for Levi.
“Why are you so invested in this?” I ask. “It’s not going to affect your Christmas at all.”
He studies me for a few seconds. “You care.”
“That’s your whole reason?”
“That’s my whole reason.”
I hold his stare for a couple of seconds, but it’s starting to feel like he can see too much, like how long I’ve held on to that first mistletoe kiss, tucking the memory of it somewhere inside of me so secure that even I fooled myself that it hadn’t mattered.
But we’re here now. The scene of the crime. And almost the scene of a new one not an hour ago in Levi’s sleep-tossed covers under the mesmerizing influence of his blue-gray eyes.
I flick my gaze down to the table. His eyes aren’t fair.
“Did Mr. Earl give you a best-case scenario?” Levi asks.
“Yeah. It’s not great. A lot of things are going to have to go just right.”
“Let’s hear it.”
I explain that Mr. Earl is still willing to let us take the reindeer to Creekville as long as we can do it without unduly stressing them. It’ll be stressful enough for them to be in the livestock trailer, and if we’re rushing them, they’ll sense it, and it will put them off their feed. Then we could end up dealing with colic, which is an enormous headache, and unfair to the reindeer.
“Bottom line,” I tell Levi, “if we can get to Blitzen Farm around lunch tomorrow, Mr. Earl feels that’s enough time for him to go over what he needs to and make sure we’re working well with his nephew and that he’s comfortable sending Rusty with us.”
“The nephew is Rusty?”
I nod. “He sounds like he’s going to be skinny and love Wranglers for real. Anyway, we basically need to get no more snow between now and then,andwe’ve got to hope this road gets plowed a lot sooner than we’re expecting. Those are bigifs, but if they happen, maybe Santa gets his reindeer.”
“Okay. We’re here a minimum of twenty-four hours no matter what?”
“And basically not an hour longer if we want to make it to Blitzen Farm in time.”
“Cross whatever you want to cross, say whatever prayer you want to say, and I’ll see if I can think of any prayers and gods I can borrow with apologies that will help the cause. There has to be some Celtic woodland rite that would help with this.”
“Getting snowplows here in time? Pretty sure the Celtic religion predates Santa by a lot.”
He looks thoughtful. “I should know that, but I don’t. I feel a google coming on.”
