Merry Christmas YOU filthy Animal by Meghan Quinn

BLURB

Nothing says I love you like trespassing, public humiliation, and a town-wide Christmas spectacle to win your crush back.

Atlas “Max” Maxheimer did not sign up for this. One minute, he’s anxiously trying to keep his family’s Christmas tree farm from imploding. The next? He’s passed out in the snow after getting clocked by a suspiciously strong bottle of soda.

Enter Betty: new in town, full of holiday cheer, and helping her uncle open a rival tree farm next door. Max is convinced she’s out to destroy everything Evergreen Farm stands for. Betty thinks Max might be one sleigh short of a winter parade.

Cue the holiday chaos.

Between blizzards, blown reputations, wildly misguided romantic plots, and one stolen ornament with a seriously tragic backstory, this small-town war turns into something far messier—and much more delicious—than either of them expected.

Excerpt

I remove my phone from my pocket and snap a picture for reference. Cole might not want to talk about it now, but tomorrow, when he’s in the barn, I can tell him I told you so.

Now the question is who is living here? And how the f**k was it built so quickly?

Knowing this is risky, I skirt up to the tree that’s right in front of the cottage and lean over, taking a peek inside the house, but the curtains are shut, blocking my view.

Damn it.

I assess my next move and notice that the window near the door isn’t covered by a curtain. That’s my only option to get to the bottom of this. There isn’t a tree to shield me from view, but there is a flower box. I can be stealthy and go undetected behind that shrubbery.

Narrator: Spoiler alert: Max will not go undetected. In fact, this plan is about to very much blow up in his face . . .

Keeping my flashlight low, I duckwalk toward the cottage, keeping my six-foot-four body out of sight and off the snow until I reach the porch. I fall to my knees and then shuffle on them all the way up to the flower box. Smiling to myself about how I was able to channel my inner Tom Cruise, I reach for my crowbar, pull back the branches of the shrub in the flower box with the curved end, and slowly start to raise my head to garner a peek.

I hold my breath, raising . . .raising . . .

Almost there . . .

Enemy, be prepared to be found out.

And just as my eyes peek over the shrubs, the front door opens, startling the ever-living s**t out of me.

“Ahhh!” I scream out of pure reaction just as a feral warrior cry sounds through the silent night air as five words are screamed into existence by a female voice.

“Take that, you filthy animal!”

And then like a rocket being blasted through a cannon, a two-liter bottle of Pepsi flies right at my head, knocking me out cold.

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About Meghan Quinn

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author, wife, adoptive mother, and peanut butter lover. Author of romantic comedies and contemporary romance, Meghan Quinn brings readers the perfect combination of heart, humor, and heat in every book.

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