1
A GROOT CHRISTMAS
10AM CHRISTMAS EVE
I killed Bambi.
Okay, maybe ‘killed’ is dramatic, but tell that to Rudolph, whose nose is now covered in bright red blood. I was only going seventy miles per hour in a sixty-five zone. With a five-mile difference, it is not my fault the deer decided to audition for roadkill tonight.
All I wanted was a cozy night of reality TV while I packed for my big move. But no. I had to drive thirty minutes out of the city after getting an email from SittingDuck.org. The best house-sitting gig site in the entire world in my opinion. The only reason I have been able to pay my bills for the last five years.
Two weeks ago, I applied for a couple of jobs and finally got a call back. Two days before Christmas. Five thousand dollars for two nights. All I have to do is sit in a house. Yes please. I already received half of the payment for completing the interview process and accepting the job.
I guess I got too excited on the way here. Now I am stuck with a big dent in my bumper. I can’t blame anyone but myself.
On the way here, my neighbor Jaelin texted me pictures from our apartment complex’s annual Christmas party. My head was down for only two seconds.
Boom. My car sent that deer straight to heaven’s gates.
Now I might be late. I’m supposed to be there in five minutes. The email was very clear that I needed to arrive at 10:10. Weird, but I assumed they were into angel numbers or whatever.
I glance at my dashboard and check the GPS. I am only three minutes from the house I am supposed to be sitting. A block and a half away. It would not be too bad if it were not forty-seven degrees outside. I have lived in Louisiana my whole life. Anything below sixty-five means we shut down the whole city and stay inside.
I have two options:
1) Wait for the tow truck and risk losing this money
2) Walk in the freezing cold for a few minutes.
Grabbing my coat and hat, I step out of my car. I will call the tow truck once I am settled. Locking the doors behind me, I start my icy journey and pray I do not slip on the way.
“Okay,that’s all of it. Any questions?” Ms. Greta says with an annoyed expression.
I uncross my arms, taking in what would be my new home for the next two days. After trudging through two feet of snow, all I want is to collapse on something soft and expensive.
Ms. Greta has been side-eyeing me since I walked in. I was two minutes late. She should be glad I even showed up. My legs were half-frozen by the time I got here.
When I applied for this house-sitting job, I didn’t even read the description. The pay range was “disclosed,” which usually means it’s either insultingly low or unbelievably high. I prayed for the latter.
And somehow, it worked.
This is a literal Christmas miracle. I expected a nice townhouse. Instead, I’m standing inside a castle decked out in Christmas décor, twinkling lights, and Black Santas in every corner. I feel instantly at home.
“The only question I have,” I say, a little out of breath, “is why Mr. and Mrs. Oakley aren’t here?”
“It doesn’t matter why they are not here.”
“Just making conversation,” I mumble.
She rolls her eyes and sighs. “They’re celebrating their second wedding anniversary in Cancún. Somewhere I would be if I didn’t have to babysit house sitters. Any more questions?”
Her bitterness could freeze the snow outside.
“No other questions,” I say quickly. “Thanks for the tour. I promise to keep everything exactly the same. You won’t even know I was here.”
“You’d better,” she says, turning toward me. “We don’t want any thugs ruining the Christmas spirit—or robbing us.”
Did she just call me a thug? I’m wearing a red Christmas sweater with a reindeer on it and black leggings. If that’s threatening, that’s her problem.
