Chapter One
Flannery
Fourteen preschoolers sat in a semicircle around me on the library's reading rug, their faces smudged with red and white from our candy cane craft. I held upHow the Grinch Stole Christmasand dropped my voice low. "'And what happened then? Well, in Whoville they say, that the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day!'"
"Yay!" The kids erupted in cheers, bouncing on their knees. Emma Kate's enthusiasm sent her elbow into Harper's side, and Harper knocked over the box of crayons we'd used earlier. Red and white crayons spilled across the hardwood.
"Oops!" I gathered the crayons back into the box and set it aside.
"Miss Flannery, can you do the mean voice?" Mason called out, bouncing on his knees.
I glanced at the antique clock on the wall above the circulation desk. Five-fifteen already. Peter Partridge, our head librarian, had probably left for the day, trusting me to handle closing. Still, these forty-five minutes were my favorite part of the week. "You mean like this?" I made my voice gravelly and menacing. "'You're a mean one!'"
The kids shrieked with delight.
"Do it again!" Harper clapped her hands.
"Yeah, again!" Olivia joined in.
Vixen, my snowy white cat, lounged in her usual spot near the reading rug with one green eye cracked open. Peter let me bring her to Story Time, and she'd become as much a fixture as the reading rug itself—patient with grabby hands and unbothered by sudden squeals.
Right now, she looked like she was judging the noise level. If cats could roll their eyes, she would.
"Miss Flannery?" Dashiell Starr—everyone called him Dash—raised his hand like we were in actual school. He sat front and center like always, his small cowboy boots tapping against the floor, his miniature Stetson resting on his lap. "Do you think the Grinch had a horse?"
"A horse?" I set the crayon box aside.
"Yeah! He could've rode down the mountain instead of using that sleigh. Horses are better than dogs anyway." He paused, then added solemnly, "No offense to Max—he was a good dog in the story."
Several kids giggled.
"Well—" I started.
"A green horse!" Jayden shouted. "With a red saddle!"
"And jingle bells!" Emma Kate added.
"Now that," I said, "would be a different story. Maybe you could write it someday."
Dash grinned and leaned over to inform Vixen, "She does all the best voices. The Gruffalo one's scary-good."
Vixen's tail twitched—probably her way of acknowledging a compliment about her favorite human.
"One more story!" Mason pleaded. "Please? Just one more?"
"The horse one!" Dash added. "About the horse that wants snow for Christmas!"
Five-sixteen. My stomach dropped. Angela Singer, who owned Lasso & Lace where I worked evenings, expected me by six sharp. I scrambled to my feet, and the knitting needles holding my bun in place slipped loose. I shoved them back with clumsy fingers. "I'm so sorry, but I have to close up. I have to get to my toy shop job."
I couldn't exactly say "adult boutique" to a room full of preschoolers, and "toy shop" seemed harmless enough—until now.
The mood shifted instantly—betrayed faces, slumped shoulders.
"You work at a toy store?" Dash's eyes went wide as saucers.
Oh no.
"Can we come?" Harper asked.
