I’m almost tempted to tell her that what I want from Saint Nick this year is a wife and kids. But that’s a surefire way to have her parading every possible woman in front of me.
Call it a side effect of what I do, but I want to meet a woman and get married and have babies. Maybe add some rooms to my cabin, build out a nice kennel for my dogs.
Instead, I find myself saying, “Some new boots would be nice.”
“Excellent.” She claps her hands together. “I got you something before you go.”
She leads me to the back of the store and pulls out a huge cardboard box from inventory. It’s almost bigger than she is.
“Well, that’s a lot of boots.”
She waves her hand. “Don’t open it until you get home. Promise me.”
“Promise, Ma,” I say and press a kiss to her weathered cheek. Couldn’t have asked for a better foster mom.
“You get home before that storm rolls in.” She waves me away, already cutting off the last of the lights.
I carry the box to my truck, setting it in the back carefully. The brutally cold wind blows, ruffling the edges of my flannel shirt. Winter is sending her last warning message, and the wise should heed it.
Still, I hang around the parking lot for a few minutes. I wait until I see Emma May climb into her vehicle and reverse. Content that she’s headed toward safety, I finally start back up the mountain, already dreading my lonely holiday.
My radio starts blaring cheerful music, something about a girl who only wants me for Christmas. With a soft sigh, I tell myself, “Maybe next year you won’t be so lonely.”
Chapter 2
Holly
I hate Christmas. There, I said it. So, when the holiday-themed ringtone starts playing from my phone, I’m tempted to throw it out the window.
I want a break from the endless cheer of the season. I should be allowed that. But, as the oldest daughter of the family, I am not allowed to hate Christmas. At least, not in any way that shows on my face.
Inside, I am a seething grump. I finally answer on the third ring, but only when I see that it’s a call from my sister.
“Where are you?” Joy hisses.
Frosty makes a soft sound, and I glance into the backseat that holds the pet carrier for my Pomeranian puppy. He’s active and playful on the best of days so the long drive is frustrating for him.
“Soon,” I promise him quietly.
“I’m here at the hospital,” Joy says when I don’t answer her immediately.
Our family hosts an annual charity event for the hospital in Sweetgrass River. It’s why I’m dressed in a ridiculous elf costume as I drive to…well, I’m not sure where I am anymore. I suspect my GPS turned me around on the last exit. But I don’t tell my sister that. She would freak out.
“I’m on my way,” I answer in my reassuring big sister voice. This mountain I’m on is absolutely beautiful, but the snow flurries dancing in the air are making me nervous. There’s supposed to be a snowstorm hitting parts of North Carolina today. But not near Sweetgrass, which is where I should be right about now.
“You should have been here already,” she says. I can imagine her dressed up in an over-the-top costume complete with shoes that are killing her feet.
“I’ll be there soon. What’s going on anyway?” I lower my voice with the question. The event doesn’t start until tonight. She shouldn’t be looking for me.
She’s quiet for a long time, and I can imagine her pacing up and down one of the hospital’s long corridors in the wing of the hospital that my family has financed.
Yes, we’re those Jollys. The Jolly Family that also happens to run a media and entertainment company by the same name. The bulk of our revenue comes from the holiday movie extravaganza that we host every year. Dozens of new movies all release within a few weeks in the hopes that we can remind families what the holidays are really about. Gag me.
She’s quiet but around her, I can hear the hustle and bustle of people setting things up for the charity event. It’s going to be the highlight of the city for at least a month, and my mom won’t have it any other way.
But Joy is quiet for so long that my holiday senses start tingling. This cannot be anything good.
“What is it?” I finally demand, picturing her biting down on her red lip. She only does that when she has something she doesn’t want to tell me or when she’s thinking of her boss. He’s some mountain man that she won’t tell me the name of because she signed an NDA when she went to work.
