She nearly plows into me. “I thought you’d enjoy this place.” Her voice rises at the end, making it sound almost like a question.
“I love it, but this type of thing usually makes you crawl out of your skin. Why are we really here?”
She opens and closes her mouth wordlessly. Finally, she blows out a long sigh. “Okay, okay. Let’s get some hot chocolate and I’ll fill you in.” Without waiting for a response, she ducks into a building and motions for me to follow. Inside, I’m greeted by warmth and the smell of fresh coffee and baked goods. There are mostly adults in here, sitting at tables or the counter that overlooks the street. Celia tells me to grab a seat while she goes to the front counter, where a middle-aged man—the first employee I’ve seen who isn’t dressed as an elf—takes her order.
She joins me a minute later at the small table I’ve chosen, carrying a tray with two mugs and a plate of sugar cookies. She sets one of the mugs in front of me. I can’t help but grin at the mountain of whipped cream and the scent of mint that tickles my nose. I’m so relaxed and content, I’m half tempted to tell Celia to forget it and we’ll just carry on with our evening as if I don’t know she’s keeping something from me.
She chooses the moment I bite into a cookie to blurt, “I’m going to be working here.”
Crumbs slide into my windpipe, making me splutter and cough. Celia watches with wide eyes as I take a sip of cocoa, which luckily isn’t scalding because of all the whipped cream. I clear my throat and start to laugh quietly. “Thanks for that, Ce. Next time save your jokes for when I don’t have a mouthful.”
Her brows form a V. “I’m serious, Ivy. I’m going to be working here.”
Her insistence, paired with her serious expression set me off. This time when I start laughing, it rolls out of me in uncontrollable giggles. Celia, working here.Here!The Canadian Christmas equivalent of the Happiest Place on Earth. A place where elves wander the streets greeting people with smiles, and an undeniable feeling of cheer and goodwill fills the air.
Tears collect in my eyes from the force of my laughter, which I’m trying and failing to contain. The couple at the table a few feet away eye me with amusement, which doesn’t help. Finally, I manage to suck in a few deep breaths without lapsing into hysterics. As I wipe the moisture from my eyes, I glance at Celia, freezing when I see her sour expression. “Oh my god, you’re serious.”
She gives a jerky nod. Her lips are compressed tightly and her cheeks are flushed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Celia blush before.
“Wha—how—wh—” Shock prevents me from forming a coherent question. “How did this happen?”
Celia picks up her hot chocolate and takes a long drink, avoiding my eyes. When she sets the mug down, she plucks a sugar cookie from the plate. Instead of eating it, she begins picking it apart, letting the crumbs collect in a pile on the table. “The employment agency wasn’t much help,” she says, still avoiding my gaze. “They didn’t even bother to hide their disdain when I went in. Let’s just say after going through my résumé, realizing I don’t have references from my last few jobs, and eliminating the things I’m not qualified for, there were slim pickings.”
Celia is usually full of bravado—chin up, eyes blazing, ready to take on the world. Always ready for a fight, even when a fight isn’t necessary. Now, though, her shoulders are hunched and her chin has dipped so far it’s nearly touching her chest.
“An older woman in the office took pity on me and offered me a ride home,” Celia continues. “We drove around for a bit and ended up passing by here. She asked if I’d ever been, and I told her this is the type of place my nightmares are made of.” She raises her head and gives me a small, rueful smile. “She didn’t say much after that. When we got to the apartment, she stopped me before I got out of the car and told me an attitude adjustment might go a long way in helping me get my life together. I was kinda pissed at the time, but then her words spun around in my head all night, and my thoughts kept coming back to this place.”
She’s dismantled her cookie into a heap of fine crumbs. I expect her to leave it or maybe collect them in her napkin to dispose of later. Instead, she scoops the crumbs into her hand and pops them in her mouth. Okay then.
“So on Saturday, I found the number for this place and I called,” she says, bits of cookie flying out of her mouth. “I asked to speak to whoever was in charge of hiring new people and I told them I was exactly what they never knew they needed. They were intrigued enough to agree to meet with me.”
My mouth nearly drops open. “That takes more backbone than I thought evenyouhad.”
She snorts. “Right? I surprised myself too. Anyway, I mustered up all the confidence I could manage and I marched into management’s office and told them my idea.” She pauses and I swear it’s for dramatic effect. She’s finally meeting my gaze again and the light is returning to her eyes, so I wait patiently for the big reveal. “I told them all the happy, smiley, sparkly-cheeked elves were great. That fairytale quality is what people expect when they come to a place like this. But every fairytale needs a villain. I told them what they’re lacking is a character like the Grinch or Scrooge. Nothing too scary or sinister—I’m not suggesting they add a Krampus to their roster of employees—but someone to wander the Village and spread a little bah humbug, you know? They could make it interactive and get the word out that if you ‘catch’ the character, they’re forced to spread some good cheer by handing out a ballot to enter a daily or weekly draw for a gift basket from one of the shops. Winner’s choice—one for adults, one for children, and one for families.”
She pauses again, this time to take another sip of her hot chocolate. I’m speechless. Her idea is absolutely brilliant. “You came up with this all on your own?”
“Yeah! My mind was spinning, desperately trying to think of what I could do for a job. I don’t want to work in retail. I’m not good with people, plus the repetition is so boring. I’m not qualified to start my own business or work from home, and I don’t have experience for an office job. Even if someone was willing to train me, my résumé is a joke. Between thinking about that and what the woman from the employment agency said about my attitude, this idea popped into my head. I figured at this point, what do I have to lose, you know? And it paid off, because they were interested in my ideas.”
“Celia, that’s amazing. I’m impressed.”Reallyimpressed. She’s been bugging me for ages about getting her a job at Quest, but I keep putting her off, not only because I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to work together, but also because she’s not qualified. With innovative ideas like this one, coupled with her spine of steel, she might actually be an asset to a marketing team.
Her lips lift in the beginnings of a pleased smile, then quickly wobble and fall. “They said they truly did love the idea and think it would work well. They’d be taking a big risk, though—hiring someone with my lackluster employment background, plus the extra expense of the gift baskets. They said they’d be willing to give me a shot, but there’s a catch.”
I attempt to ignore the voice in my head that says there’s always a catch when it comes to Celia. My pride in her clever idea and her bravery in approaching the management of this place overshadow my negativity. Celia is her own worst enemy most of the time; she knows she needs to work, and yet she always does something to sabotage each job, whether she means to or not.
She seems excited about this job, though. Despite being a short-term gig—Santa’s Village closes just before Christmas according to a sign on the front gate—it would be something positive to add to her résumé. The boost in her morale might encourage her to go back to school, or maybe even open up other employment opportunities. Either option would mean her moving out and allowing me to return to a life of blissful solitude. I’m all for that. This is my moment to be the encouraging, guiding presence her parents hoped I’d be when they begged me to take her in.
“What’s the catch?” I ask.
Celia drops her gaze to the crumbs left over from the decimated sugar cookie. She pokes at them, shifting them around until they form a tiny mound. “They’re still short a few part-time elves,” she says. “You can imagine the number of people it takes to keep this whole place running. They have plenty of full-timers, but not many people want to cover the short shifts because they’re only a few hours long.”
She peers up at me. The imploring look she gives me makes my stomach drop. “They said if I could recruit at least one part-time elf, they’d hire me, complete with a bonus for coming up with such a great idea. And I…” She sucks in a deep breath and says the rest in a rush. “I told them I knew just the person.”
“Who?” I croak, even though I already know the answer.
“You.”
