by MINK
“No? That’s too bad.” She smiles. “I’ll have to send you one then.”
“That’d be nice, though I’d prefer you deliver it yourself.” I reach over and take her hand in mine. It’s such a small thing, holding her hand, but it’s also enormous. This one easy movement and the touch of her skin—it’s the world and everything in it.
“I’ll be sure to do that.” Her smile is radiant. “Do you not have a lot of family?”
“Not really. I left home sort of young and don’t have much contact with my brother or cousins. My dad split when I was young, and my mom passed a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry.” She squeezes my hand. “I had no idea.”
“Thanks.” I slow for a red light, the roads quiet as usual on this side of town. “I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that.” I take a deep breath. “It hit me harder than I thought it would, to be honest. We hadn’t talked in a long time because of my work.”
“I’ve always wondered that about you. You must have some sort of computer job you can do from home, huh? I’m not great at computers. I mean, I can get around and everything, but I don’t understand programming or any of that.”
“Actually, I’m retired.” I shoot her a glance.
Her eyebrows lift. “Retired? But you’re so young!”
I laugh. “Thanks, I think. What about your family?” I turn the questions around, mainly because I don’t want to explain what I used to do for a living. After all, breaking kneecaps and disposing of enemies isn’t going to keep the conversation afloat.
“Oh, I have two younger brothers. One’s in New York doing some sort of hedges? Hedging? Not landscaping, but something with money? I have no idea. I just know he’s loaded. And my youngest brother, Ryan, is still in college. He’s into art. He actually took some pictures of my woodworking for one of his classes. Like did an exhibition and everything of me making things.”
“I’d love to see those photos.”
Her cheeks turn pink as she looks down, humble. “Oh, the art was in the way he took them.”
“I’d have to disagree.” I pull her hand to my lips and kiss the back of her hand. “Seriously, I want to see them. I’d love to have some copies.”
Her cheeks turn an even deeper pink, and she has a smile on her face that melts my heart and soothes my soul. “Okay. I’ll, um, I’ll see if he can do that.”
“Thank you.” Just the thought of her beautiful face gracing my walls has me feeling warm all over.
“Any more worries about the guy from last night?” I turn onto the main street of Frozen Falls. Shoppers are busy going from store to store on the decked-out lane.
“I, um…” She frowns.
“If you’re scared, you’re free to stay at my place. Sylvester and I would love to have you over.” Just the thought of her staying in my house, or my bed, has my heart racing.
“I’m not scared. I guess I’m just confused. I thought there was a man, but there’s no evidence of him, you know? Except the …”
“The what?” I ask.
Her brows draw together. “Well, I keep finding that h—Oh, there’s Ted.” She waves as we pull up to the post office.
My warmth fades into a steely cold. Ted stands and waves. He was emptying the dropoff box outside, but the minute he saw Jocelyn, he stopped what he was doing. And now? Now he’s giving her a goofy grin.
Murder is no longer on my to-do list or part of my career. All the same, I’m already mentally cataloging all the locations where I could dump a body outside Frozen Falls. And I can guarantee no one would ever find Ted, not so much as a hair from his overly-styled hair.
10
Jocelyn
I try to remind myself to stop staring at Mac, but I can’t help myself. It’s extra hard as I watch him pick up the giant boxes with all my orders in them. His arms don’t even flex as he does it, which is both amazing and sucky at the same time.
I enjoy those hard grunts he makes when something is really heavy and the way his arms will flex showing off all those thick muscles he has. But then again, these boxes may be giant to me, but I’m sure they are nothing to him. All I know is that he looks crazy hot no matter what he’s lifting.
“These already have postage on them, right?” Mac asks, catching me trying to stare through his long sleeve shirt that’s hiding everything from me. “Lil bit.” The use of the adorable name he’s given me has me snapping back to attention.
“What?”
He smirks at me. “Do these already have postage?”
“Yes.” I nod. His smirk turns to a full-blown smile for a second before it drops away. His eyes quickly narrow on something behind me. I glance over my shoulder. Ted’s coming our way.
“I was going to text you. You’ve got some crazy mail here waiting for you. We’ve almost run out of room to store it,” Ted says as he draws closer to me. “Let me grab it for you. I could’ve come by later to deliver all of it. It’s too much to put in your box. Figured I could give you a hand.”
“I don’t get much mail.” I shake my head. “So that’s kind of weird.”
Ted follows us into the building.
“Swing by.” Mac grumbles from behind me. “We’ve got it taken care of. I can help my lil bit.” My face flushes at him calling me his in front of other people.
Behind the counter, Jane’s eyebrows raise in clear approval. “Let's get those scanned in for you.” She motions for Mac to bring the packages over, and she starts scanning them in.
When Ted comes from the back of the office a few minutes later, my mouth falls open. He’s dragging two giant sacks. They’re so enormous he can’t even lift them. It reminds me of Santa’s bag of toys, only filled with mail.
“Those are envelopes.” I point out the obvious as I peek inside the bag. I reach in and take one out. It’s addressed to Santa Claus. “They aren't addressed to me.” I flip it around to show Ted. He only laughs.
“I think they are filling that name in because it’s Christmas. It’s your address though.” He has me there; it’s definitely my address. My stomach starts to churn when I open the first letter. As I feared, it’s a letter addressed to Santa. It’s written in red crayon. There must be a mistake. Or the man in my garage wasn’t some crazy person having a mental break. He was really Santa. I shake my head because that’s crazy. And getting his mail is crazy, too.
This isn't happening.
“You’re very popular,” Mac grumbles again as he comes to stand next to me and all the packages that have already been scanned in. I hand him the letter. He quickly reads it. “That’s cute, but why are they coming to you? You set up some sort of exchange or something?”
“These aren't meant for me. You should return them.” That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. No one can prove otherwise.
“If you want.” Ted starts to pull the bags back, but Mac takes hold of them.
“We aren't returning letters that kids sent to Santa. Imagine the heartbreak they’ll feel if they think Santa doesn't give a crap.”
“Oh gosh.” I look up at Mac, who’s glaring at Ted. “I didn't even think about that.”
“I’ll take these.” Mac says, and pulls both bags from Ted, who he is still glaring at. Do these two have some kind of beef or something? As much as I want to know the gossip of why they don’t get along, I don’t have time to get into the details because obviously I now have hundreds of letters to deal with. “Come on, lil bit. Let’s get some food, and then we can figure out what to do about the letters together.” He emphasizes the last word.
“Thanks,” I say to Ted as I pass by him.
Mac gets us all packed back into the truck. I watch as snowflakes start to fall. My eyes sting with tears. I’m going crazy. I glance over my shoulder to the back of the truck to see the two big bags of letters. Or maybe I’m not crazy. The mail is real. Ted sees it and so does Mac. But that would mean the bells I’ve been hearing are real, too. What do they even mean? I take a deep breath. This is a lot to h
andle.
“What if Santa is real?” I ask Mac as he pulls out of the post office.
“I think that would be kind of cool. This world could use a little magic.” His answer warms my insides.
“Mac.” I sigh his name. He’s already making me feel better. “You’re a gentle giant. Did you know that?”
“I don’t think anyone has ever called me gentle before.”
“Really? You’re always so sweet to me.”
“To you.” He pulls into the parking lot of our local diner.
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes, not believing him for one second. I don’t think Mac has a mean bone in his giant body. I can’t imagine what he'd think of me if he found out I killed Santa. Which I’m really starting to think I did. How else could you explain all this?
I unclick the seatbelt and go for the door. Mac grabs me. In a blink of an eye he pulls me into his lap. I don’t even try to resist. I want him to hold me and comfort me.
“Something is bothering you.” His big hands cup my face. Concern shows in his eyes. “Is there something more to this man you saw lurking around your house the other night? I promise, lil bit, I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.” My eyes fill with tears again. He’s so freaking sweet, and I’m nothing but a killer. I’m the worst killer of them all in fact, because I knocked off Santa.
“I killed Santa!” I blurt out. I cover my mouth with my hands. I wasn't even under investigation, and I folded like a cheap chair. Mac stares at me for a moment before a deep laugh comes from him, shaking my whole body.
My phone starts to ring. I scramble off Mac’s lap and grab it. My eyes pop out of my head when the name Head Elf shows on the screen. I hit decline, but it doesn't work. It keeps on ringing. I do the only thing I can do to get it to stop. I throw it out the window.
Mac stops laughing.
“Why the hell did you do that?” he asks. Then his phone starts to ring. He reaches for it, and I snatch it from his hand. I go to toss it out the window too, but he’s quicker than me and takes it back before answering it.
“Mac,” he says when he takes the call. He hesitates for a moment, then turns his gaze back to me. He pulls the phone away from his ear. “They’re asking for you.”
11
Mac
She takes the phone from me, then taps the speaker button so I can hear, too. I don’t know what’s going on, but there’s no way Jocelyn killed Santa. She’s far too sweet and innocent for cold-blooded murder, especially not of an imaginary guy with flying reindeer.
“This is, um, Jocelyn?” She winces away from the phone.
“This is Cinnamon Stick. I’ve been trying to contact you via Jingle Phone, but you’ve refused to answer, which has left me no choice.”
“Wha-what?” Her wide eyes are locked with mine.
“The Jingle Phone.” The voice is mid-range, petulant, and nothing short of bossy. “Surely you’ve heard it.”
“I’ve heard bells, sure, but that’s not—”
“Never mind that,” he snaps.
“Hey.” I take the phone back. “You’ll speak to her with respect, or you won’t speak to her at all.”
He scoffs. “Oh forgiiiive me for being short when we have only 23 days, eight hours and 47 minutes until Christmas!”
Jocelyn covers her face with her hands. “Oh my God, I really killed Santa, didn’t I?”
“We received a Santa alert last night. It came from your premises, and then our line to Santa went silent. The North Pole has been on high alert ever since, and as head elf of the workshop, I’ve been trying to contact you. After all, you only have 24 hours and change before you are required to select the new Santa. So I need you—”
“Select the new Santa?” Jocelyn says between her fingers.
The guy gives a long, labored sigh. “The hat, Jocelyn. The hat. You choose the new Santa by placing the hat on his head. If you don’t get it done within 48 hours of the Santa alert, Christmas will be canceled.”
“Canceled?” Jocelyn’s voice sounds strangled.
“That’s what I said.”
“But how do I find another Santa? Like, at the mall?”
“That’s the easy part. All you have to do to ensure that Christmas goes off without a hitch is find the perfect Santa candidate,” he chirps. “It’s simple. We prefer older, typically over 50 or so, a round belly—or dadbod as the kids say these days—” He laughs, a tinkling, wheezy sound, then clears his throat. “White hair, white beard, and most importantly, a giving spirit. The best man you’ve ever met, who cares for others, who is generous, and who loves children. You must place the hat on his head. Then, voila, we’ll have our much-needed Santa.”
“She’s supposed to find this guy in two days?” I don’t know if I’m going along with all this, but the look on Jocelyn’s face tells me she believes it. “How?”
“Actually, she has just over one day. The Santa alert sounded at approximately eight o’clock last night, which means—”
“Yeah, we get it. But why can’t you just come get the hat and pick a Santa yourself?”
“Yes!” Jocelyn nods furiously. “Yes, do that!”
“No.” The voice seems to narrow, getting sharper. “Though I would enjoy handling this myself, it’s firmly against the code for anyone from the North Pole to choose the next Santa. Office politics can get ugly. I’m sure you understand. You have the hat. The hat does the choosing.”
“No, she doesn’t understand. Neither do I.”
“It’s simple. Jocelyn de-hatted the last Santa—”
“De-hatted? I don’t follow.” I’m starting to think I should’ve just let her toss my phone out the window.
“The last Santa has departed this holly-filled life. As Jocelyn was the one responsible for de-hatting Santa, she is the one who is responsible for locating the next Santa. You are the only one who can find the most pure of heart, dedicated, and jolly candidate. The hat will tell you who that is.”
“What if she doesn’t want to?”
He finally shuts his mouth. Then, after a few beats, he says, “If Jocelyn decides not to award the hat to an appropriate candidate, then I’m afraid this Christmas will be canceled.”
“You can’t cancel Christmas.” I shake my head at the phone.
“People can still have celebrations, and trees, sure.” Speaking slowly, he truly sounds sad, as if saying these words hurts him. “But there will be no special gifts under the tree made by the North Pole elves. No reindeer flying through the sky. Put simply, if no Santa is chosen, there will be no magic at Christmas, ever again.”
“This isn’t real. Is this real?” Jocelyn’s tone is pleading as she looks at me. “Mac, am I losing my mind?”
“I hear the elf, same as you.” I rub the bridge of my nose. “You’re not crazy. Or maybe we both are.”
“I have to go. Production has been shut down ever since the alarm sounded. We’re behind, and if we don’t work twice as hard as we ever have, we won’t have the sleigh loaded for the big day. Choose wisely. Christmas depends on it.” The call ends.
I toss my phone on the dash and stare at it, then look over at Jocelyn.
She’s pale, her eyes wide. I reach for her and pull her into my lap again. Leaning my seat back, I get her comfortably seated on me as I stare into her eyes.
“So the man you saw at your house … Was he dressed like—”
“Santa.” She gives a solemn nod.
“Did he say who he was?”
“He said his name was Nicholas.”
“What happened, exactly?”
She takes a deep breath. I grab her hands and hold them in mine, warming them as she tells me what happened in her workshop and how the hat keeps showing up.
The snow is falling faster by the time she’s done.
I glance at the diner. “Come on.” I throw open my door and pick her up, carrying her down from the truck and setting her on her feet.
“But I only have a day to find a jolly, older, pure of
heart guy who loves children!” Her voice is shrill.
“First, you need to eat.” I open the diner door for her, then lead her to a booth and sit beside her. “Then, we’re heading back to my place to figure this out, okay?”
I give the server our order. He eyes us like he’s trying to figure out where we’re going to put all the food. He doesn’t have to worry. I can put it away, and I’m going to make sure my lil bit is stuffed and happy before we leave here.
“It’s going to be okay.” I stroke her hair from her forehead.
“But I killed Santa,” she whispers as her eyes water.
I kiss her gently, tasting and caressing as she slowly unwinds. I cup her cheek, comforting her as I soothe away her fear one kiss at a time. When our food arrives, she’s breathless, and her cheeks are pink. I’m glad the table hides my bottom half, because I’m hard as a rock and hungry for more.
“First, we eat.” I scoop up some crispy, cheesy hashbrowns and feed it to her.
She takes it, shy at first, then closing her eyes as she chews. “I didn’t realize I was so hungry.”
“We’ll figure this out,” I tell her again, feeding her more.
None of this seems possible, but if Lil Bit believes it, then it’s real to her. That means it’s real to me. I’m here for her, no matter what.
“I’m sorry I got you involved in all this.” She sips her tea.
“If it has anything to do with you, I want to be part of it. And you should know, lil bit,” I offer her another forkful of waffle, and she takes it as I lean in close. “I would’ve helped you hide the body. And I always will.”
12
Jocelyn
I should not be turned on by the idea that Mac would help me bury a body if I asked. Even so, I must admit that is one of the sweetest things anyone has ever said to me.
It’s also sweet that he’s pretending to believe I killed Santa. I feel bad that I’ve pulled him into my mess, but having him on my side, whether he believes me or not, is helping to calm me.
