Never sleigh never, p.2
Never Sleigh Never, page 2
My mind’s a jumbled mess. I was just in Logan Crawford’s arms. My hands on his chest. A truck nearly turned me into roadkill. “Well, the truck was going entirely too fast. And it wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you,” I spit out.
“Wow. So this is my fault now?” He crosses his arms over his broad chest.
“Yes. Yes, it is. It’s exactly your fault.” I mimic his pose.
He rolls his eyes. “Please. Explain.”
“If you never came back to town and started doing whatever you’re doing with all the trucks,” I wave at my currently trapped vehicle, “and caging me in, this wouldn’t be an issue. What are you doing here, anyway?” With my hands on my hips, I bore my gaze into his, but he doesn’t back down.
He shrugs. “I thought Mount Holly could use some extra holiday cheer this year, so I’m organizing a carnival.”
A Christmas carnival? Not in my town. “We have enough cheer, thank you very much. It’s called the Holly Jolly Festival. And I am this year’s event coordinator.” I point to the field. “Whatever you think is happening here is not approved. I suggest you shut it down.”
“Just because you asked doesn’t mean you always get what you want.”
“The festival is important to me.”
“And my carnival is important to me. What’s your point?” He lifts a perfectly sculpted light brown brow. “I’m not shutting it down because you said so. Besides, I didn’t know an event coordinator held such weight in this town.”
My nostrils flare. He has a point, but I don’t like it. “Well, I’ll find out, and I’ll get back to you.”
He flashes me a dimpled smile. “You do that then.”
I rub the center of my forehead. “This is just like high school all over again. You come in and ruin everything. Because you have to be number one. Logan Crawford, best at everything.”
“You said it. Not me. Also, tell your parents I say hi. Actually, I need to stop by the hardware store. Your parents still own it?” Before I can tell him to get lost, he finishes, “Never mind, I’ll tell them myself.”
I huff, pivot, and stomp away.
“Hey Brie!”
I freeze.
“Watch out for speeding trucks. I’d hate to rescue you twice.” I whip my head around and glare at him. He winks. “I’ll do you a favor and move this truck so you can leave.”
“Don’t do me any favors. Moving the truck is common curtesy. Not a favor.”
“Just say thank you.”
“To you, never.”
“You’re welcome.” He climbs into the truck, turns the engine over, and pulls forward, giving me just enough room to squeeze out.
Not wanting to waste another second, I jump into my SUV and step on the gas, driving in the opposite direction of town, but I don’t care. I’ll take the scenic route back. I just need to get away from Logan. My hands tremble as I grip the steering wheel. This isn’t how the kickoff to the holiday season was supposed to go down. It was to be joyous and exhilarating, not like I want to commit murder. I whip the steering wheel right, brake hard, and skid to the shoulder. Park. Inhale. Hold. And exhale a primal scream that probably startles a crow three counties over. Sadly, it still doesn’t make me feel better. My phone chimes with a message. Glancing down, a smidge of comfort washes over me. My other best friend will help me wallow in this catastrophe.
Willa
Checking in to make sure you didn’t get kidnapped by the Grinch in a white windowless van claiming to sell Christmas decorations.
Brie
No van. But worse.
Willa
Ooo. What can be worse than a kidnapping?
Brie
Logan fucking Crawford.
Willa
Yikes. I bet you wish it was the van.
Brie
Yep.
Willa
Your breakfast sandwich is getting cold. Come to the diner and I’ll make you a new one. Then you can tell me what Logan has to do with anything.
Brie
My Christmas Wonderland turned into a Christmas hell.
Willa’s strawberry-blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail, her signature work look. The Jolly Biscuit stretches across the front of her gray shirt. She greets me from behind the counter with a to-go bag of my usual turkey sausage patty, egg white, and pepper jack cheese, on a whole wheat English muffin.
“So, I hear you’re making out with Logan Crawford on the side of the road.”
My mouth falls open. “No! My lips would never touch his.”
“Mrs. Hanson says otherwise. She said she saw you two embracing in a lip lock on the side of Snowflake Lane by Reindeer Ridge.”
“Mrs. Hanson needs to get her eyes checked, because none of that happened.” The gossip runs rampant through town, and today it seems to be spearheaded by the head Gigi herself.
“But you did run into Logan.”
“Unfortunately. And by the looks of it, he’s not passing through town. He’s building a Christmas carnival.”
“Ooo. Competition.” She leans on the counter, resting her chin on her hand.
“No! Not competition. More like a pain in my ass.” I rub my temples. A headache tap-dances behind my eyes. “What time is it?”
“8:55.”
“Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m going to be late! And it’s all Logan’s fault!”
“Fine. I’ll let it slide this time, but the Deer tonight. Because I need the rest of the kiss story, and it’s raffle night.”
I drop my shoulders and glare at her.
She holds her hands up in defense. “I heard kiss. Until you tell me the full story, it’s a kiss.”
I roll my eyes. “Is it too early to drink now?”
“It might be best to wait until at least noon.”
“I’ll call you later.” I spin on my heel and wave my hand over my head. A gust of icy wind smacks into me as soon as I land on the sidewalk. Mondays can swan-dive straight into the frozen Winterberry Creek.
Two
Flaming Yule Log
Brie
Stupid Logan for making me late. Okay—technically, I made me late, but it’s because of Logan. Without wasting another second, I shoulder through the heavy steel doors of town hall, boots squeaking traitorously as melting snow tattles on me. As I dash up the stairs two at a time I pray I can shave a couple seconds off my tardiness. It doesn’t matter. If Mrs. Kingsley checks the surveillance video, she’ll know I’m sneaking in like a teenager past curfew. I round the corner to my desk and tiptoe like the floor’s made of bubble wrap. I freeze. The only sound I can make out is my heart thumping in my ears. With trembling hands, I pull open the bottom drawer, hoping to keep it from clicking, and slowly slide my purse inside. Gently, I shrug out of my coat and hang it on the coat rack behind me. Pinching my eyes closed, I lower myself to my chair. The shaft squeaks as my weight pushes down on the metal. Slowly, I continue to ease down, until I’m fully seated. My ears are on high alert for any sounds of movement. When the coast is clear, I exhale.
“Brie! Come in here for a moment,” Mrs. Kingsley yells from her office down the hall.
My teeth grind together as I silently curse myself. “I’ll be right there!” I shove my chair away from my desk and swipe the strands of hair off my face. The soles of my boots continue to squeak on the tile floor as I stroll toward the door leading to her office. Before I reach the doorway, I pause, straightening my hair and saying a silent prayer that she doesn’t know I arrived late. I peek my head around the doorframe. “Yes, Mrs. Kingsley, you wanted to see me?”
Without looking up, she says, “You’re late.”
Dammit. “Uh. Yes. Sorry. Henry’s sheep Brad got out again. You know how he is. Wanderlust is in his blood, and Mount Holly is his playground. Of course, when you need him to move, he doesn’t.” I deploy the widest, most innocent smile in my arsenal. No carnival talk yet—not until I have a battle plan.
She drops her pen to her desk and glances up, meeting my gaze. Not a single hair is out of place or a piece of lint on her blouse. She’s fully composed as always. I’d love to see her let loose. I bet she’d be a riot. But a blizzard in hell is more likely to happen.
Her lips purse, then relent a fraction. “Unfortunately, I’ve had an encounter or two with that sheep.” Her fond memories of Brad are quickly forgotten as she pushes a stack of papers toward me. “I need you to look over these contracts for the festival. Remember, this year I’m putting you in charge. If you can pull it off, my position—when I retire after this year—is yours. I know you’ve waited a long time for this.”
I bite back my smile and grab the stack of contracts from her desk.
“Yes, Mrs. Kingsley.” Waited a long time is cute for eight years of hauling folding chairs and solving frosting emergencies. The entire town has been whispering about her retirement for three years. Plus, I’m the only logical replacement. I can practically predict her sneeze schedule. The position is as good as mine.
“And if you don’t…” she adds.
A sucker punch to the gut nearly drops me to my knees. There should be no “if you don’t.”
Her beady stare bores into mine. “It will be up to the town council if they want to hire an outside agency to handle all future events in Mount Holly.”
“An outside agency?” A cold sweat prickles my skin. “But Mrs. Kingsley, do you think that’s the best plan for Mount Holly? They know nothing about our town.” I can’t keep the panic out of my voice.
“Perhaps that’s exactly what this town needs. An outside perspective. Someone to bring excitement back to our small community.”
My shoulders deflate. “We have enough excitement here,” I mutter. The 4th of July parade last year drew the largest crowd Mount Holly has ever seen. Granted, it helped that the Women’s USA curling team joined our parade since a woman on the team grew up in a neighboring town. The autograph line stretched down Mistletoe Street, and Willa nearly camped overnight.
There’s been no mention of an outside agency until now. Sure, there have been a few—or several—mishaps during the previous festivals that happened on my watch, but an outside agency? I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to lunge across her desk and shake the answer out of her. But Mrs. Kingsley is five foot nothing and has made grown men sob into their mittens. I don’t want that to be me today. “Yes, Mrs. Kingsley. I’ll get started on these right away.”
“Good. I have high expectations of you. We don’t need another… inflatable incident.”
I wince. “No, ma’am. I’ll triple-check the tie-downs myself.”
Last year, a blizzard rolled through Mount Holly, causing the Santa and Frosty giant inflatables to loosen. By morning, the ties twisted together, causing Santa to thrust his hips against the backside of Frosty every time there was a slight breeze. All the children of Mount Holly now believe Santa likes to give hugs from behind. By December twenty-fifth, the townsfolk of Mount Holly, but I’m pretty sure it was Mason and Simon even though they both denied the act, thought it would be hilarious to add tiny plastic snowmen in Santa hats surrounding the inflatables.
“I expect nothing less,” she says crisply. “This year, you’re in the driver’s seat. Make the Holly Jolly Festival the best we’ve ever seen, and I’ll know you’re the right successor.”
I nod along. No pressure. No pressure at all. Especially when I have Logan Crawford in town. The golden boy, the hometown hero, the hockey legend himself, competing with his own Christmas carnival. “Sure, no problem. I will make sure that this year’s Holly Jolly Festival will be the best this town has ever seen.”
“That’s the spirit. Of course, I’ll be here to oversee anything if you have questions or concerns. But otherwise, I believe these are yours.” She turns around, rises to her feet, and collects three overflowing three-ring binders. She steps around her desk and drops them into my hands on top of the contracts. The heavy weight threatens to make me topple over as my arms struggle to hold everything. I know exactly what these are. The Holly Jolly Festival Bibles. All the vendor information, marketing, business plans, budgets, and attendance records. Everything that makes the Holly Jolly Festival function.
She returns to her desk chair and gives the computer monitor her full attention, essentially dismissing me.
For the second time today, my stomach falls to my ass. I spin on my heel and exit her office, clutching the binders and papers to my chest. This wasn’t news I was expecting. An outside agency knows nothing about this town. They wouldn’t understand the small, tight-knit community we’ve built here. They’ll only ruin it with all their big-city glitz and glamour. For the past eight years, I’ve worked as the assistant event coordinator. Eventually, I thought I would get the job. I’m not saying the town council should give it to me, but why not promote from within? I know all the inner workings of every event planned in Mount Holly. Especially the Holly Jolly Festival. It shouldn’t be given to some outside agency who has never stepped foot inside the town’s limits. Sure, there may have been one or two, or ten minor mishaps in years past, but they’ve never been because of negligence on my part. I can’t control the weather. Maybe Santa had a thing for Frosty that finally came to fruition that cold and windy night. That could make for some good fanfic. I thumb through the stack of contracts. New motivation unlocked. I’ll make this year’s Holly Jolly Festival so dazzling the council won’t even think of the outside agency.
At my desk, I drop the binders and exhale. I know I need to jump into the deep end of event planning, but my brain is currently a snow globe someone won’t stop shaking. Bending over, I yank open the bottom desk drawer and pull out my phone. Glancing over my shoulder, Mrs. Kingsley’s door is now shut, so I slink down the hall like a raccoon who knows where the good trash is. Once in the restroom, I call Sloane. She’s always the voice of reason. Maybe she can talk me out of smothering Logan with my scarf.
After a few rings, she answers, “Sip and Sleigh.”
“Do you ever have one of those nightmares that you can’t seem to wake yourself out of?” I pass the three closed stall doors as I pace to the other side of the restroom.
“Um, sure. Yeah.”
“That’s me right now. Except it’s not a nightmare. It’s my life!” I freeze and pinch the bridge of my nose.
“What has you so frazzled? Especially for a Monday. I thought you always make Mondays your bitch.”
“Currently, this Monday can suck it. It’s not even noon, and I already want this day to be over. Actually, the week. No, month. Let’s fast forward to next year.” I wear a hole in the tile as I pace back and forth.
“Where are you? It’s kind of echo-y.”
“I’m in the bathroom because my boss can’t hear me.”
“What happened?”
I sigh. “Where do I begin? For starters, I just found out if I don’t nail this Holly Jolly Festival, she’s going to pass it over to some out-of-town firm who knows nothing about the town. We all know they’re just going to ruin the whole spirit of our town and the holiday. The Holly Jolly Festival is the backbone, no, the heart of Mount Holly.” It used to be the top festival in the state. Sadly, over the years, the joy and excitement diminished.
“I grew up three towns over and even I heard about it.”
I throw my hand in the air. “See! That’s how popular it was. Eight years ago, when I joined Mrs. Kingsley as the assistant, I offered fresh ideas to draw a crowd. Gradually, each year got a little better. We added more activities and games and rides. Together, we brought back the tradition of the Holly Jolly Festival to Mount Holly.” I blow out a deep breath, remembering some of the more memorable mishaps. “Now I can’t say that each year since I’ve been here hasn’t been without a few hiccups. Like when the reindeer thought Mistletoe Street would make a good runway.”
Sloane snorts. “I remember when the mini sled dog race turned into a mini dog orgy.”
I pinch my eyes closed. “I never thought No Humping Allowed would become a rule, but here we are.”
“Don’t forget, turkey frying is banned after the turkey hut went up in flames.”
“Yes! Luckily, Mason was on duty that day and got the fire out with minimal damage to the other huts. These are all minor mishaps, that’s all. They could happen to anyone. Including whatever outside agency the town council thinks could do a better job.”
“I’m sorry. That sucks.”
“To add another Yule log to my fire, which is already burning out of control, Logan Crawford is back in town.” I roll my eyes.
“Who’s Logan Crawford?”
“Well, let me tell you about Logan Crawford. He is only the most annoying, condescending, know-it-all, arrogant jerk Mount Holly has ever produced. The cherry on top is he’s the biggest pain in my ass.”
“So there’s history there. Did you date him? Wait! Did he dump you? You sound like a scorned ex-lover.”
“No, and hell no. Why would I be the one getting dumped? Why can’t I be the dumper and not the dumpee? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. If he was the last person on this planet, I wouldn’t want to date him. Like, if me and him were required to repopulate the earth, I’d send him a fruit basket wishing him the best of luck on the apocalypse and call it a day.”
“Alright. What does him being in town have to do with anything?”
“So not only do I have to pull off the best festival this town has ever seen, but I also have to do it while he’s organizing his own Christmas carnival.”
“Okay. So, you’ll have a little competition? You can handle it.”
“But I don’t want or need competition. I already have a lot riding on this without the added pressure of competition.” When there’s a first and second place involved, I always get the silver medal, and I can’t afford to come in second. “He’s not even in town for three hours, and he’s already back to ruining my life.”
