Dashing Through the Snow (Sugarplum Hollow #1)

Prologue

Mrs. Claus

Oh, hello there, little elf. Don’t just stand outside in the blizzard like a lost snowflake. Come in, come in! Wipe your boots, grab a hot cocoa, and mind the reindeer. They have been awfully nosy as of late, and I don’t want you to leave with wet nose kisses all over you.

Now then—welcome to Sugarplum Hollow—the sweetest small town just outside of the North Pole.

Population: a few dozen elves, an exhausted sleigh mechanic, nine reindeer shifters and their families, and yours truly, Mrs. Claus.

Although, do call me Estelle because Mrs. Claus makes me sound like all I do is bake cookies all day and nag the big guy about his cholesterol.

Which—alright, fine—I do. But only because I care.

You will always hear the tinkling of hammers, the chatter of all the gossiping elves, and of course smell fresh-baked cookies daily.

If you were hoping to maintain your waistline—it won’t be here.

Every generation of reindeer men, heartthrobs with six-packs, and smiles that would light any woman’s underwear on fire, passes down the reins of Santa’s flight team to the next son in line.

Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen—you know the names.

Honestly dear, it’s almost a full-time job keeping their inflated egos in check.

Handsome devils, the lot of them. You’ll see soon enough just how much of a handful they are.

Those nine make up what we call the Circle of Nine—Santa’s Official Sleigh Team.

Men who know they’re handsome and use it to their full advantage.

If you aren’t surrounded by their deep pine cologne, then your hair is being whipped around you as they fly by.

You should see the elves who trip over themselves just to deliver the hot cocoa to one of them. Each of these men possesses speed, charm, and enough mischief to make me sprout gray hairs beneath my bonnet. It’s a miracle most years that we are able to get Christmas done on time.

Now, this season’s hot cocoa is coming in piping hot.

The rumor is that this year Ryatt Dasher—yes, that Dasher—is supposed to be stepping into the big leagues.

You know, taking his place on Santa’s sleigh team.

But it seems young Ryatt has cold feet, bless him.

Instead of embracing his destiny, I fear that he’s run off to New York City like a lovesick Hallmark hero determined to carve his own path into this world.

My heart is heavy with the thought of something happening to him and with his father’s magic flickering like a candle by a drafty window, this is the worst possible time for a Dasher to go missing. If he doesn’t return soon, this year’s Christmas magic may unravel faster than tinsel in a dryer.

You see, people think the North Pole is all magic, ho-ho-ho, mistletoe, and Christmas fun year-around.

The toy division is almost always behind and the gingerbread union is always chanting about an impending strike.

If they have to work on a Sunday, you can bet your Christmas stocking that the streets will fill with the loud roar of their anger.

There isn’t a nook of this town that you could stand in and not hear it.

And as if that weren’t enough…the reindeer?

Don’t even get me started on the sexy-as-sin men who are the bane of my existence.

They are always one existential crisis away from quitting.

The amount of times I have one in my office complaining and whimpering about something inconsequential could fill my office with packing peanuts.

And would you believe it? There’s an elf—well, she has only dressed as one—about to make him forget all about his duty, North Pole woes, and the impending role he must take.

Between you and me, Aurielle’s been nudging this one along.

Goddess loves her romance. Humans rarely stumble into our destiny circles by accident.

Something I’m sure will make this love story my new favorite.

But there’s an allure about her, twinkling in the sugar as I pour it into the bowl.

It’s as though she has her own magic, maybe not the same magic as mine.

But there is something there in the way she crafts her worlds.

Now drink up, dear, and enjoy your freshly baked thumbprint cookies. You’ve now joined the Sugar Dusters Society, and we know this story is going to be dashing.

But don’t you worry your snickerdoodle heart, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in all the centuries of being the matchmaker of Sugarplum, it’s this: “love always finds its way home, even with my little nudge.”

Welcome to Sugarplum Hollow, little elf. Bring your hot cocoa, enjoy the cookies, and watch yourself crossing the road—we wouldn’t want another incident report. The logistical paperwork is a nightmare I don't have time for this close to Christmas.