Chapter 2
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?”