Chapter 20 Santa Stealer
Twenty
Santa Stealer
Brie
“Brie! Come to my office.”
I groan, wanting to slam my forehead against my desk. What ridiculous task does she want today? Find a reindeer with an actual glowing red nose? I plaster on my fakest smile and step into her office. “Yes, Mrs. Kingsley?”
She taps her pen against her desk with all the subtlety of a ticking bomb. “I think we need a refresh in the Santa this year.”
My jaw drops. “You want to fire Mr. Bernstein? He’s been Santa for decades. He is the Holly Jolly Festival.”
“Exactly. Which is why we need something new.”
My chest constricts. “Okay, but don’t you think it’s a bit late? We kick off the Holly Jolly Festival in two days. Santa makes his first appearance in four. And you want a replacement now?”
“If you can’t manage it, I’ll certainly do it myself. But it won’t bode well for your initiative to become the Mount Holly event coordinator.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. I square my shoulders. “No. I got it. New Santa. Check.”
“Mr. Wilkins’s son plays an excellent Santa in the Chester Creek parade,” she adds. “Poach him.”
I choke. “You want me to steal Chester Creek’s Santa?” How do I find myself in these situations?
“Make him an offer he can’t refuse.”
I’m assuming “make him an offer” doesn’t mean sexual favors. Sure, I joked about exchanging sexual favors for services earlier, but she must be kidding. Right? But it’s Mrs. Kingsley; she’s a do-whatever-it-takes kind of person. From the gleam in her eye, I’m not entirely convinced.
“I assume you will make this happen. I’d hate for this to be your last opportunity to make something great of the Holly Jolly Festival.”
“Yes. Absolutely. I got this.” Or it will be an epic fail, and I’ll be searching for a new job by New Year’s.
Stalking Santas in a twenty mile radius wasn’t on my holiday to-do list, but if I want this promotion, I need to stalk like my life depends on it—because it does.
My first phone call was to Nathan Wilkins.
He informed me he’s not playing Santa this year, as he’s going on vacation.
Even if sexual favors were on the table, they’d be useless.
I dial a number and cross it off my list when they decline.
Unfortunately, bribes of free tickets to the Holly Jolly Festival don’t make a good exchange when the festival is already free.
I even offered free coffee and cookies for the duration of the festival, but they all pass up the amazing opportunity to play Santa in the best Christmas festival in the state, if not the entire nation.
By my twentieth phone call, my voice is raspy from leaving so many messages.
I sip tea to soothe it as I scan over my dwindling list of potential Santas.
Suddenly the room goes dark. Setting my pen down, I rise to my feet and glance out the kitchen window.
The streetlight in the alley is out as well.
Checking all the windows, the entire street is dark.
By the time I stumble back into the kitchen to grab my phone to make sure I have cell service, the lights flicker to life.
At least it didn’t last for days like two years ago.
I’m the proud owner of a generator that I’ve only used once because of it. But my dad insisted I get it.
One hour and ten more calls later, I’m no closer to finding a Santa. Then my phone rings. All my muscles tense. This could be the future Holly Jolly Festival Santa. Without glancing at the screen, my fingers fumble to answer. “Hi, Brie speaking.”
“Brie, we need your help.”
“Simon?” Did I accidentally ask Simon to play Santa? My brows raise. He wouldn’t be a bad Santa. It’s workable.
“Yes. Bring every cooler you have. And ice to the diner.”
I pause. “Look, I know we’re good friends and all, and we have each other’s backs no matter what, but I don’t want to be interviewed by the police later.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Coolers. Ice in the middle of winter. Next, you’ll ask me to bring a chainsaw, which, by the way, I don’t have.”
“I don’t know what you’re referring to, but no. All of Willa’s freezers went out. The power outage must have caused a surge or something. We need to get all of her food into coolers.”
“Oh!” I jump to my feet. “Yeah. I’m on my way.”
The diner is pure chaos when I arrive. People rushing from one side of the kitchen to the next. “Hey Willa! I have coolers.”
Her usually perfect hair is frizzed as much as she is. “Thank you so much.” She exhales a deep breath.
“How long were they out?”
“An hour tops. When I came in to work on menu planning, I noticed the freezers weren’t running. We tried the breaker, but nothing. I can’t lose thousands of dollars of food.” Her voice trembles.
“Don’t worry. We’ve got you.” I spin around and crash into a wall of muscle. “Oh, sorry.” A wall that smells like fresh laundry and manliness. Logan. Of course, he would be here. Why wouldn’t he be here? If the day needs saving, he’s not far away.
I offer him the world’s tightest smile before darting away. We’re in limbo—somewhere between enemies and not-quite-friends—and this is neither the time nor place to analyze why he makes my heart stutter.
We form an assembly line, hustling containers out of the dead freezers and into coolers. Then Mrs. Peterson’s voice booms over the clatter.
“I’m so glad you could come help, Logan. It’s nice to see strapping young men who are ready to lend a hand.”
“Happy to help.” Logan smiles, the dimple on his cheek making an appearance.
Fuck me.
“Why don’t you go near the front of the line to help there?” She grabs his hand and leads him toward me. “Here, this is a good spot.” She pats his arm before walking away.
Perfect. Because what I really needed tonight was to save a diner full of food while standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the man I’m supposed to hate but can’t stop noticing smells way too good.
I shoot him a tight smile, determined not to stare.
Logan inches closer to me as more people shuffle into the line.
His shoulder brushes against mine. The touch is nothing—barely there—but my body reacts like he just plugged me into a socket.
Exciting. Unwelcome. Totally traitorous.
I am supposed to hate him. Not imagine pushing him against the walk-in freezer, climbing him like a tree, and dry-humping his stupidly muscular thighs.
“Brie? Brie?”
I jerk my gaze up. Cara’s holding a frozen ham, brows raised.
“Right, sorry.” My voice comes out squeaky.
I grab the ham and pass it down the line to Logan, whose fingertips graze mine deliberately—or maybe that’s just my overactive imagination.
Either way, every accidental brush is a chemical explosion, and by the fifteenth exchange, I’m buzzing on some cocktail of dopamine and lust. And of course, he knows it.
Each time, he sneaks me a sidelong glance, dimple flashing like he’s cashing in on my weakness.
By the time we slam the last cooler shut, I’m practically floating.
“Thank you, everyone,” Willa breathes, sagging against the empty freezer.
“Of course,” I say, swiping sweat from my forehead. “Fingers crossed it all stays good.”
“Me too. It should be good.” When everyone else scatters, Willa steps up next to me. “I was a little nervous about you and Logan working next to each other, but not a single insult was hurled in either direction.”
“We can be around each other without bickering.”
“Have you not seen you two? Especially in the past three weeks?”
“Tonight, we came together for a common cause.”
“Well, glad I could bring you two together. But there’s no other reason there were no expletives thrown at each other?”
“Nope. Nothing that I can think of,” I spit out entirely too fast to be casual. I can’t tell her I want to drag him outside and kiss him in the snowbank like it almost happened before.
“Uh-huh.” She smirks knowingly.
Before I can dig myself deeper, Mason calls for Willa. “I got my truck loaded up to head over to Sip and Sleigh. Sloane’s going to meet us there.”
“Thank you again.” She wraps her arms around me, and I hug her back.
“Of course.” When I turn around, Logan’s gone.
Just… gone. My heart dips. I don’t know why.
Was I actually going to say anything to him, anyway?
What would I even say? Every time you touched me tonight, you lit my body on fire.
I can’t stop thinking about you, even though I want to strangle you.
I had a sex dream about you, but now I want the real thing. Yup. I’m sure that would go over well.
On the drive home, my phone chimes with a message.
Glancing at the screen, it’s from Scott, Santa number eight from my list. He tells me he’s available for this year’s festival.
I guess it’s better than nothing. As I pass the festival grounds headlights catch my attention.
I ease off the gas pedal, keeping my eyes focused on the other vehicle.
What are they doing? The vehicle crawls to a stop, and I continue to move toward them.
As I get closer, I squint my eyes, trying to focus. My shoulders sag once recognition hits.
I park my SUV behind the white truck and jump out, leaving the vehicle running. “What are you doing here? Looking for something else to steal?” I cross my arms over my chest.
Logan spins around. “No. I was checking to make sure the power surge didn’t spark any fires.”
“Oh.” I blink. That’s unexpectedly thoughtful. “Thanks.”
“No problem. I better check on the carnival. I don’t want it to burn to the ground if there’s a fire. But I’m sure you’d be excited about that,” he teases.
“I may have thought about it a time or two, but I’d never want it to actually happen. You’ve worked hard, and I’d really hate for that to be destroyed.”
Something soft flickers across his face before he masks it. “Thanks. I’ll see you around, Brie.”
And damn it, the way he says my name—low, deliberate—sends butterflies crashing into each other in my stomach like bumper cars. I don’t like it. Except… I absolutely do.
“Bye, Logan,” I murmur, softer than I mean to.
I stand there, watching his taillights disappear into the night, until the dark swallows him whole. Hating him is supposed to be easy. But it’s getting harder and harder when he does things like this.