Chapter 2 #2
The photographer moved in for a few shots of us together, then I leaned closer to the boy. “I’m going to do everything I can to help your family this year. Hang in there; things are going to get better soon. I promise.”
“Thank you, Santa.” The hug Carter gave me was fierce and trusting and nearly destroyed my carefully maintained Santa composure.
The parade of kids continued for the next three hours—children requesting everything from iPhones and gaming consoles to Barbies, bikes, and the occasional pony.
Some handed me extensive lists, others wanted their parents to stop fighting, and one memorable six-year-old asked if I could make her little brother “less annoying but not completely gone.”
By the time the last child had their photo taken, my list had grown to nine families I wanted to help. My fingers were already itching to get back to my keyboard and turn their struggles into Christmas miracles.
As the stragglers lingered around the refreshment table at the end of the event, enjoying the last of the cookies and carols, I slipped backstage and peeled off the Santa suit.
The beard came off, then the fake belly, and within minutes I was back in my comfortable street clothes and outside on the sidewalk, glancing down Highway 2.
The entire downtown sparkled with Christmas magic—twinkling lights and garland wrapped around every lamppost, people strolling or stopping to admire some of the storefront window displays, the sound of carolers in the distance, and that wonderful smell of street vendors roasting chestnuts nearby.
This was my favorite time of year, when the entire world seemed to believe in humanity and possibilities again.
I crossed the street to the library, my mind already shifting into hacker mode as I pushed through the front doors.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get far …
“There he is!” Eleanor Vanders, the library director, appeared from behind the circulation desk with a suspicious gleam in her eyes that immediately put me on high alert. “How was everything at the community center?”
“It was great—amazing, actually,” I said, still thinking about encrypted bank transfers and anonymous donations. “The turnout was even better than last week.”
“Wonderful! I’m so eager for you to meet our new volunteer. Follow me …” Eleanor gestured toward a woman near the reference section, then we headed in her direction.
Since when did we need more volunteers?
The woman sensed our presence, turned and smiled, then walked toward us.
She appeared to be forty-ish with shoulder-length brown hair.
She had an understated, wholesome appearance, with brown eyes that sparkled with wisdom—the kind of person who probably read encyclopedias for pleasure, but also knew how to change a tire in the snow.
Wait a minute …
I glanced at her outfit as she stopped in front of us.
Jeans. Gray cardigan. Navy Hokas.
Then I glanced down at my clothes.
Jeans. Gray sweater. Navy Hokas.
She seemed to be doing her own assessment, and I caught the exact moment she realized we were dressed alike.
“Sam, this is Rose Thompson,” Eleanor announced with obvious delight. “Rose, meet Sam Monroe, our archivist and the man who practically runs half the community programs in town. He also makes my job easier, even though I never asked for his help. I really don’t know how he has the time for it.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said, extending my hand while trying not to glance at her clothes again. “Thank you for volunteering—that’s very kind of you.”
Rose’s handshake was firm and brief. “Happy to help.”
“I’m surprised our paths haven’t crossed before,” I said. “Leavenworth’s pretty small—I thought I knew everyone.”
“That’s because Rose just arrived from Seattle!” Eleanor chimed in with the enthusiasm of someone sharing delicious gossip.
“Ah, that explains it,” I said. “Are you here permanently?”
“It’s temporary, actually,” Rose replied with a slight shrug. “I’ve got the entire month of December off from work, thanks to way too much accumulated vacation time. I figured Leavenworth would be the perfect place to escape the city during the holidays.”
“Smart choice. December here is pretty magical,” I said.
“Where are you staying?” Eleanor asked.
“The Bavarian Lodge,” Rose said.
“You chose well,” I said. “Right in the heart of the action.”
“And we’re so lucky to have you,” Eleanor added, then her mouth dropped open, like she’d just witnessed a shooting star. “Look at you two! You’re matching! What are the odds of that happening?”
My brain kicked into analytical mode before I could stop it. “Well, assuming a random selection from a typical adult wardrobe of approximately forty clothing combinations—”
“Actually,” Rose surprisingly interrupted, “you’d need to factor in seasonal preferences, regional climate, and the demographic likelihood of shopping at similar stores within a five-mile radius.”
“I was just about to say that,” I said, surprised and oddly energized by having someone actually follow my logic. “So we’re looking at approximately fifteen viable winter combinations for this geographic area, making the odds roughly six-point-seven percent.”
“But that assumes completely random clothes selection,” Rose countered, and I could see her mind racing in real-time. “Given the location is a library, there’s a higher probability we’d choose ‘professional casual,’ which narrows it down to maybe eight realistic combinations.”
“So approximately twelve-point-five percent,” I calculated.
Eleanor’s head swiveled between us like she was watching the world’s nerdiest tennis match.
Rose held up a finger. “Though if we factor in the psychological tendency to prioritize comfort over fashion …”
“The odds jump to around twenty percent,” I finished.
“Exactly,” Rose said.
We stood there staring at each other.
What just happened?
The ease with which we’d just deconstructed a simple observation into a statistical analysis had seemed to startle both of us. It was like finding someone who spoke a language I thought only I knew.
Eleanor looked between us with growing amazement. “I … wow. That was ... thorough.”
Warning bells went off in my head.
This woman’s brain operated on my exact frequency, which meant she was either my soulmate or my downfall—and given my current circumstances, probably both.
Eleanor finally broke the spell. “Looks like you’ve met your match, Sam! Someone who actually thinks like you do. What are the odds of that?”
Rose opened her mouth to answer, and I quickly held up my hand to stop her. “It was lovely to meet you, Rose, but there is quite a bit of work to catch up on. All pretty time-sensitive.” I turned toward my desk, suddenly desperate for the safety of my computer screen.
“I can’t wait,” Rose said, and to my horror, she started following me.
I froze mid-step, confusion replacing my mental calculations.
Turning back, I looked between Rose and Eleanor with growing paranoia. “What’s happening here?”
“Sam—she’s your volunteer for whatever projects you need help with!” Eleanor said, like this should have been obvious. “Rose is at your disposal.”
“But please don’t dispose of me,” Rose said, with what I think was supposed to be humor. “The recycling bins are too small, and I bruise easily.”
I didn’t laugh.
This situation was not funny at all.
The universe had just sent an oddly fascinating and intelligent woman directly into my carefully hidden and protected world. A woman who could finish my sentences, analyze my thought process, and have the same fashion sense as me.
It was the single most terrifying development I had experienced in years. And the worst part was, I did not know what to do about it.