“Not that I’m aware of,” Shelly responds as reaches into her desk and pulls out a set of keys. “Here are the keys to your bike, since that’s the most inconspicuous vehicle you own, but it’s supposed to snow this weekend.”
“Thanks, Mom! Can I have my allowance too?” I snark before grabbing my keys and standing to my full height. “I haven’t had a drink in almost a year. I don’t know why you’ve been holding these over my head.”
“Because I enjoy getting my paychecks. Scraping you off the pavement after you kill yourself on that thing hinders me from getting said paychecks.”
“Oh, you love me.” I give her one of my patented smiles before turning and heading for the door.
“That smile does nothing for me. If you tell anyone, I’ll deny it,” she whispers before calling after me. “Lucas!”
I turn around and notice the hint of fear in her eyes.
“Please be careful.”
“I always am.” I give her one more smile before pulling the door shut behind me.
I need to get home and pack. Apparently, I’m spending the week in Christmas Town, USA.
I spend the next few hours in the police station, going over all the sordid details once again. After making my statement, I head home to pack, hop on my bike, and head toward Santa Claus. The drive is straightforward, but I keep to the back roads. I manage to avoid people and can run my Hayabusa through its paces.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to let loose, and I’m feeling free for the first time in over a year. People have been sitting in the wings waiting for me to mess up again. It’s enough to drive a man crazy. I don’t agree with Shelly sending me out to the middle of nowhere, but I have a feeling this is just what I needed.
I pull off the main road on to North Holiday Boulevard, flying past the gingerbread house and a few other locations named after different holiday themes, but it seems to be just like every other small town I have driven through.
I change my mind the instant I turn onto what I can only describe as main street, revealing the Christmas-centric town I was expecting. I pull into the first available spot and remove my helmet as I kill the engine, then look around. I’ve parked in front of the visitors’ center, identified by the sign with the words written in bold directly in front of me. To my right is the post office, decked out in garland and multicolored twinkle lights, with the big guy dressed in his customary red suit in a position of honor front and center. To my left is the place I have been looking for.
“It’s now or never,” I say out loud before throwing my leg over the bike.
It’s time to enter Santa’s Workshop, the last place I expected to be when I woke up this morning.
Chapter 2
Mistletoe
“That will be one hundred dollars even,” I say to the older woman standing opposite me.
“Here you go,” the woman responds, pulling out a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill.
You don’t see people using cash often in these parts, but you can never be too careful. Not wanting to be swindled by the little old lady, I hold the bill up to the light to examine before swiping across it with a purple pen.
“Is that really your name?” the woman questions.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Having the name Mistletoe Claus would seem like a joke to anyone, but sadly, this is my legal name. When your parents make their living being Mr. and Mrs. Claus, you end up with a name made for a Hallmark movie.
“Yes, ma’am. But I prefer to go by Misty. Have a good day, and merry Christmas!”
The older woman waves before grabbing her purchase and heading out the door.
I sigh, stepping around the counter and replacing the Department 56 figure she just bought. You would think that with these things being so expensive, fewer people would buy them, but they practically fly off the shelves. My parents—hell, this entire town—are obsessed with Christmas. Even after my mom died in a car accident, my dad has always kept the Christmas spirit alive in our house.
People flock here in droves attempting to find Christmas spirit, but some of us can’t wait to escape, myself included. Growing up in a town centered around a particular holiday can be stifling. A deep love for Christmas runs through our entire family…until it got to me, that is.
I wouldn’t say I hate Christmas, but I could do with a few other holidays sprinkled throughout the year. It’s one of the main reasons I force my father to close the store from January until May. He runs off to warmer climates, and I’m able to think about something other than Christmas all day, every day.
“I’m going to have to order a few new figures,” my father mumbles behind me as he walks in from Santa’s workshop.
“Hey, Dad.” I give him a bright smile as I set the figure on the display and begin picking up the trash. “I have a list of what we’re running low on behind the counter. I wanted to make sure we didn’t forget anything this time.”
My dad smiles in return before gripping the back of his neck. “You know I would be lost without you, right?”
I nod my head.
“If only your mother could be here.” Sadness suddenly overtakes his features before quickly disappearing. “How about I get this order placed and we head over to the Brick Oven for lunch?”
“Sound good, but I can’t leave until the new renter for Mistletoe Manor arrives. Some hotshot rented out the entire place for a week.”
“Good for you! It will be nice to have some renters in that place before the Christmas rush begins.”
“I’m not complaining, but it would have been nice to have more than a day to get the place into shape. They’re lucky I had off this morning or I would have declined the rental,” I mumble to myself as I deposit the box and Styrofoam in the trash.
My mother named her old family house after me when I was born. Mistletoe Manor has been in my family for centuries, passed down to the eldest daughter in the family for no reason other than no one has had a boy as their firstborn in years.
My parents, Christian and Mary Claus, were both born and raised here. Determined to make a life for the three of us here in this small town, my father took over Santa Claus Workshop right after I was born. They became the quintessential Mr. and Mrs. Claus, and the rest is history.
The bell chimes over the door, signaling a new customer.
“Welcome to the Santa Claus Christmas Store.” I smile before stopping dead in my tracks.
My own personal Adonis ducks slightly and steps into the store. Chiseled jawline. His hair has that “just got out of bed” look. A leather jacket zipped to the top and fastened, more than likely to keep the wind from going down his neck as he races down the highway—the motorcycle helmet under his arm is a dead giveaway.
“How can I help you?” I squeak, pulling on my elf costume to control my nerves.
I have never been good at speaking to the opposite sex, mostly because I’ve never interacted with them. Being the chubby girl that lives and breathes Christmas never did me any favors with my peers.
“I’m Lucas. I’m looking for Misty. I’m supposed to pick up my rental keys from her.”