A Little Christmas Romance by H. M. Ward

CHAPTER 1
     
     
    The elf working next to me is going to get bitch-slapped. It’s bad enough that I’m stuck working with chimney-scented Santa, but they also have to pair me up with her? Brittani grins at me in her glittering green elf outfit, and wiggles the tips of her fingers in a cutesy-style wave. She looks like something a unicorn barfed up, and I don’t look much better. We’re both decked out in Christmas tree-colored polyester green uniforms, green tights, and green elf shoes—which means the toes curl and have a bell, because what elf would be caught dead without a set of bells on their toes—along with make-up to make the tip of my nose and my cheeks look rosy.
    If someone I know spots me, they’ll laugh their ass off, which is why I’m at the mall in Massapequa instead of the one by my house. I’ve always been the chick that perky girls run away from. But, my normal dark attire is at home collecting dust. I’ve been stuck wearing this tight, itchy, thing for the past month, filling in for girls who couldn’t bother (or were too ashamed) to show up.
    To sum things up—this is the worst job ever. I’d rather be a po oper scooper for reindeers, because this is hell. Imagine dressing up like a slutty elf and being forced to stand in the middle of the mall all day long with a passive aggressive Santa and a perky chick who thinks she really is an elf. This is my life.
    Ignoring Brittani, I walk over and kneel down in front of the next little kid that’s in line to have her picture taken with Smokey Santa. “Hey, sweetie. Are you ready to see Santa?” Her eyes go wide when I talk to her, and then her gaze lifts to my bright red hair and pointy little cap. Then she sees them—the elf ears.
    Her little hand lifts hesitantly and she points, “Your ears look pointy.”
    I smile at her. She’s cute, maybe four or five , with a big red ribbon on the side of her chestnut hair. “It’s because I’m an elf.”
    “And you sparkle.” Her awe is palpable.
    “I’m a Vegas elf. We’re all about the glitter. Come on and see Santa. He’s the real deal.”
    The little girl takes my hand as we walk up to the gingerbread house with Santa sitting on h is throne, or whatever the hell it’s supposed to be. We walk slowly toward him since Brittani is letting a kid linger longer than she should.
    The little girl’s grip on my hand tightens. “How do you know he’s the real Santa? My mom said the real Santa is working tonight.” He should be. NORAD has Santa’s ass in China right now, but the guy is sitting here taking gift orders. Go figure.
    Smiling at her, I say, “When you get up there, take a sniff. The old guy smells like smoke. He was out earlier tonight, delivering presents and got stuck in a chimney. True story.” The little girl’s eyes light up and the second Santa’s lap is free, she races over.
    Brittani scoffs and heads over to the next group, which contains one preteen boy who looks completely pissed off, and clearly does not want to be standing in line to see Santa. His arms are folded over his chest and he keeps shaking his head. Brittani can’t get him onto the red carpet where he’s supposed to wait his turn, and his little sister is starting to tear up . Not another screamer . Rushing over, I tell Brit to get the next one and lean in close to the older kid. “See Santa’s throne?” The little boy glances at me out of the corner of his eye, suspiciously. I know he doesn’t want to be caught dead anywhere near Santa’s Workshop. That stuff’s for little kids. So I hold up my hand to my mouth and lean in, whispering, “It’s made out of reindeer bones.”
    “No way?” He glances over at me with wonder in his eyes. Yeah, too much Minecraft for this one.
    “Way. Touch it when you walk over. The armrest on the right is made from Prancer’s left leg.”
    The little boy takes his sister’s hand and pulls her onto the red carpet. His mom mouths thank you and I turn around. Only a