hoot!
Clearly, the warm weather, the ill effects of the economy on the town that used to be crawling with tourists this time of year and was now at an immobilized standstill, and the loss of Mr. White three years ago had kicked his imagination into high gear.
Wait’ll the guys get a load of this!
Gingerly making his way down the hall, he stopped into the bathroom to brush his teeth, then went to the kitchen and hit the brew button on the coffeemaker he’d set up before he’d left the house and had tied one on with Kris and Rudy. He impatiently tapped his toe as the coffee started to drizzle into the carafe.
When he had a decent amount collected in the glass container, he lifted it from the burner and poured the desperately needed caffeine into his favorite Got Sleigh? mug.
He padded over to the credenza against the far wall, where he’d left yesterday’s mail. With bills and coffee in hand, he shuffled lazily to the round, glass-top table in the breakfast nook. The blinds were partially open and he averted his gaze from the bright sun streaming through.
But out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of vibrant red and a distinctly familiar shape in his backyard...
He spewed his first sip of coffee, the liquid flying from his gaping mouth and covering the smoky tabletop in tiny droplets. He set the mug down and slowly turned his head.
Holy fucking reindeer shit .
There sat Santa’s sleigh.
Chapter Two
Come on, girlfriend, think of something clever to write. Think of Frosty and elves and big fat, fluffy snowflakes. Think of something cheery and brilliant!
The exuberant voice inside her head made Vixen White cringe. She didn’t feel the least bit cheery, brilliant or exuberant.
She stared at the blank page in front of her, willing her mind to come up with anything for her latest book. She desperately needed inspiration and thought she’d find it—the way she had many, many moons ago—at Sugar Plums. The bakery sat on the south side of the town square, along Prancer Street and opposite Always Christmas department store where her grandfather had played Santa in his year-round village.
Always Christmas, my foot.
She reached for her iced tea. She should be sipping hot cocoa or a hot toddy while enjoying her pastries and racking her brain. But, no. It was much too toasty for a hot anything, even in the evenings, which was so bizarre this time of year. Global warming seemed to have specifically targeted the once-festive town of North Pole and hung on with a vengeance.
As for the pastries... Well, she could say her good friend Jenny Bells, who managed the bakery Rudy’s family owned, clearly lacked inspiration as well, because there was an ingredient or two missing from what was supposed to be Sugar Plums’ most famous Christmas cookie. It hadn’t been baked with love the way it’d always been in the past, that was for damn sure.
Vixen sighed. The cozy, warmly lit bakery was usually the perfect place for writing. Jenny let her take a table by one of the picture windows that looked out on the pretty, pine-tree lined square, not minding how long Vixen stayed. Once upon a time, that would have been hours per visit. Back in the day when she’d had enthusiasm for her stories, along with witty and heartwarming tales to tell.
She’d been writing children’s Christmas books most of her life. She’d published her first one at the age of twelve, and had put out a book a year after that, with her grandfather’s help. She’d never struggled for material the way she did nowadays. Being around her robust, white-haired and rosy-cheeked granddad had made her imagination run wild with holiday possibilities and adventures. But since he’d passed, she simply couldn’t get her muse to come out and play.
Closing the electronic file and shutting down her laptop, she polished off her iced tea and was just about to call it a day when Jenny slid into the seat opposite her.
“Hey,” she said, flashing
Clearly, the warm weather, the ill effects of the economy on the town that used to be crawling with tourists this time of year and was now at an immobilized standstill, and the loss of Mr. White three years ago had kicked his imagination into high gear.
Wait’ll the guys get a load of this!
Gingerly making his way down the hall, he stopped into the bathroom to brush his teeth, then went to the kitchen and hit the brew button on the coffeemaker he’d set up before he’d left the house and had tied one on with Kris and Rudy. He impatiently tapped his toe as the coffee started to drizzle into the carafe.
When he had a decent amount collected in the glass container, he lifted it from the burner and poured the desperately needed caffeine into his favorite Got Sleigh? mug.
He padded over to the credenza against the far wall, where he’d left yesterday’s mail. With bills and coffee in hand, he shuffled lazily to the round, glass-top table in the breakfast nook. The blinds were partially open and he averted his gaze from the bright sun streaming through.
But out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of vibrant red and a distinctly familiar shape in his backyard...
He spewed his first sip of coffee, the liquid flying from his gaping mouth and covering the smoky tabletop in tiny droplets. He set the mug down and slowly turned his head.
Holy fucking reindeer shit .
There sat Santa’s sleigh.
Chapter Two
Come on, girlfriend, think of something clever to write. Think of Frosty and elves and big fat, fluffy snowflakes. Think of something cheery and brilliant!
The exuberant voice inside her head made Vixen White cringe. She didn’t feel the least bit cheery, brilliant or exuberant.
She stared at the blank page in front of her, willing her mind to come up with anything for her latest book. She desperately needed inspiration and thought she’d find it—the way she had many, many moons ago—at Sugar Plums. The bakery sat on the south side of the town square, along Prancer Street and opposite Always Christmas department store where her grandfather had played Santa in his year-round village.
Always Christmas, my foot.
She reached for her iced tea. She should be sipping hot cocoa or a hot toddy while enjoying her pastries and racking her brain. But, no. It was much too toasty for a hot anything, even in the evenings, which was so bizarre this time of year. Global warming seemed to have specifically targeted the once-festive town of North Pole and hung on with a vengeance.
As for the pastries... Well, she could say her good friend Jenny Bells, who managed the bakery Rudy’s family owned, clearly lacked inspiration as well, because there was an ingredient or two missing from what was supposed to be Sugar Plums’ most famous Christmas cookie. It hadn’t been baked with love the way it’d always been in the past, that was for damn sure.
Vixen sighed. The cozy, warmly lit bakery was usually the perfect place for writing. Jenny let her take a table by one of the picture windows that looked out on the pretty, pine-tree lined square, not minding how long Vixen stayed. Once upon a time, that would have been hours per visit. Back in the day when she’d had enthusiasm for her stories, along with witty and heartwarming tales to tell.
She’d been writing children’s Christmas books most of her life. She’d published her first one at the age of twelve, and had put out a book a year after that, with her grandfather’s help. She’d never struggled for material the way she did nowadays. Being around her robust, white-haired and rosy-cheeked granddad had made her imagination run wild with holiday possibilities and adventures. But since he’d passed, she simply couldn’t get her muse to come out and play.
Closing the electronic file and shutting down her laptop, she polished off her iced tea and was just about to call it a day when Jenny slid into the seat opposite her.
“Hey,” she said, flashing
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