Christmas Eve Love Story

One

On the first Christmas Eve

Annie Jones hurried out of the snow and in through the employee entrance at Lawson’s Finest in her red knitted pom-pom hat and peacoat, clocking in on her department store app, and— ahh! —almost mowing down Santa. She startled, jerking back. Where did he come from? She blinked at the jolly old elf, who seemed jollier—and maybe stockier—than the Santa she’d seen here before. His beard was very real looking too. It matched his bushy white eyebrows and the fluffy fake fur on his red tunic’s sleeves.

“Hello”—he smiled, and his rosy dumpling cheeks rounded—“Annie.” Her pulse spiked. She reached for her name tag. But no. That was under her coat.

She tugged on her neck scarf with her mitten. “How do you know my name?”

“Ho ho ho!” He tapped the side of his cherrylike nose. “Santa knows everything. Haven’t you heard?”

“Ha. Yeah.” Talk about being into a role. But still. She felt… What? Strangely peaceful inside? She slid her cell phone in a coat pocket, and a wave of calm washed over her, bathing her in comfort and joy . Which was…really, really weird. But reassuring somehow.

“I hope this is your best Christmas yet.” His baby-blue eyes twinkled, and she was swept back in time to that one special Christmas when she was nine. She’d gotten the prettiest snow globe with Santa’s sleigh inside it. A sign in the snowy white yard said: Believe.

Her heavy shoulder bag slid off her arm, hitting the terrazzo floor. Nooo!

Her purse jettisoned out of it, popping open. There goes my lip gloss tube, twirling away toward the elevators. She chased after it in her snow boots, dragging her bag along with her.

Ding-ding . An elevator chime sounded.

Great. Now one of her winter-white work pumps had toppled out of her tote.

What did Santa do? Curse me?

Wait. Where’d he go?

She bent to retrieve her shoe, and the elevator’s doors opened. Out walked a pair of shiny black men’s shoes, very official-seeming, with tied-tight laces. The toe box on one of them rose up—and came down—trapping her rolling lip gloss tube.

Annie slowly looked up—past those regulation navy-blue pants legs and— whoa —well-supplied duty belt, holding a flashlight, baton, radio, and—she gulped—a gun. Her gaze swept past his flat stomach and buff arms—in that blue button-down shirt with shoulder patches and a gleaming silver badge stating “Security.” He’d clipped a mic to a spot below his collar and above the center of his obviously rock-hard chest.

Her stomach did a tiny twirl.

This guy’s seriously built and—ooh—very handsome, with wavy dark hair and bright-blue eyes. He reached for the lip gloss tube and handed it to her. “This yours?”

“Ahh, yeah, thanks!” she said, a little breathy. Because, well. She didn’t have these kinds of run-ins often. As in, never. The only great-looking guys she spoke with these days were the ones in here shopping for their girlfriends or wives. She shoved the lip gloss tube in her coat pocket and yanked off her bright-red mittens, using them to dab her brow.

“No worries.” He smiled, and a dimple settled in his chin.

Her pulse hummed.

What? No! Stop that. No humming allowed. Especially not here! Not at Lawson’s. She had work, work, work to do. She stood upright, grabbing her canvas bag off the floor. Her second work shoe plopped out of the bag, landing by her feet. Groan. She picked it up, her face steaming. Not a super start to her workday. Though it was a continuation of her awful morning.

The security guard handed her the other shoe, after stealing a peek at its heel and maybe judging her. But hey! She liked looking nice on the job. Apparently, so did he. Wow. She crammed her things back in her bag, going slightly lightheaded. Likely from the glare of holiday lights. The store was all decorated for Christmas, and swags of greenery were everywhere. She grabbed on to an endcap fronting the toy section and held on tight.

He studied her a moment. “Have we met?”

She scanned his name tag: Braden Tate. Where had he been hiding? She definitely would have noticed him. He cut a stunning image against the backdrop of the jewelry counter, with its glittery rubies and emeralds on display. A fair number of engagement rings too. As if. Not with her record.

“Er, no. I don’t think so,” she said, refocusing her energy. She was a young professional woman, moving forward, and about to get promoted. She didn’t need old what’s his name any longer. Roy, his name’s Roy , an annoying little voice in her head said. Maybe it was good to remember some things. That way she could avoid repeating her mistakes. She sighed and let go of the endcap, prepared to stand on her own two feet. Annie looked down. It would be nicer if she wasn’t wearing ancient snow boots that had faded from red to dusty rose, but she had ordered new ones.

Braden shook his finger at her, like he’d put something together. “You’re our window dresser, right?”

She proudly squared her shoulders. Lawson’s soon-to-be Lead Visual Artist . “Um, yep. That’s me! I was just talking to…” She glanced around.

“Talking to…?”

“Our new store Santa.” A few sales associates strode toward their departments or opened registers. Annie craned her neck looking for Santa, but she didn’t see him anywhere.

Braden crossed his arms. “He’s not the one we had before?”

“No, I don’t think so.” She undid the brass buttons on her suddenly too-toasty coat. “This one’s very good.”

“So, maybe he’s the real deal?” Braden teased her with a grin. “You’re never too old to believe, I hear.” Snowflakes swirled through her mind, and she felt all mixed up inside, almost as if she were in that snow globe herself. Silly.

“Erm, that’s what I hear too.” She made a feeble stab at banter. “I mean, I’m sure he still comes to some people.” Annie rolled her eyes. “The nice ones on his list.”

“Right.” His mouth twitched. “The naughty ones get coal and switches.”

She gasped. “What? No. Santa’s always forgiving and kind.” This impromptu exchange was fun, almost flirty. Not that she flirted—much. Anymore. She was probably out of practice.

“Ah, so you do still believe,” Braden said deadpan.

Think. Think. Think. Witty repartee!

She drew a total blank.

Definitely out of practice.

“Um, sure?” She searched his eyes. “Don’t you?”

Annie bit her lip at Braden’s amused look. “I’d say the jury’s still out on that one.”

He peered toward the front of the store and past mounds of sales tables piled high with gifts for him, them, or her . “You did a great job with that window, by the way. Love your ‘Night Before Christmas’ theme.” She was pleased that he’d noticed. And glad he’d changed the subject.

She’d created a holiday window design in the long streetside window beside the main entrance. It portrayed a Christmas Eve living room scene, with a Christmas tree and a stocking hanging from the hearth’s mantel. “Thanks.” She made a show of reading his name tag, acting like she hadn’t done it before. “Braden.”

He grinned at her.

“Hi. I’m Annie.”

“Nice meeting you, Annie.” Braden stepped aside as more people exited the elevators.

“Yeah, um-hmm. You too!” So what if his eyes sparkled when he smiled, and he was handsome—and well, apparently, nice. She was twenty-four, and he was—what? Not yet thirty. Late twenties maybe. He was also probably married.

Quick ring check.

Ahh, nope!

All right then. He had to have a girlfriend at least. The good ones were always taken, according to Tina. Her heart gave a painful twist. She’d been the jerkiest person on earth, taking Roy’s word over Tina’s. Now the rift between her and her former best friend was too deep to repair.

Annie had to get her head out of this space. She was not in one of those rom-coms she binged on, and Braden was not her hunky hero. Besides that, Braden wasn’t interested in her and she wasn’t interested in him. Even if he was very attractive and maybe available. Also, maybe not. Most likely not.

She glanced at a wall clock, seeing it was nearly nine fifteen. Arriving late was not the best look when you were up for a promotion. “Sorry. I’d better—”

“Yeah. I’ve got to stop by the security office.” He eyed the far side of the salesfloor and the customer service area, beyond which the security office was located.

Braden turned as she pivoted toward the elevators.

They nearly collided.

His neck reddened. So did the tops of his ears, making him look cuter than ever with his face gone ruddy. “Ahh, sorry about that,” he murmured, and she went warm and fuzzy inside. He smelled super sexy too, like lemon and spice—and everything nice. She swooned just a little.

“Yeah, uh. Me too.” What if he wasn’t seeing anybody? Didn’t mean that he’d want to see her though. Still. Didn’t mean that he wouldn’t want to either. She licked her lips when her mouth went dry. “Well. Guess I’ll see you. I mean, hope so!” Awkward. Why not just throw yourself at him and take his number? Gee.

His eyes danced. “Same, Annie. See ya around.” At least he took it well. He’d probably joke about her with his girlfriend later. Random woman at work hitting on me. Who wears high heels and believes in Santa. Which she did not .

An elevator’s doors opened, and Annie jumped. “Santa!” This guy’s all over the place. He nodded and walked by her, heading for his workshop. This was turning out to be a really strange day. She boarded the empty elevator and spied Braden staring at her. She waved. Then, feeling stupid about it, she yanked her hand back down. She fumbled with her scarf. Her coat. Her bag. He squinted at her, like he didn’t know what she was doing. Thank goodness the elevator doors clamped shut.

She ripped off her pom-pom hat and her staticky brown curls crackled, fanning out around her shoulders. She face-palmed and moaned. If she could get one thing right today, that would be spectacular. Maybe her day would improve? Because honestly—she glanced at the lighted floor numbers above the elevator doors—the only way to go from here was up.

***

Patrice motioned Annie aside when she returned from her lunch break. Patrice’s crimson-colored pantsuit nicely complemented her complexion and tawny hair. Annie guessed she was in her fifties. “Have you got time for a little chat?” Annie’s spirits lifted. She’d been waiting for this meeting all day.

“Um, sure,” Annie said, following Patrice into the conference room. The employee break room and locker area were on the third floor. The first two stories of the building housed salesfloors connected by an escalator in addition to two elevators. A large stockroom adjoined each salesfloor. Business offices were up here. Patrice closed the door behind them, and they were alone in the claustrophobic space.

Annie’s heart lurched at her boss’s thin smile. It didn’t look exactly congratulatory. “I know you were expecting good news”—Patrice adjusted her large-framed red glasses—“and I’m really sorry not to be able to give it to you.”

Annie’s nerves churned. Wait. She was not getting promoted? Why?

Patrice crossed her arms and her blazer bunched up. “As you know, Veronica Lawson’s made several changes around here since inheriting the store from her grandfather.”

Annie was keenly aware of those changes. Reporting time was now nine instead of nine thirty, even though the store didn’t open until ten, and employees went off the clock for lunch, with shorter break times. When Oliver Lawson had been alive, things at Lawson’s Finest had been different. Employees used an old-fashioned time clock to clock in rather than a high-tech cell phone app with a built-in GPS locator. The atmosphere here had been congenial, friendly, and not so extremely focused on productivity. “Yes. And?”

“I hate to have to tell you this, but Lawson’s is not doing well financially.”

“What? Since when?”

“Since online shopping developed a stronghold. It’s getting harder and harder for independent businesses like ours to compete.” Patrice frowned, and lines formed around her mouth and eyes. “The sad truth is Lawson’s is looking to cut back.”

Annie’s anxiety spiked. “Cut back how?”

Patrice sighed. “By eliminating some of our regular employees and hiring freelancers.” Meaning Lawson’s could pay those individuals an hourly wage, without needing to carry the overhead costs of employee benefits, like health insurance.

Annie walked to the conference table and dropped down in a chair. She stared up at Patrice. “Are you saying the visual artist team—?” It was tiny as it was, consisting of only three people: one full-time lead—and that slot was vacant, a full-time assistant—her, and their part-time intern, Kira.

Patrice hung her head. “I’m afraid so.”

Annie’s thoughts raced. “But why us?”

Patrice pulled out a chair and sat beside her. “Ms. Lawson is aiming to trim staff wherever she can, and she’s not convinced our current displays are up to snuff. She claims they’re a bit”—Patrice shrugged apologetically—“old school, out of touch.”

That couldn’t be right. Annie had learned from the very best. Their former Lead Visual Artist, Julio, had primed her for this job before his move to Chicago. Once she’d assumed his position, Annie was supposed to get to hire her own full-time assistant, and she already had her top candidate in mind. Kira was gifted at her job and could do even more with additional training. Annie was sure of it. “But my work here—”

“Has been nothing short of stellar in my opinion. Unfortunately, it’s not only my opinion that matters.”

Annie gaped at Patrice. “How long have you known?”

Patrice removed her glasses and folded them in her hands. “Only since yesterday. Ms. Lawson reviewed our seasonal numbers, and I regret to say she wasn’t impressed.”

Queasiness roiled through her. Not only was she not getting promoted, Annie was on the cusp of getting canned. She’d been counting on this promotion and pay raise to help cover Leo’s vet bills. The cat was elderly, so his options were limited. But his forever home was already with her. Her stomach ached. Apart from her job, Leo was all she had.

“But I’m good,” Annie insisted. “Customers love my displays.”

Patrice’s dark eyes glistened. “Retail is down, Annie.”

“But not because of my windows. It can’t be that.” Doubt trickled through her. “Not only that?”

Patrice strummed her fingers on the tabletop, and her many rings glinted in the artificial light. “You know those electronic door gizmos Lawson’s installed? The ones keeping track of the number of folks entering the store?”

“Yeah? So?”

Patrice crossed her legs, and her black ankle boot tipped up, its toe pointing skyward. “When foot traffic goes down, so do sales.”

Annie shifted in her chair. “Lots of factors contribute to foot traffic. Advertising, competitive pricing, marketing, promotions.” She glanced toward the hall, grasping for straws. Something. Anything. “The weather .”

Patrice’s ankle boot bobbed up and down as she stared at Annie. She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “Look,” she said kindly, “nothing’s been formally decided regarding the layoffs, and won’t be until after the holidays. I— Well. I just wanted you to be prepared. And hey,” she said, her tone brightening, “maybe there’s still time for you to come up with something—new? Groundbreaking. Fresh!”

A pang of dread gripped Annie. Without a job, she might lose Leo. Steady employment was a requirement at the rescue, and she’d merely been fostering him so far, meaning to apply for adoption after getting her raise. “But it’s already Christmas Eve. Isn’t it too late?”

Patrice shook open her glasses, sliding them back on her nose. She peered through them and straight at Annie. “We’ll have our post-Christmas sales figures to consider, and those can be a huge revenue booster.” Patrice turned up her palms. “You’re very talented, Annie. Maybe there’s still a way for you to pull a rabbit out of this hat?”

Right. And there’s really a Santa Claus too.

Annie braced herself against the table and stood on wobbly knees. If ever there was a day when she wanted to crawl back into bed and start over, this was it. “Thanks,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “I’ll work on it.” Just how, she wasn’t sure. Her eyes burned hot. But no. She wouldn’t cry. What good would that do? It would only make Patrice feel worse, and she clearly felt horrible enough. “Have you talked to Kira?”

“I’m speaking with her next.” Patrice stood and smoothed down her slacks. “I’m sorry, Annie. Really, I am.”

“It’s okay, Patrice. None of this is your fault. I appreciate you telling me.”

Patrice walked toward the door and turned with her hand on the knob. “Oh! more thing,” she said as an apparent afterthought. “I meant to ask you earlier to check your front window display. It seems the Christmas tree lights have gone out.”

Annie shut her eyes.

Of course they had.