Dear Santa, Send Me a Cowboy

Prologue

DIANA

O ne very blurry, intoxicated night ago…

With heavy, unfocused eyes, I pulled my electric bill up to my face and tried to reread what I had just written on the back of it. The red, awful scribbles were barely legible under the dimly lit light in my kitchen. I was known for my calligraphy-like handwriting, but right now, it resembled my son’s chicken scratch more than it did my own.

“Dammit.” I pulled it back a few inches from my face, then with a groan, I slapped it down onto the counter and reached for my glass of wine. Tossing back the rest of the flavorless drink, I let the now warm liquid roll down my throat until I felt the familiar burn take over.

Tonight, I was basking in my loneliness. A pity party of sorts after another failed date with a man I thought had potential. Unfortunately, I was sorely mistaken when I wouldn’t let him fuck me after taking me out to dinner.

The audacity of me, right?

According to him I was “too independent”. In other words, I was too much woman for him to handle. I stewed over his words for longer than I should have and even now, I found myself cursing his name and all the others before him.

When I realized I was already halfway through a bottle, I said “screw it” because, really, one bottle, or half a bottle, what was the difference? I was still going to suffer from a hangover in the morning anyway, so I might as well enjoy my night.

Alone.

And man-less.

With a weary sigh, I then reached for my glasses that were just a few feet away from where I was standing and perched them back onto my nose before reading the paper in my hand.

Dear Santa,

If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been a good girl this year. So good in fact that my credit score is now a seven-eighty and I’ve been volunteering at the local animal shelter with my son Silvan. But look, big man, I’ll be honest with you—I may have had one (or four) too many glasses of wine tonight, but hear me out!

I’m lonely and even though I can’t believe I’m admitting that to you, Santa Claus of all people, I’m fucking desperate. Online dating is a joke, and meeting men the old-fashioned way is just as much of a nightmare. Either all the good men are taken, or I’m just a lost cause.

So, I’m on my knees for you, Santa, begging for a Christmas miracle. I only want one really important thing that would make the holidays so much more bearable and that would be a cowboy. You know, the kind with a handsome smile, who wears those tight Wranglers, and knows how to use their hands? Ideally someone who isn't afraid to be with an independent woman who is also a single mother to a preteen boy.

I’m tired of these polished, so-called “nice guys” who are anything but nice. I want rugged charm and a man who’s loyal to a fault. So please, if you truly embody being jolly, and gift-giving, I beg you to help this beyond-lonely single mother out.

I promise, I’ll leave you as many cookies as you like, chocolate chip, the frosted ones, or even the pre-cut cookies that people say taste like crap but are actually really damn good.

I’ll be waiting.

XOXO

P.S. Preferably sooner rather than later.

Jesus, I was drunk.

Pulling the paper away from my face, I released a half chuckle, half sigh before placing it underneath a decorative bowl I had on the counter. Although I knew I should have thrown it out to save myself from the humiliation when I was sober, something stopped me.

Who knows, maybe, just maybe, by writing it, my wish would come true. Or maybe I was letting the wine get to my head, but being the Christmas junky I am, I couldn’t help but dream that somewhere out there, a big, burly, sweet-as-can-be cowboy was waiting for me.

But where? I had no idea. I could only hope good ol’ Saint Nick knows and uses some of that Christmas magic to send him my way.