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Little Miss Santa Claws 3. Nicole 16%
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3. Nicole

CHAPTER 3

Nicole

W hen I come to, I can tell I haven’t been out long. I even remember what was happening before I whacked my head hard enough to see stars. But the problem with knowing how I lost consciousness is knowing exactly what the source of those tinkling bells is.

The air shifts as I listen to the beautiful intruder kneel beside me.

She’s mumbling frantically under her breath. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”

It takes everything in me not to react when her hand brushes against my forehead. I bite the inside of my lip to keep from moaning at the ache in my head. What do I do? Why is she still here? What does she want?

“Ah, Mother-elfing Frost ,” she says, the words breathy and forceful, as if she’s swearing. I feel her hands on my face again. Her skin is so cold, but soft too. Velvety. “Please wake up. Please be okay. I’m sorry I scared you like that. You were supposed to be asleep.”

Her worry softens the edges of my panic. Even if she is a thief, she’s clearly not violent.

A muted thud vibrates down from the roof, and the tiny woman beside me growls up at the ceiling. “Blitzen, you better simmer down up there . ”

My brow furrows despite myself.

Blitzen? Like…the reindeer? What the fuck?

Wait. I hear that thudding too. There really is something on top of the roof. The question is: what? Because it sure as hell can’t be reindeer. Is there another person here?

I hear a wild squeak beside me as the intruder’s hands tilt my face toward her, and I know my pinched expression must have given me away.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she squeals. “You’re waking up. Are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay. Are you in pain? Can you hear me? Do you know where you are? Here.” Her hands leave my face. “Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?”

Man, this girl can talk, and really fast. Which isn’t a bad thing, exactly. Her voice is kind of nice, actually, all husky and warm.

Reluctantly, I peel my eyes open.

She’s leaning over me, her head haloed by the Christmas tree lights. She has plump, rosy cheeks and a bulbous little nose. Her eyes are wide and watery, glittering a dark blue in the shadow cast over her face. She’s even more beautiful at a second glance. Gorgeous .

Seeing as she breaks into people’s houses for a living, I’m sure that helps. Who wouldn’t want to go easy on a face like that?

Unfortunately for her, I’m having a really shitty night.

I take a deep breath and lurch upright, bracing my arm against her chest to knock her backward. She topples with another high-pitched squeak, and I scramble through the archway into the living room to retrieve my phone. I scoop it up and tap on the black screen, but it doesn’t light up. I tap a few more times, trying to coax it awake. Jingling bells alert me to the fact that the intruder is standing back up, and I press the power button on my phone, only to see an empty power icon appear.

My phone is dead.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I whisper.

The woman appears in the archway, her cap lopsided and eyes narrowed in displeasure. “That was very naughty of you, Cynthia. To think, I brought you a present.” She points at me as she stalks forward, and her cherub-like features start to look downright sinister. “I get that this job doesn’t allow for a lot of personal interaction, but I think I deserve a little elfin’ respect on delivery day.”

Alarm bells ring through my head.

Never mind. This woman is totally nuts, and now I’ve angered her. She could be dangerous.

I hold the phone screen to my chest as I back up into the center of the room. “Look,” I start tremulously. “I don’t know what you’re doing here or who you think I am, but you have the wrong girl. You have the wrong house. Please leave.”

Her eyes turn black. “No, I don’t think I will. I think you owe me an apology.”

“An apology?” I scoff. No fucking way. “ You are the one breaking and entering, which is a federal offense, by the way. I’m not apologizing for shit . I already called the cops, so you better hurry up and call your friend on the roof so you can both fuck right off before they get here.”

She takes one slow, menacing step toward me. “You didn’t call the police.”

“Of course I did.” My throat swells as I retreat another step. “They’re on the phone right now.”

The smile that spreads over her face is grotesque, her face looking like it’s literally morphing before my eyes—her teeth elongate and sharpen to points, her skin pales and takes on a silvery sheen, and her eyes sink into her face until they look like hollows void of all light.

I stagger backward until I hit the Christmas tree. My breath catches in my throat as I realize I must have given myself a concussion. I’m seeing things now.

“Do you think Santa Claus can’t tell when you’re lying?” she sneers. “I can. Now, make it up to me by getting on your knees.”

My heart skips a beat. “Excuse me?”

“Get. On. Your. Knees. And then maybe I’ll forgive you.”

A disbelieving laugh bubbles out of me. She has a real fucked-up sense of humor.

Her hands glide up and part her coat before dropping to her hips. She has a belt of small brass bells and a skin-tight red shirt with buttons lining the center, open halfway down to her sternum. When I lift my gaze back to her face, I see she’s still frowning at me.

My God. I think she’s actually serious.

“No,” I gasp. “I’m not going to do that.”

She doesn’t react, doesn’t move or breathe or blink. She just continues to stare at me with those terrifying eyes, unwavering, and I find myself…dropping to my knees. Because this woman scares me. The sooner I apologize, the sooner she’ll leave. I hope.

When my knees hit the floor, she sashays up to me, pausing a foot or so away. Her teeth are back to normal now, and there’s a little more pink in her cheeks.

“Kiss my boots,” she demands in a soft voice.

My lips part, and my cheeks warm as her eyes burn into mine. I glance down at the black leather boots on her feet. They’re freshly polished, with golden buckles glimmering up the length of her calves. She’s a small thing, but the boots make her look tall. I don’t know where those boots have been tonight, and she wants me to kiss them?

I shift my glare up to her face. “Are you insane?”

Her eyes flash black again as a guttural growl wraps around me. A blast of icy wind sweeps through the air between us, lifting her silver hair in an ethereal fan. The skin of her face turns sallow and gray as her black and red nails extend into claws. What the fuck is going on? “What do you think? Is this better? How insane do I look to you now?”

I lean as far back as I can, and a few of the tree branches dig into the back of my head. “Stop,” I whisper. “Please.”

“You know how to make this stop.”

Gritting my teeth, I slowly force myself to lean forward, bending at the hips. As I close the distance between my lips and her boots, the overwhelming scent of pine and fresh cookies fills my nostrils.

Where the hell has she been? A bakery in the forest?

My pride punches through my throat and scrapes the back of my eyes. It’s best just to do it quick. Get it over with.

I squeeze my eyes shut and lower my lips the rest of the way, kissing one and then the other boot. When I sit up, my heart skips, thumping harder. She’s smiling at me. Her skin is pink and soft and lovely again, and her eyes are a brilliant, sparkling blue.

As I sit in her sudden warmth, she raises an eyebrow, and I remember my groveling isn’t complete.

“I-I’m sorry,” I stutter. “I’m sorry for pushing you before.”

“And?” she drawls.

“I’m sorry for—uhm, lying to you.”

“ And ?”

My brow stitches as I replay the last few minutes in my head. “And for...calling you crazy?”

Her domineering stance melts away, her smile pulling even wider as she braces her hands on her knees and leans over me. “There we go. Good girl. Don’t you feel better? I certainly do.” She chuckles to herself as she straightens. “If you’ll excuse me, I have three more continents to deliver to before dawn. Good night, Cynthia. Enjoy your present.”

She spins around, and I’m left reeling as she rifles through the pockets of her coat.

That coat she’s wearing is more than oversized—it’s just plain too big for her. The bright red coattails drag on the ground, and I can see they’ve been dragging for a while. They’re damp and dirty, and that is definitely a pine needle stuck to one side.

I should be angry with her, disgusted by the way she humiliated me. But for some reason, I’m not. I feel more in control. I do feel better .

I’m so fucking confused.

Her movements become a little more frantic as she roots around in her pockets for a second time. “Where is that thing?”

“Hold on. My name isn’t Cynthia,” I murmur, still feeling a bit dazed.

The intruder’s body stiffens. After a long moment, she turns toward me, her eyes wide. Then, she smiles weakly, like she’s nervous. “Well, of course it is. This is your house, right? 1194 Flamingo Lane.”

“Uh, no. That’s the house next door.”

“ Gobdrops and fruitcake !” she hisses, leaping around me to reclaim the singular present under the tree. “I thought I’d finally gotten a handle on the sleigh. It’s so finicky. I swear, it practically has a mind of its own sometimes.”

Thudding sounds on the roof once more, but this time, it’s louder. It sounds like an entire football team is stomping around up there, every cleat in sync. And bells—I hear dozens of musical bells jingling above our heads.

“Don’t you dare get them riled up, Rudolf,” she shouts.

But the thudding only gets louder, and then the noise starts moving across the roof. Something heavy is being dragged over the shingles.

“Oh, no,” she whines, raking her hands all over her torso as if feeling for a bulge, searching for something that should have been there but isn’t. Her chest rises and falls rapidly as she gasps for air. She runs toward the window I didn’t realize had been opened and screeches at the top of her lungs, “ Stop! I don’t have it. Do you hear me? I don’t have it!”

The noise lifts away from the roof. Only the bells continue. Ting, ting, ting, ting. They shift wildly above the house, coming from one side and then the other.

My intruder sprints out of the living room. Her footsteps pound down the hallway, fading as she rips the front door open and exits the house. I don’t know what comes over me, but I rise to my own feet and quickly follow her out, pausing on the threshold of the front door when I see a fucking sleigh flying through the air.

And a full team of reindeer driving it.

Either I’m seriously concussed and hallucinating, or the woman waving her hands above her head as she jumps up and down on my mother’s front yard is exactly who she looks like.

I’m leaning toward the concussion or a really weird cheese dream.

The dream could be worse, though, I suppose. She could have been an old, beardy man.

The reindeer ignore her screams, winding playfully through the sky before aligning once more and rocketing towards a bright star next to the moon. That star pulses, expanding as it swallows the sleigh whole. Then, it winks out, dulling to the same size and glow of the stars around it.

I return my gaze to Santa.

Her arms drop heavily to her sides, and she stares open-mouthed at that distant star. She shakes her head, starting to pace the front lawn, and then she’s hyperventilating and rubbing at her chest, mumbling to herself, her words too quiet for me to hear.

Santa is having a panic attack on my mother’s front lawn.

I’m not doing much better, but I cross the yard with wobbly legs. “Hey. Take a deep breath.”

She shakes her head again. “I can’t believe this is happening. My first Christmas, and everything is already falling apart. What am I supposed to do? All those children—they’re counting on me, and I’m failing them. I can’t breathe. My chest hurts. ” She scratches at her chest and I quickly intercede, pulling her hands away before her nails score their way right through to her heart.

I have first-hand experience with panic attacks. They make me feel like I’m dying when I have one, swelling my throat and tightening my chest. Considering her reaction, I’m guessing this is her first ever, and I can’t help but feel for her.

I step in front of her and grab her shoulders, and her pretty blue eyes meet mine.

“Take a deep breath,” I repeat.

“What if my heart gives out?” She gasps, fear gathering in her eyes.

I shake my head. “It won’t. I’ve got you. Just breathe .”

She fights for one, and as she breathes out, I tell her to do it again. She does. I count with her. Inhale four. Hold. Exhale four. Hold. On the third try, she finally manages to fill her lungs all the way.

“Good,” I say on my own exhale. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” she mutters, trembling, craning her neck to gaze at the pulsing star again with a grimace. “As okay as I can be after losing my father’s sleigh.”

I realize I’m still holding her shoulders, so I release her and clear my throat.

“Well,” I start, biting my lips as my management brain kicks into gear. “I’m sure if you call him and tell him what happened, he’ll understand. No one ever gets their job exactly right on the first day. I’m sure he can help you find it, right?”

I’m completely cracked to be indulging in any of this, but the poor girl is crying and her ride flew off, and I’m finding it really hard to keep being angry at her.

Just being within her orbit is doing things to me. I kissed her boots , for fuck’s sake.

Maybe her crazy is contagious.

Her jaw clenches. “He’s dead.”

My thoughts screech to a halt, and I wish I could take back every word that just left my mouth. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

That’s really all I can think to say.

Her dad is dead, and if that was his sleigh, I can only assume he was the last Santa Claus. This must be her first year taking over deliveries—which explains her…technical difficulties.

Her chin trembles and she bites her lower lip.

What a turn this dream took. One moment, I’m kissing Santa’s boots, and the next, I feel this irresistible need to comfort her, to help her. She’s having a shittier night than I am.

“Okay,” I continue. “Maybe we can find it ourselves. Unless the reindeer fled to Canada or some other country, in which case, I don’t think I’ll be much help. I don’t have a passport.”

My attempt at humor earns me a small grin.

“No, I—I think they’re close by. I can sense it.” Her eyes drop to the collar of my thin tank top, and my stomach flips before I realize she’s not really looking at my body. Her eyes are glazing over. She’s somewhere else entirely. “They’re flying over a small town, circling a group of large brick buildings. I think it might be a school. A really big one.”

“The university!” I exclaim with an encouraging smile. “It’s the next town over.”

She sighs, backing up a step as she rubs her forehead with one hand. “How am I going to walk that far with enough time to spare?”

“Borrow my car.”

Her hand drops away from her face, her eyebrows rising in surprise. “What, really? You’d be okay with that?”

“Well, it’s my mom’s car technically, but sure.” Why the fuck not, right? If this is just a dream, then none of this is real anyway. And if it is real, then there’s not a soul in the world who would object to helping Santa.

I’m not a total Scrooge yet.

Santa sniffles once then wipes her nose on the sleeve of that red coat. Her stare is unnerving, like she’s staring straight through my body into my soul. After a moment, she nods gently. “I see you now. Your name is Nicole Strobe. You’re 29 years old. You stopped believing in Santa when you were seven years old, and this year, you’ve been naughty.” My chest prickles as her eyes flick toward the side of the house, where all my mother’s crushed ornaments lie. “ Very naughty.”

There’s nothing I can say to that. She’s right. I gaze hopelessly at the mess. “Believe me, I know.”

“Maybe we can make it right together.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, squinting at her.

She shrugs. “This might shock you, but I’ve never driven a car before.”

“Never?”

“There’s no use for a car in the North Pole. The machinery would freeze over in a heartbeat. That’s why I drive a sleigh.”

“So…”

“So,” she echoes, “if you would be so kind as to drive me to my sleigh, I’ll replace all your mother’s ornaments for you. We both get what we need.”

My heart flutters. “You can do that? Every single one?”

“She’ll never be able to tell the difference,” she assures me, smiling brightly.

I don’t even have to think about her offer. It’s too good to pass up. “You have yourself a deal, lady.” I eagerly extend a hand toward her.

If all of this turns out to be real, I’m the luckiest asshole in the world.

Santa takes my hand and shakes it so hard, my shoulder nearly pops out of its socket. I gasp, teetering off balance for a moment, and the woman giggles. It’s the most joyful, contagious noise I’ve ever heard. “My name is Mistletoe Claus, but you can call me Missy.”

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