Sugar Nookie

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

R ae

“Being the Sugar Plum Fairy in The Nutcracker does not give you the right to actually crack a boy’s nuts, Ava.”

I keep a straight face—barely—while delivering the line I never thought I’d have to say out loud. Ava pouts, looking up at me like I’ve singlehandedly ruined her Christmas.

“But Mom says to knee ’em in the nuts if they get handsy,” she whines, looking pretty and feminine in her costume. If I didn’t see her jam her knee into Damon’s crotch with my own two eyes, I wouldn’t believe this little angel could do such a thing.

I put my hand on her shoulder and lower my voice further as alarm washes through me. “Did Damon touch you inappropriately?”

Ava wrinkles her nose, the freckles disappearing. “No. He did this.” She demonstrates holding her hands out, fingers wiggling.

“He did jazz hands?” I’m thoroughly confused. And relieved.

Ava widens her doe eyes. “Yes! Everybody knows jazz hands is for losers and cheats. Didn’t you see Bring It On , Ms. Dunn?”

I close my eyes for a brief moment and wonder how I’ve landed in the position of director to a theater full of eight- and nine-year-olds when my life’s dream is to be an artist, traveling the world and making it a prettier place. When I think I have my mouth under control, I open my eyes again and squeeze her shoulder gently.

“Regardless of what you think of jazz hands, you shouldn’t be kneeing boys in the nuts. I’m going to have to call your mother and you’re going to need to apologize to Damon.”

Ava pouts some more, her voice escalating into a nasally whine. “But he’s still crying like a little p?—”

“Don’t finish that statement,” I interrupt, not wanting to have to punish her twice. And making a mental note to mention to her mother that she might consider limiting Ava’s screen time on that smartphone of hers she always has in her hand. “Go apologize…and make it good.”

She sticks her bottom lip out, but when I lift one eyebrow that means business, she turns immediately and marches off to find Damon, who is, in fact, crying in the corner of the stage. I know Ava plays soccer, so she probably has strong leg muscles, which means that knee to the nuts had to have been a doozy. Should I offer Damon ice? I wince and grab my phone instead, calling Damon’s mother first and then Ava’s.

Once the nutcracker incident gets taken care of, we only have fifteen minutes to go through the first act before all the parents arrive to pick up their kiddos. It’ll have to do. We’re expecting a storm to come through Idaho tonight, making practice this week an iffy thing. Thankfully, we’re all used to snowstorms here and I started practices much earlier than last year for exactly this situation.

“Those clouds look ominous already,” Janna says, sliding up to me and watching the kids leave with their parents. She agreed to help me backstage with costume changes, as best friends do. She moved to Snowhaven, Idaho, a few years back as an assistant for a famous singer, finding love but looking for female friendship too. I certainly wasn’t here for love, but we’d bonded instantly anyway.

I bat away the worry with an exaggerated eye waggle. “You’ll be cozied up with John tonight, you little hussy.”

Janna beams as she always does when John’s name is mentioned. Those two are cuter than any of the Sugar Plum Fairies I’ve seen over the years. They got married not long after she moved to town, and I envy how close they are. Best friends and drunk in love. Meanwhile, I had to live in the same small town as my ex-husband.

I clap my hands and move to shut off lights and close up the small theater for the night. The last thing I want to do is think about my ex, his new wife, or the fabulous life they seem to be leading.

“Are you still babysitting for Morgana tonight?” Janna asks as she pulls on her coat and waits for me to lock up.

I have to jiggle the worn gold handle and twist the key slowly to get the front door to lock, but I get it done. Wind whips my hair around my face, the sudden bite of it stealing my breath.

“Wow. It has made a turn, huh?” I glance around at the dark sky and lack of people out on the streets of downtown Snowhaven. When I arrived for practice a few hours ago, people were out and about, enjoying the crisp morning sunshine and getting ready for the holidays. Downtown now looks like one of those scary abandoned towns you see on a crime documentary. “And yes, I’m heading straight over to Havenkirk now.”

Janna mimics me from earlier and waggles her own eyebrows. “I hear Hutton Calder has arrived in town.”

Despite the chill in the air, my cheeks warm at the mention of the hot country singer. He’s been my celebrity crush for years now, and Janna knows it.

“I’m here to babysit the youth of America, Janna,” I say piously, coming beside her new SUV parked just down the street from the theater.

She bursts into giggles. “Like you can’t flirt and babysit at the same time?” I roll my eyes, but she grabs my hand and yanks me to face her. “Promise me if you see him, you’ll say hello. Maybe flash those beautiful brown eyes at him, huh?”

Janna is always trying to fix me up with men, and so far, it hasn’t worked out. I keep telling her that some people just aren’t meant to find their soul mates but she stubbornly refuses to believe “such nonsense.”

“I promise to say hello, but that’s about all I can do. I feel like the divorce drained my ability to flirt.”

Janna sighs like she’s disappointed in me, but she squeezes my hand anyway. “If it’s meant to be, even a simple hello will do it.”

I shake my head and laugh, pulling my hand back. “You know, I’m the artist. Aren’t I supposed to be the fanciful one?”

She sticks her tongue out at me and opens her door. “Is that pile of rust going to get you to the ski lodge okay?”

She’s referring to my dubious ride, my first car, the current bane of my existence. “She’s my trusty steed, Jan. She’ll do just fine.” I pause at the ridiculousness of the statement. She’s actually broken down more times than I can count. “And besides, it hasn’t started snowing yet. She’ll make it.”

Janna rolls her eyes, but gets in her car. I hustle around the block to where I parked my 2002 Toyota Corolla and try to ignore the rust spots. I crank the engine, give it some gas and a pep talk, then put it in gear and head for Havenkirk. I've been a part-time nanny for Morgana Mavis, a famous country singer, and her husband, Aksel, for several years now. Morgana took me under her wing when she married Aksel, finding me job opportunities and babysitting gigs in between the few art installations I manage to land. Not a day goes by that she doesn't encourage my art and promise me that one day I’ll be as famous as Vincent van Gogh. Hopefully I won’t also have to cut off my ear to achieve fame.

Not wanting to ruin the aesthetic of the ski lodge all dressed up for Christmas with my wreck of a car, I park around the back when I arrive at the top of the hill. Every window of the old-world resort sports a festive wreath. The front entry has more tinsel and mistletoe than Santa’s workshop. The place is gorgeous, even more so now that Hig Lindley partnered up with Aksel and injected some of his considerable fortune into the project. There’s also a new hunting lodge and spa that’s been built to the east of the original Havenkirk Ski Lodge. It hasn’t opened yet, and I know they’re scrambling to get it done as soon as possible.

I chuckle ruefully as I walk into the resort and nod hello to Aksel’s mother manning the front desk. I’m surrounded by wealthy people, and while it sometimes gets me down, I mostly take that frustration and funnel it into my art.

When I can afford the paint, that is.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open on the third floor. Aksel already gave me a key, so I head directly to their family suite. I’m only fifteen minutes late, which is practically early for me. Chaos greets me as I push open the door. Imogen is singing at the top of her lungs a song I know is going viral on TikTok. Nora is giggling her head off as Aksel tries to put his dress shoes on and is cursing over tying the laces. Morgana sweeps into the living room looking like a million bucks in a twenties flapper dress with turquoise sequins and fringe.

“Rae!” she trills, launching right into her voice warmups.

I don’t blink an eye, having been part of their household more times than I can count over the past few years. Chaos is just how they roll. Except a little boy toddles around the corner and joins the group, his soulful brown eyes and floppy hair speaking straight to my soul. He’s quiet, eyeing the rest of the group like he’s trying to figure them out.

I drop into a squat and hold his gaze. He comes closer as the rest all start arguing about Aksel going to the wedding barefoot instead of having to wear those stupid dress shoes. I vote for the shoes, by the way.

“Hi, honey,” I murmur. I hold my hands out and he comes closer, trusting me.

“Hi,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“I’m Rae. What’s your name?”

He puts his little hands in mine, the fingernails dirty with something that smells a lot like chocolate. A boy after my own heart.

“I’m Henwy.”

I beam, wondering if this is what people mean when they say your ovaries develop a biological clock at some point in your late twenties. I’ve just met the boy but I want to hug him to my side and protect him from all the crazies out in the world.

Instead, I glance up at Morgana, who finally convinced Aksel to finish lacing the horrible dress shoes. “Did y’all have another kid since I babysat last?”

She blinks, gaze shifting to Henry before those eyes widen. “Oh shoot, sorry. Yes, this is Henry. Do you mind adding him to the group tonight? His father wasn’t expecting to have him over the holiday and couldn’t make any other last-minute plans.”

I gently squeeze Henry’s hands and look back at him. “We’re already friends. Of course I don’t mind.”

Aksel stands, buttoning his sport coat, looking like a storm cloud about having to dress in a suit for a wedding. The dressiest this man gets is usually a festive cable-knit sweater on the coldest of days.

“We’re late,” he grouses.

Morgana puts her hands on her hips. “And whose fault is that?”

“Daddy’s!” Nora shouts, right before she starts giggling again.

Aksel grins, a complete marshmallow for all three of his girls.

“Have fun, you two. And stay warm!” I swoosh them away with my hands and face the three kids staring back at me.

The door finally closes behind the adults and I smile.

“Okay, who’s hiding the chocolate?”

John Ross: The celebrities have descended, friends.

Dagny: Ba-humbug

Mayor Nancy Haney: This is our time, fellow citizens! Time to shine the Christmas spirit with everything we’ve got!

Dagny: Are you capable of texting without exclamation marks?

Mayor Nancy Haney: I’m surprised you’re able to text at all at your advanced age…

Doc: Ladies, let’s focus on what matters: Aksel stretched out my Santa suit last year.

Chief Blade: Aksel? The guy with the washboard abs?

Dagny: It’s not my fault. I’ve tried to fatten him up.

Doc: Not his abs. His dang shoulder boulders stretched it out. Now I have to pad the stomach area AND wear shoulder pads! This thing is hotter than an oven in Dagny’s kitchen!

Mayor Nancy Haney: Quit complaining! All the deep pockets in town means extra gifts under the tree for your loved ones.

Dagny: Can’t I just buy myself something pretty? PS - since when do you have to pad the stomach area, Doc?

Mayor Nancy Haney: DAGNY. Try to have a giving, joyful Christmas spirit. For the love of God. Just one year. Please?

Dagny: I promise nothing.