“I know that now, and in the end, the situation turned out to be the one where I had the power all along. It’s a very frustrating plot point, all things considered, especially during a snowstorm.”
Jack dragged me to him, wrapping his arms tightly around my body. We stood in the falling snow, holding each other in the stillness of the early morning. There were no decorations. No sweet scents in the air. It could have been any other day of the year, but it still felt like Christmas.
Pushing the hair out of my face, Jack pressed his forehead against mine. “Delia, you told me you loved me, then got in a taxi and drove away. I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to see you again. I didn’t think I was going to get the chance to say it back.”
A brilliant smile spread across my lips. “Well, what are you waiting for, a Christmas miracle?”
“You’re my miracle. I love you, Delia Frost.”
“I love you, too, Jack. Merry Christmas.”
Jack dipped his head, kissing the snowflakes from my cheeks and the corners of my lips before threading his fingers through my hair and capturing my mouth. I sank into his warmth, delirious with relief and joy so bright it could have rivaled the floodlights Jack had aimed through my window.
All the pranks and all the suffering had been worth it. Jack was worth it, and I’d finally received the best gift of all. As Jack tasted my lips once more, my phone chimed, and I groaned, gently pulling away, afraid to find another passage of legal jargon in my messages. But it was just an email.
From: Sage Bennett
To: Delia Frost
Subject: Important Memo - Case Closed
“I guess service cleared up in the mountains,” I grumbled under my breath.
Jack gave me a questioning look, and I held out my hand. “Let’s go home, and I’ll tell you all about how a file merge in the analysis department saved Christmas.”
His fingers interlaced with mine, and Jack tugged me against his side. “That seems kind of boring for a holiday story.”
I laughed. “Wait till you read the handbook.”
The End
Chapter 1
Delia
—Three Weeks Until Christmas—
The gingerbread cookie looked more like a zombie than a man. Its limbs were bent at awkward angles, and its head was smashed in on one side. I wrinkled my nose at my lackluster baking skills and added an extra glob of white icing, then sliced off the lumpy head between my teeth.
With zombies, you always aim for the head, and when life gets you down, you add extra sugar. Considering it was the start of December, and I was still single and sitting at the bottom of the witchy corporate ladder at my job, I squeezed a dollop of icing straight into my mouth and chased it with a long sip from my white wine spritzer.
“Stupid fortune teller,” I muttered as I reached for another ghastly cookie. “That’s the last time I get life advice from a mystic.”
Though to be fair, Madam Destiny was the most respected psychic around. She had a waiting list a mile long, and her visions practically came with a guarantee. When she’d claimed by the end of the year, I’d be promoted to agent and that Simon Delacour, my long-time office crush was actuallythe oneand I’d finally capture his attention, I was thrilled.
But then just last week, I was passed over for the job—again—and Simon barely knew I existed.
I cringed, imagining the not-so-festive weeks in front of me. Another holiday of pitying looks, “you’ll get em next time” shoulder bumps, and lame attempts to shove me under the mistletoe at the upcoming office Christmas party.
Off came another gingerbread head.
The headless cookie in my hand was starting to look appealing.Can you show up to a Christmas party with a gingerbread man for a date?I could ice him a suit and cast an animation spell. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
But it was probably a bad idea. Everyone would think he was my sugar daddy.
I snorted into my wine, laughing at my own joke. Rock-bottom, meet my absurd and highly underappreciated sense of humor.
The cookies were nearly gone, and tv was heading into late-night infomercial territory when I kicked the blanket off my legs and poured myself into bed. An intermittent buzz dared to drag me from my sleep, and I grabbed my phone from the bedside table.
