The case file disclosed the task. Apparently, Jack had a Scrooge complex, and the town avoided him like the plague, especially during the holiday season. He was anti-love and hadn’t dated in years. Which was the real tragedy in this file considering the way he looked in flannel.
Unfortunately, the Scrooge complex would be tricky. I could see why solving this case might earn me a promotion. Changing a grumpy attitude like that usually took ghosts. But I didn’t have ghosts. I had a bunch of magic spells, an urgent desire to finally prove myself career-wise, and the hope of becoming Simon’s girlfriend by the new year.
Totally doable, even without the spooky spirits.
There was a timeframe listed on the case, and Sage had circled the date in red, writing “critical” beneath the deadline.
As his case agent, I needed to help Jack find love and heal his emotional wounds surrounding the holiday before midnight on Christmas Eve.
By the looks of it, he needed a miracle. Lucky for both of us, I was in the business of granting them.
Chapter 2
Jack
The hand saw bit into the tree trunk, shuddering as I dragged it through the bark. Needing a better angle, I hunkered low to the ground, gritting my teeth as an icy slush soaked through my pants. One of these days, I'd remember to grab the tarp lying in the shed. But wet clothes and freezing weather weren’t my only problem. Prickly pine needles jabbed me in the face, and I sucked in a frozen breath, hoping a few more cuts would send the tree crashing into the snow.
How many trees did I have to sell to make a profit this year?Way too many.To make matters worse, business was slow. No, make that almost non-existent. My only customer today was a man who’d waved away the saw, along with the alleged charm of cutting his own tree, and told me to just get one and bring it out. He was texting on his phone before I even turned around.
Fine. Miss out on the memories. What do I care? It's your overblown holiday.
With a creak and a whoosh, the tree collapsed in defeat, deflating into a pile of bristled branches. Sweat cooled against my neck, and I wiped the sleeve of my jacket over my brow. The tree in question was gangly, and not fit to grace a living room, but I needed it sold, or I'd be living under one like it soon enough.
I wrapped the uneven branches in twine and hauled the tree through the thin layer of snow back to the man's vehicle.
“That'll be a hundred bucks,” I said, dropping the trunk at the customer's feet.
The man eyed the sorry excuse for a Christmas tree and shook his head. “For that shabby tree? I'll give you fifteen dollars, and you can tie it to the roof of my car for free. Take it or leave it.”
I ground my molars. I wasn't in the position to leave it, and he knew it. The whole town knew it. You didn't drive out to my farm to find a gem. There were no diamonds in this rough, just a town outcast trying to unload a bunch of wretched trees before they nailed a foreclosed sign into the gate.
“Fine. I'll take it.” I pocketed the pitiful sum, then heaved the tree onto the car’s roof and tied it down. Pine needles fluttered to the ground, dusting the snow with green flecks.
Good riddance.One tree down, another acre’s worth to go.
The man smirked and waved his hand through the car window as he peeled out of the lot. “Merry Christmas!”
“Don’t come back next year!” I shouted at his tail lights.
Though, at this rate, there wouldn't be a farm to come to next year. Guilt shredded my insides. If my father could see this place now… I forced away another spear of guilt. He never should have left me the family business. Who knows why he did? It was probably a clerical error or his idea of punishment. It certainly was one of mine.
I grabbed the saw and trudged toward the small inn at the end of the drive. The four guestroom cottage still held its charm, even though it badly needed paint and a few noticeable repairs. From its gabled roof, adorned with white ornate trim, and a layer of glistening snow, to the cozy front porch with detailed wood columns, the house had always been a seasonal treasure. In days past, the front door had boasted a giant wreath and garlands hung in every window.
But all the decorations were still boxed deep in the attic, along with the tangled mess of string lights my father had used to cover every inch of the property. For years, the farm had been bustling with families looking for the perfect tree while guests sipped cocoa outside by the massive stone fire pit.
Until that night…
A shudder shook my frame, and I shoved the dark memory from my mind. This was my lot now. An empty, rundown inn and a pathetic tree farm. No sense in remembering better days. Christmas was for fools and anyone trying to convince me otherwise could go face-plant in a snowbank.
The crunch of ice beneath tires caught my attention, and I steeled myself for another customer. My fingers clenched around the saw, and when I turned, I wasn't prepared for what greeted me.
A young woman stepped out of a taxi, and then promptly slipped on a patch of ice, catching herself on the door of the car. A giant rolling suitcase wasn’t so lucky and tumbled to her feet. With a shake of her head, she dusted the snow off her suitcase, grabbed a potted plant from the back seat, and then waved cheerily at the driver as if she hadn’t almost nosedived into the driveway.
Brown knee-high boots with dangerously narrow heels clung to her legging-covered calves, and an off-white sweater dress peeked beneath a long coat lined with light gray fur. She tossed her dark glossy hair over her shoulder to reveal a pair of dangling candy cane earrings and a matching choker. The woman bent to pull her suitcase, tucked the plant under her arm, and carefully shuffled across the slushy drive toward me.
“You could use a little road salt back there.”
My gaze dropped to her boots. Not only were they ill-suited for ice, but they didn’t look warm. Her feet were probably freezing. The irrational thought soured my mood further. “Or you could wear proper footwear. This isn’t a fashion runway, it’s a farm. You're going to break your neck.”
