Chapter 1
Leif
“I’ll take the shift, Boss. I know it’s the big Winter Solstice Festival tonight. Happy to work so you can spend time with your family.”
My boss, Brann, the paragon of insight and king of not wanting to be the Santa orc tonight, gives me that exasperated look that makes me feel like my father is disappointed in me. “I appreciate the offer. But you have a job to do tonight. A job that involves being jolly, passing out goodies, and—”
“—and a lot of ho-ho-ho-ing!” Bjorn interrupts from the corner where he’s organizing cold weather supplies. Both Brann and I roll our eyes at him.
“Well, yes, technically,” says Brann with a sigh. “You drew the short straw. There’s no backing out now. There’s supposed to be hot cocoa, cider, all the baked goods Ravena could possibly make, and a gingerbread house competition.”
Now it’s my turn to sigh. I have the worst luck when it comes to straw-picking for jobs. Last time the crew drew straws for a sucky job, I ended up rescuing one of Mrs. Hood’s goats from a tree. Required me to climb the tree, catch the goat to harness her, and then get her to safety. By the time I was twenty feet upthe tree, she jumped down and went back to eating grass. Damn goats.
“Remember, it’s the Winter Solstice. Christmas is around the corner. Hanukkah just ended. Kwanzaa also starts in a few days. Pick your joy. Dig in.” I bet if I said those words to Brann, he would put me on cleaning duty for the next month. But when he says it, he’s being wise and helpful. Phew.
Pick your joy. I guess I can do that. Large, boisterous crowds aren’t my thing. And any party at Stone Barrel Brewery is going to be boisterous. It’s going to take some effort to find joy.
I don’t tell Brann how tired I am of seeing everyone with their loved ones at the holidays—joyful, together, not lonely. I certainly avoid admitting this tidbit to Bjorn, who will both rub it in that he has his perfect mate, August, and try to set me up on a date. Casual dating isn’t for me, and the last woman I met on a blind-date was definitely thrown off by my ‘intensity,’ as she called it. Maybe being a hopeless romantic orc isn’t a trope women go for. My grump comes naturally, honestly.
Stupid winter holidays. Stupid Winter Solstice.
I’m not going to win. I focus to finish my paperwork from my rescue earlier today; three teenagers stuck on the roof of a house where they were trying to add “dildo chic décor” to the Santa and reindeer. No, not your typical search and rescue operation. In fact, I asked why the fire department didn’t respond. Brann said they did, but didn’t want the antics associated with the fire department. Said it would not hurt our reputation.
Now I have a giant bag of dildos in my truck. What am I supposed to do with those? Stupid teenagers.
“You know, the Winter Solstice Festival is a great way to meet people. Hook up, ya know what I mean?” Bjorn isn’t looking atme, but as I’m now the only other person in this room, he must be speaking to me. I ignore him, annoyed that he’s somehow read my thoughts. “But even if that isn’t your thing, it really is fun to watch all the kids so excited. It’s one of those weird things that bring you joy because everyone else is so damned happy.”
“Please shut up,” I finally say, tired of him rambling on about the giving spirit and children’s laughter. I mean, I get it. “Who died and made you king of Winter Holidays?”
“I’m just sayin’—”
“I hear you. I know what you’re saying. It’s unnecessary. I’m going to the festival. I’m playing the part of Santa, whatever that means. Does Santa even work on the Solstice? Isn’t Christmas his gig? I know it’s a good cause. Please stop talking.”
Bjorn and I typically get along well. We all do; being part of the Search and Rescue unit means being a team player and trusting your teammates. No, most of our rescues are mild—Mrs. Hood’s goats lost in the mountains, or a stranded hiker—that’s how Bjorn met his mate. But occasionally, someone gets in a big pickle, and we have to put our lives in each other's hands.
All that said, right now I’d like to punch Bjorn in the face. Instead, I file my paperwork and go outside to cool down.
The town is beautiful this time of year. Winter typically comes early, and this year has been no exception. The snow sparkles in the afternoon light, perfectly frosted on the trees and eaves of houses. Evergreen wreaths decorate light poles; ribbons of green and gold mark business signs. Twinkle lights do their twinkly thing everywhere, transforming the nights into something magical and whimsical.
Moonlit Grounds, the café everyone goes to, has a new selection of wintry drinks and pastries that make my mouthwater every time I think about them. I’m secretly hoping that Ravena serves some sort of peppermint-marshmallow-chocolate-thing. There’s a reason I climb mountains and don’t make coffee drinks.
By the time I’ve cooled off, quit thinking about drinks and loneliness, and finished cleaning for the day, Tasha, my co-worker and Brann’s mate, has arrived in the station. She brings in a lot of boxes. Her eyes light up weirdly when I come out of the back room, unsettling me. “Just the orc I was looking for! I was told you are going to be Santa tonight!” Boxes down, she claps her hands in delight. “I have your costume!”
In all her dazzling smile and excitement, I almost missed the word costume. I do a double take at her, as if she might have transformed into a winged dragon. “Did you say ‘costume’?”
She nods excitedly as she pulls the dry-cleaning bag out of a box and unzips it to show me a red monstrosity fringed in fluffy white. Oh, dear gods, no.
“No one said anything about a costume,” my voice is low, dangerous. I clear my throat, not wanting to give her—or better yet, Brann—the wrong impression. I am not going to bite the messenger. But hells no.
“What did you think you were going to do? Wear your SAR uniform and pass out presents? And kids would just love you? No, silly. You have to play the part! I even had a Santa hat made to fit orc heads. Brann modeled it for Lucy this morning. It’s perfect!” Before I can jumpstart my brain, she’s walked forward and placed the red stocking hat, complete with white ball at the tip, on my head.
It's cozy.
No. “If it fits Brann so well, maybe he should be Santa. Besides, he has Lucy!” As if Tasha’s daughter in Brann’s life makes him more eligible for doing volunteer work and good deeds with kids.
Right on cue, Brann walks out of his office, swooping over to scoop up Tasha. I politely look away as he kisses her, and try not to make another wish that I had a mate to kiss. That loneliness strikes hard this winter.
“I do have Lucy,” Brann says, eyeing me once he’s finished slobbering on his mate. “And I want to spend the evening with her as her dad. Not separate from her.”
