Well, damn, that makes a lot of sense.
Things gathered, I clock out and make my way to the door, desperate to get alone so I can panic in private over having to be Santa in public, in costume, for this stupid Winter Solstice Festival.
I’m almost gone when Brann hollers out to me, “Leif, don’t forget your costume!” He holds up the bag. Sighing, I retreat to grab it. As we both hold the hanger, he leans in and whispers, “Just remember, holiday spirit or not, you need to do a good job. For the rest of the night, this is your job.”
“Got it,” I say, then walk out the door.
Chapter 2
Addy
When my sister, Poppy, told me that my visit at Christmas would include the town’s Winter Solstice Festival, I didn’t think anything of it. But standing at the bar of Stone Barrel Brewery, I’m struggling to keep my jaw off the floor.
First off, who holds the town festival at the local pub? Excuse me, brewery. Koru, Poppy’s mate, grumbles—loudly—anytime someone calls it a pub. “I am a brewmaster, not just a bartender,” he huffs as he wipes down his pretty metal steins again.
Regardless, the place is magical. It’s warm and inviting. Koru keeps the fire going in the hearth. Poppy placed candles in sconces along the wall and draped fresh garland along the windows. In the corner stands a tall fir tree that we decorated this morning. Not like the tree-decorating sprees of our childhood; this was more of a ‘make it pretty’ job than a reflective bonding experience. She wanted to put real candles on it—‘tradition’ she called it—but Koru refused. “We want people to have a good time, not experience a fire drill.”
As kids decorate cookies at a long table beside the wall, laughing and squealing, and folks mingle around, most of the dining tables have been moved aside to make room, I can’t help but be in awe of the community here in this small town as I sip my hot apple cider.
The first time I visited Moonfang Haven, Poppy was starry-eyed over Koru, and we were both still reeling from the awfulness of our stepdad. In fact, Poppy only met Koru because she was supposed to steal his prized beer recipe. And now, they are expecting their first child together. But I was wary of small-town island life for Poppy; we’d grown up in the city. I was also concerned for her safety with this big, hulking orc with a broken tusk. Ironic, I know. He kept her safe from our stepdad. Because of him, our stepdad is no longer in our lives, and I’m deeply grateful for that. I know in my heart Koru would never let anything bad happen to Poppy. When he looks at her, I feel relief, but it’s mingled with sadness. I want someone to look at me that way.
Ornament competition. Yard décor competition. Caroling expeditions through town. A tree-lighting ceremony in the town square. Gingerbread house competition. This small island town has outdone itself in the spirit of winter festiveness. I was ecstatic to get away from university and hang out with my big sister. But now that I’m here, the holiday spirit has me smiling more than I typically like to do.
Maybe it’s the cider talking.
“Ho, ho, ho, pretty lady. Have you been a good girl this year?” I didn’t think there were any orcs in town bigger than Koru—my brother-in-law? Mate-in-law?—but this giant has just proved me wrong. Looking up, past his big black belt, his bright red coat stretched tight across his muscled chest and arms, all the way to his sharp green jawline and glistening tusks, I’m suddenly seeing orcs in a whole new light.
“No. I haven’t been a good girl,” the words come out of my mouth faster than a kid set free in a candy store. And like that same kid, I can’t rein my words in, pull them back inside me and shove them down deep into that well of ‘things Addy should never say.’
The orc Santa in front of me blushes. I swear he does. His green cheeks darken a shade as he clears his throat. I’m glad, because my cheeks are flaming hot. “I mean—” but I don’t get to even try to backtrack those words. Poppy grabs hold of orc Santa’s arm and tugs him around.
“You’re late, Santa! The kids have been waiting so patiently.” The smile is plastered on her face, but I can hear the undertone of frustration at him being late and the kids getting antsy.
Before either of us can say anything, my heavily pregnant sister drags away the giant orc, bossing him all the way over to the children. The swarm of sugar-frenzied kids is overwhelming, and from across the room, I can see that Santa doesn’t quite know what hit him. It’s entertaining, for sure.
“Another drink?” Ravena asks with a twinkle in her eye. She has a tray in hand with mugs. One mug has a candy cane sticking out of it with a dollop of whipped cream. Another has an apple slice speared onto a cinnamon stick. And another looks like she gave a kid a squirt bottle of chocolate syrup and they had a hey-day squirting syrup over the mug.
“Are these drinks or dessert?” I ask, unable to decide between them. “Which is your favorite?”
Ravena’s gray eyes seem to pierce into me, unnerving me, like she’s reading my heart. “The better question is: which is the one you need?” She sets the tray on the bar beside me. Someone tries to grab a mug from behind her, and she thwaps his hand. “Just a second,” she says over her shoulder with surprising authority. I bite my lip to keep from smiling at the ridiculousness of this woman.
After what feels like ten minutes, but was probably only ten seconds, she claps her hands together. “I know what you need!” Without any preamble, she hands me the one with the candy cane, reverently, as if it were a precious kitten and not a holiday beverage. “Did you know that there’s a special magic that happens at the Winter Solstice? The shortest day of the year has a long and storied history. I’ll save you the details, but know that what your heart longs for is heard on the solstice.”
“Um, thanks,” I say awkwardly as she saunters off with her tray, offering the apple cider drink to the orc whose hand she slapped earlier. What a weird way to get a drink. Ignoring her fairy tale, I take a sip of the warm, creamy beverage.
Ravena is right; the drink is exactly what I needed. The sharpness of the peppermint is perfect against the creamy marshmallow-y beverage. There’s a hint of coffee and almond. With my mug in hand, I lean against the bar and watch theorganized chaos. Someone starts singing a Christmas carol and everyone joins in. Surprising myself, I sing too. It feels good, like my insides are lighter from the joy of singing loudly and off-key with a room full of happy people.
The orc Santa sings, too, but with a begrudging look on his face. It’s cute. A little kid climbs up on the table behind him to steal his Santa hat, but he can’t reach. Orc Santa has to help the kid climb onto his back and scramble to his shoulders to get the hat, and then help him slide down. It’s adorable. Even with the stern look on his face during the interaction.
Poppy sidles up to me, holding her belly and an ornament in one hand and a concerning drink concoction in her other. It looks like Ravena’s holiday version of a Bloody Mary. The candy cane is the spear, with a gingerbread cookie, giant chocolate-dipped marshmallow, and some sort of mini cinnamon roll all impaled onto it. “I guess you and baby are going to be up all night dancing, huh?”
“I know. I promised myself I would limit my sugar intake tonight. But this just called to me! I already know I won’t be able to finish it. But it’s so dang cute! Here, hold this for me. It’s a thank you gift for Leif.” I take the glittery red ornament from her. My hand zings; must be static electricity.
“Sure, if you’re into impaled gingerbread men,” I say, breaking off its arm and eating it before she can protest. “Are you sure there isn’t alcohol in that? How much do we trust Ravena?”
“Ravena is harmless. She would never hurt the baby or me. Her mate over there, Luca, is a werewolf, but he’s a total sweetie.” She points at the tall, lanky man in black chatting with Koru and Bjorn at the other end of the bar.
He’s cute, and on any other day of the year, would have revved my ovaries. But tonight? Nothing. There’s an oof sound that catches my attention, and Mr. Orc Santa is now passing out presents, or attempting to, but he keeps getting attacked at the knees by children. Hence the ‘ooof.’ “Tell me about Santa,” I say to Poppy, trying hard to ignore her eyebrows as they try to leap off her face.
