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I was very close to agreeing with him.
“It’s ten days until Christmas.” She moved her fingers in a “gimme” motion, and with a grumble about his awful daughter, Gramps gave up the bottle. “Thank you. And as for your reminder that Mom worked while she was in labor with me, I know she did. Unfortunately, I cannot make Verity do anything she doesn’t want to do. She’s a grown woman.”
A grown woman who needed to be babied.
I folded my arms across my chest. “I should get extra pay for this. I was putting up lights for thirteen hours on Sunday and look at my hands. They’ve got more cuts than a book to movie adaptation.” I shoved my paper-cut covered hands out. “While she’s—”
A wail came from the kitchen, and Mom jerked around. “Jazzy, what’s wrong?”
“I dropped Grandpa’s cookie and it breaked!” she shouted and promptly burst into tears.
Mom pinched the bridge of her nose. “Quinn, can you just help me out a little, please? Your father is sick, your grandfather is driving me insane, your niece needs constant supervision, and your sister is going to send me to an early grave. Can you just be helpful for once?”
“Fine.” I put my mug down on the coffee table. “I’ll do it, but I’m going to complain the whole time.”
“I expect nothing less.”
“Grandmaaaaaa!”
“Coming, Jazzy.” She put the bottle down and rushed back through to the kitchen.
Gramps sniggered and picked the bottle back up, tucking it beneath his sweater.
“You could be helpful, too, you know,” I pointed out.
“I’d rather be drunk,” he replied, using his stick to shuffle off towards his bedroom.
Same, Gramps, same.
I sighed and did the same, heading for my room.
How the fuck was I supposed to find a Santa Claus in twenty-four hours?
CHAPTER TWO
Snow Cove lived up to its name for the entirety of December, except it wasn’t all cutesy and shit like snowy villages were in those dumb little Christmas movies. The white stuff didn’t stay white for long, and the roads were more like grey, miserable slush than the beautiful white blankets the TV liked to show us.
Personally, I resonated with the grey, miserable slush far more than the pretty white stuff.
After all, it matched my mood during the holidays.
Everything went to shit after Halloween, if you asked me. I liked our haunted barns and corn maize far more than I liked the tree farm.
Or the grotto.
Not that it stopped my parents making me work at the grotto every year since I turned fourteen, mind you.
Normally, it wasn’t too bad. Verity usually helped me but given that she was now a self-proclaimed invalid thanks to her decision to add another tiny human to her family, I was on my own. Sure, we had other staff, but I was a raging perfectionist like my father and nobody else would get it right.
Why yes, I did get all the best qualities from my family. Thank you for asking.
Not.
I pulled my scarf up to cover my mouth. I had no idea why I lived in a place that hurt my face. My lips were chapped, my nose was red and running, and I was pretty sure my skin was so dry it was about to be declared a desert.
My day was not looking up.
It wasn’t going to look up anytime soon, let’s be honest. Not with my mission to find a replacement Santa.
What was I supposed to do? Put out an online ad? What would I even say? There was no way to put out a call for a man without sounding like a freaking dating ad.
Did lonely hearts columns still exist? Was that the way to do this?
Single Grinch seeking Santa to save Christmas!
Ugh. No. That wasn’t going to work.
Snow Cove was one of the few towns that hadn’t yet been taken over by major companies. We had no chain supermarkets or coffee shops, and that was probably why people flocked here during the winter. Combined with the huge mountain ski resort, it was a cute, picturesque, typical New England village that would end up with sixty-thousand Instagram tags by the end of the season.
I reached the town square where some of the wooden fair stalls had been set up. It took over the entire town, and they were almost all in a German Christmas market style—made from wood with rustic signs and patterned awnings. Since all the stores here were owned by residents, almost everyone had a stall.
And that was why I knew there was no chance in hell I’d find a Santa Claus this late in the game.
Everyone pitched in for the fair. All the hotels and bed and breakfasts were booked up weeks in advance. The only available rooms would be from neighboring towns or roadside motels, if you were lucky. The only way Snow Cove and the businesses could cope with the influx of festive, happy-go-fricking-lucky tourists was if everyone who was old enough to work, worked.
