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Prologue
ThecounterofKringle’sCoffee and Sweets Shoppe is crowded with holiday shoppers needing pick-me-up shots of espresso, while the tables in the dining area are occupied by couples on first dates and friends exchanging Christmas gifts.
The bell over the door chimes, and a woman with long, blonde hair walks in. “I just love this place,” she says fondly, gazing in wonder at the beautiful decorations. A large, artificial Christmas tree takes up the corner, adorned with gorgeous ornaments, glittering tinsel, and strands of real popcorn. Life-size nutcrackers stand guard at the counter. An antique train set circles the store, and Christmas music plays over a speaker. “It’s like stepping into the North Pole.”
An employee that looks remarkably like an elf in a Christmas movie and wears a name tag that says HOLLY JOLLY in big, block letters, snorts in disgust. “The trees aren’tfakeat the North Pole,” she says, shooting a nasty look at the Christmas tree in the corner of the shop. The look is so incongruous with her short stature and rosy cheeks that several customers blink in confusion.
Another employee, this one looking like Mrs. Claus brought to life, steps out of the kitchen with a tray of chocolate chip cookies. She smiles kindly and the cheerful atmosphere returns immediately. “I’m Mrs. Kringle, and I’d love to welcome you to my shop with a complimentary cookie.”
An older gentleman steps forward to take one of the treats. “I collect trains, and I’ve never seen a set quite like yours. Where did you get it?”
“It’s one-of-a-kind,” Mrs. Kringle says. “My husband made it for me centuries ago.”
“Centuries...? Oh, I get it! It’s part of your Mrs. Claus act.” He grins, stepping aside so other customers can take a cookie.
A woman glances at Holly’s name tag and claps her hands. “Holly Jolly!” she exclaims. “Could that be any cuter?”
“It’s a very respectable name, thank you very much,” Holly snaps, folding her arms across her chest.
The woman licks her lips. “Um…okay?” She hurries away with her cookie.
Mrs. Kringle shakes her head. “Holly, could you at leasttryto be polite to the customers?”
“Iampolite! Did I make fun ofhername? No, I didn't. Even though it'sridiculous.”
“Actually,” the next customer in line says, hoisting his shopping bags onto his shoulder, “I overheard your conversation, and she never told you her name.”
Holly shrugs. “She didn’t have to. I already know. It’s an elf thing.”
The man winks. “Is that right? An elf thing? So, what’s my name?”
Holly raises an eyebrow. “Matthew. And right now, you’re wishing that the free cookie was macadamia nut or even peanut butter. Which is rather ungrateful, don’t you think?” The man’s mouth falls open, and Holly reaches out with a hand to snap it shut. “You’ll eat the cookie, and you’lllikeit, Mattie, my boy.”
Matthew nods vigorously, grabbing a chocolate chip cookie and shoving the whole thing into his mouth before running away.
Mrs. Kringle sighs, and her breath smells like cinnamon and vanilla. “That’s not okay, Holly. You know better than…ohhh,” she breathes, spotting something over Holly’s shoulder. “A cookie exchange!”
Holly turns to look. Three women stand to the side, each holding a plate wrapped in cellophane, waiting for a table to open up. Within moments, Holly knows their names: Carly, Millie, and Lauren. Old friends since college, each forty years old andsingle.
Mrs. Kringle’s favorite.
Holly’s face stretches into a grin. “Are you thinking it's time to break out the fortune cookies?”
“Absolutely.” Mrs. Kringle rubs her hands together gleefully. “After all, we can’t let Kris have all the fun. Let’s work some Christmas magic of our own.”
One
Carly
Astheownerofone of the most lucrative graphic design firms in California, responsible for the movie posters and advertising materials for all the major motion picture studios, I’m known for being a no-nonsense woman who always plays it smart.
Thesmartgirl. Yep, that’s me. Always has been.
Andsmartgirls absolutely, never, ever get chased up trees by wild dogs after attempting to drop in, uninvited, to propose to a man they haven’t seen in more than two decades.
No sirree. That would never happen. Not in a million years.
Yet here I am, tucked into the crook of a branch, staring down at two snarling beasts who clearly have a burning desire to eat my face.
