Page 127 of Falling for the Grinchy Bad Boy

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JOY

In the midst of chaos, I was mentally calculating how to break the news to a hundred disappointed children that Santa wasn’t coming. Maybe I could convince them I was his cousin from down south.

No, the children would eat me alive. Maybe I could bribe them. I had already given out candy and cocoa, so that wouldn’t work. How much money did I have in my purse? Probably not a lot, considering my recent struggles. Not enough to pay off this rowdy bunch.

I briefly considered letting Gertrude loose and letting the goat send everyone running home. Sorry, folks. Livestock hazard. We have to shut down. It was tempting.

I started calculating the distance to my car. How fast could I run? Maybe I wouldn’t even go home and pack my things. I had my purse and credit cards. I would get in my car and just drive. I would buy new clothes, dye my hair, tell people my name was Charlotte.

I wanted to apologize to my aunt. And the mayor. And everyone else. I just didn’t know what to say.

I spotted Sarah. She was handing out candy canes and doing her best to placate the restless crowd. Soon they would be sharpening those candy canes into points. I walked to her and jerked my head to get her to step away.

Sarah immediately picked up on my urgency and followed me a few steps away from the nearest cluster of families.

“We need a Santa,” I said without preamble, keeping my voice low but unable to hide the panic creeping in. “Pat’s not coming. Do you know anyone who could step in? Anyone at all?”

Sarah’s eyes widened. “What happened? I don’t understand. He would never do this. I’m worried about him.”

“I don’t know, but he’s not here and he’s not answering his phone. We have about five minutes before this crowd starts pelting us with peppermint sticks.”

Sarah pulled out her phone and started scrolling frantically. “I sent out some emergency texts when we couldn’t reach Pat. Let me see.” She tapped the screen several times. “Okay, Johnny Morris from over in Cedar Creek says he could do it. He’s done Santa gigs before.”

“How far away is he?”

“Thirty minutes, maybe forty with festival traffic.”

I felt my stomach drop even further. “Sarah, we don’t have thirty minutes. We have five minutes, maybe ten if we’re lucky. Look at this crowd.”

I gestured toward the line of families. Even from our position, I could see the restlessness building. Children were tugging on parents’ sleeves with increasing frequency, parents were checking their phones and glancing toward the empty Santa workshop with growing concern, and I could hear snippets of conversation that made it clear word was starting to spread that something was wrong.

“What about someone local?” I asked desperately. “Anyone with the right build who could throw on the costume? Your husband? Your brother? Someone’s dad?”

Sarah looked around helplessly. “My husband’s too skinny, and he’s terrible with children anyway. My brother lives in Phoenix. I’m trying to think of who else.” She snapped her fingers. “What about Dave from the hardware store?”

“I already considered him. He’s been hitting the spiked cider pretty hard tonight. No drunk Santas.”

“Right, good call.” Sarah continued scanning the crowd. “Oh! What about Mr. Carlson from the bank? He’s got the belly for it.”

I followed her gaze to where Mr. Peterson was standing with his family near the hot chocolate station. He was definitely round enough, but something about his demeanor suggested he wasn’t exactly the jolly type.

“Do you think he’d do it? And more importantly, do you think he’d be good with kids?”

“I honestly don’t know. He’s always seemed kind of grumpy to me, but maybe that’s just his banker face.”

I was running out of options and time. The children at the front of the line were getting increasingly antsy, and I could see parents starting to have those hushed conversations that usually preceded much louder complaints.

“What about a costume?” I asked. “Where are we going to find a costume? I hope someone here has one in their closet.”

She slowly shook her head. “We didn’t plan for this contingency. Pat is such a professional, we didn’t think it would be an issue.”

We were screwed.

I turned to address the line, feeling like I was facing a firing squad. The crowd suddenly parted like the Red Sea. I saw a vision of red. No way.

Santa.