Page 14 of The Grumpiest Elf

“Um … I’m not sure.” We live close enough that I walk most places and haven’t needed my own car, so I’ve been sharing with Mom. “I’ll let you know if I do.”

She accepts that with another warm Mrs. Claus smile. “Please do.”

With that, she turns and leaves, slipping into the space behind the Santa’s Workshop set where she and Santa leave their things.

I watch her leave, aware that Dylan’s likely still scowling at me. Turning, I see that I’m right.Greeeeat.

Iwaslooking forward to working the special event.

But knowing I’ll have to do it with Dylan, Santa’s grumpiest elf?

It doesn’t sound so fun after all.

CHAPTERNINE

Dylan

After I finish cleaningup for the night, I drift over to the Christmas Emporium. I’m not ready to go home. Not yet, at least.

Although when I knock on the locked door to the store, and Sarah opens it with a smile and, “Oh, good. I was going to come look for you in just a minute. I need your help with something,” I start to rethink my choices.

At my groan of protest, she frowns, her mouth turning down at the corners and her brows knitting together. She looks me up and down in the joggers, coat, boots, and hat I wear to and from the elf gig. “What’s wrong? Are you mad at me?”

I blink at that. “What? No. Why would you think that?”

Shrugging, she lets her arms fall to her sides. “Usually you split your time between here and elf-duty—and I thought that was the plan at Thanksgiving—but Mom has you scheduled as an elf almost every day.” She straightens something on a shelf next to her, not looking at me as she says, “It made me think maybe you didn’t want to work here this year or something.”

I let out a sigh at the undercurrent of hurt in her voice. Sarah might be my bossy big sister, but she loves me, and when she’s not bossing me around, I like her too. “No, Sarah. I’m not mad at you. Mom’s probably punishing me for complaining about being an elf by making meonlydo that this year, since it’s likely my last year anyway.” I cross the store and head behind the counter, propping myself on the stool she keeps there. If she’s going to put me to work, I might as well sit while we talk about it. Who knows when I’ll be able to get off my feet if I don’t?

She follows me, propping her elbow on the counter and her chin on her hand. “What’s got you so glum, baby bro? I know elfing isn’t your favorite, but you’re not usually this grumpy about it.”

I snort out a laugh, though I’m not really amused. “You’re at least the third person to call me grumpy in the last week.”

Her eyebrows raise. “And what does that tell you?”

Dropping my gaze to the counter, I set the backpack carrying my elf costume on the floor and let out another sigh, scrubbing my face with my hand. “That I’m being a dick to everyone?”

That makes her laugh, straightening so she can nod. “Yeah, pretty much. You’ve always been more serious than the rest of us. I mean, Ty’s on the serious side too, but his is more in the distracted, creative-type way. You’re more somber and analytical. Studying everyone and everything.”

I wait, expecting her to continue, but she doesn’t. “And?” I prompt. “That’s a problem because …” I roll my hand, inviting her to elaborate.

Her brows pinch again as she studies me, then she shakes her head. “It’s not a problem. At least not for me. I think sometimes it gets in your way, though. It makes it difficult for you to enjoy the more fanciful things like getting paid to dress up as an elf every year.” She shrugs. “And even if you don’t reallyenjoyit, it’s a job, right? And it pays decently? It’s not like Mom and Dad ever made us work like this for free. Couldn’t it be a lot worse?”

I spread my hands, palms up. “Just because something could be worse, does that make me wrong for wanting better? Idon’tlike being an elf. I could have a little fun with it when I was fifteen or sixteen, but doing this every year?” I shake my head. “Don’t tell me you don’t get it. I know you were thrilled when you didn’t have to do it every day, even though you didn’t really mind it when it was part of your job. And that first year when Nora conned you into filling in for her? You were pissed. Don’t deny it.”

Her frown smooths away, and a small smile peeks out. “You’re right,” she agrees. “I was pissed. But that’s also the reason I met Shane so …” She raises one shoulder and lets it fall.

“So now you’re okay with it,” I fill in. She nods. “There’s just one problem, though,” I point out.

“What’s that?”

“Your story is like a one in a million chance. I’m not going to meet the love of my life working as an elf. And even if I did hear some kid telling Dad a sad story,”—I lay a hand on my chest—“never in a million years would I decide to take it upon myself to do anything about their Christmas.Thatis most definitely not my job.” I still can’t believe that worked out for her, to be honest. She overheard a six-year-old Sophie asking Santa to get a message to her parents as her only Christmas request. Apparently her brother had told her that all the fairytale beings know each other and assumed angels were included, so she figured Santa should be able to do that. In true Sarah fashion, she elbowed her way into their lives, bringing presents, braiding hair, and somehow deciding she needed me to decorate the outside of Shane’s house.

She hums, diverting her attention from me to straighten the front-of-counter displays. “That’s true.” She grins, still not looking at me. “God, you were so pissed when I made you hang those lights on his house.”

“I still am!” I lightly smack my palm on the counter for emphasis, and that just makes Sarah laugh more.

When she raises her eyes to mine, her smile is soft, but she’s looking at me like she sees through me. “I get it, Dylan. I do. You’re ready for the next chapter to start, and you’re chafing at the restrictions and barriers still standing between you and it. I’ll talk to Mom and see if she’ll let me steal you a couple times a week. Would that help? Or is there something else bothering you?”

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