Page 17 of The Grumpiest Elf

“Yes you did!” Her eyes bulging, Sarah waves her hands in front of her. “That’s literally what you just said! You told her to not be cheerful or nice around you, so she’s not, and now you’re—what?—annoyed that everyone else gets the nice version of her while you’re stuck with exactly what you asked for?” She scoffs and returns to stocking the shelves. “You’re on your own, dude. I’m not sure I see any way to salvage this one, because even if you talk to her and apologize for being a dick, I’m not sure it’d get you anywhere or make any difference.” She glances at me. “You could try, I guess, but …” She shakes her head. “Maybe try being less of a sourpuss and you won’t find yourself in these situations where the pretty new girl dislikes you immediately because you come across as extremely dislikable.”

When I stand there frozen, unsure how to respond, Sarah waves a hand. “I’m almost done. I can finish up on my own. Go think about what you did wrong and how to do better next time.”

“Now you sound like Mom,” I grumble, and she just shoots me a sunny smile.

“I get lots of practice at the Mom-type stuff these days. But seriously, as fun as this was, you’re starting to bring down the whole vibe in here.” She waves her hands at me in a shooing motion. “I don’t need you infecting my happy little store with your grumpus energy. Go have dinner and get some sleep. Maybe if you start being nice to your coworker, she’ll be a little nicer to you. In any case, there’s only a couple more weeks before it’s over anyway, and then you’ll probably never see her again, so maybe it doesn’t really matter.”

With another grunt that provokes another cackle from my sister, I head to the counter to grab my backpack before saying goodnight and heading out, her final comments ringing in my ears.

Why does the thought of never seeing Lydia again make me irrationally upset? She doesn’t even like me, and it shouldn’t matter, because Sarah’s right. I’ll be leaving, likely Lydia will go back to college too, and I’ll only be home for shorter visits once I start working. What are the odds our paths will ever cross again?

And why do I dislike the realistic answer so much?

CHAPTERTEN

Lydia

Tuesday morning,I open again, and since I know Dylan is working with me this morning, I make sure to show up a few minutes earlier than normal so I beat him here. Since he helps with setup more than Nora does, we’ll get through everything faster, which means more time just standing around. But it’s worth it to have the space to myself for a few minutes before the hustle and bustle begins.

Every day is packed with both locals and out of towners. And it’s not just here at the official ChristmasFest space. The whole town participates, with restaurants offering specials for shoppers who come and show their receipts, live music from local bands and school choirs, horse drawn carriage rides with the horse and carriage decorated with garlands and thick, wool blankets for riders to bundle up in as they’re taken around on a tour of the Christmas lights in the downtown area. Maybe Mom and I can go on it Sunday when we’re both off. I think that would be fun.

It’s kind of expensive—I stopped and asked the other day—but for a once a year treat, I think we can justify it.

I’ve just finished putting on my elf shoes when Dylan stomps in. Okay, stomps might be overstating it. But really, this guy reminds me of those cartoons where the character has a storm cloud following them around all the time. Stomping just seems appropriate, though I know he doesn’t actually stomp everywhere.

It’s kinda funny watching him transform from this sullen, grumpy asshole to the friendly elf persona he uses with customers. He might not get as silly with the kids as I do, but I know my jab about him trying to suck the Christmas cheer out of children wasn’t accurate. He’s actually a good elf, much as I’m sure he’d hate to hear it.

Although when I implied I was surprised at how good of a job he did, he was kinda offended I’d think he’d do a bad job.

This guy is hard to read.Which is why you’ve stopped trying, I remind myself.

Standing, I smooth down the skirt of my elf dress and give him a tight smile. “Morning.”

“Morning,” he returns as I pull my ears and hat out of my bag and move to the mirror to put them on.

I’m acutely aware of him standing there watching me, but he doesn’t say anything. His unwavering gaze makes me uncomfortable, but I do my best not to betray that feeling, instead focusing on myself and putting my things in my locker so I can slip out and head to the Workshop to start getting set up for the day.

He clears his throat, and I force myself not to freeze in anticipation of whatever surly comment he’s planning on making, though I do indulge in wrinkling my nose in annoyance since my back is to him.

“So, uh,” he begins, hesitant, “you like to get here early, huh?”

My brow arches involuntarily as I cast a glance at him over my shoulder. “I do,” I say, calm and cool, not feeling the need to elaborate.

“Me too,” he says after a moment.

I cast a glance at him after I close my locker door, and I’m sure my confusion is plain on my face. After the first day, we haven’t engaged in anything that would approach small talk. All our conversation is extremely utilitarian in nature—exchanges of information about our division of work and nothing else.

He finally steps away from the door, and I’m relieved, because now I don’t have to figure out how to get past him. Setting his backpack on a bench, he toes off his boots as he undoes his coat. “So we’re working the event at Hudgins House together later this week. Why don’t you plan on riding with me in the truck? That way it’s easier for us to unload and set up once we’re there.”

“Oh, uh …” Crap. I didn’t expect I’d have to ride over with him. When Mrs. Claus said to let her know if I’d need a ride, I assumed I’d go over with her and Santa. But maybe this is what she meant?

I do need a ride, though. Mom has to head over before me, so I can’t ride with her.

“Sure,” I say at last. “That sounds good. Thanks.”

He regards me levelly for a moment, then nods, amusement sparking in his eyes. “I’m gonna change now,” he tells me, and heat floods my cheeks.

“Right. Of course. I’ll, uh, I’ll just go.” I hook my thumb over my shoulder, and when he starts pulling his sweatshirt over his head, I do my best to muffle the squeak that wants to escape at the sight of his abs, then turn and flee.

---