Page 24 of The Grumpiest Elf

And if I’m being honest with myself, which apparently I am now, I know why it bothers me that she’s nice to everyone and barely polite to me. It’s because I think she’s pretty, and I’d actually like to get to know her better. In other circumstances, while I might not be full of charisma, I can still carry a conversation and be charming enough that I’ve had no trouble dating before now when I’ve made the effort. Though since I’ve been working so much between school and my job at Johnson and Weaver, I haven’t had the time or energy to put forth the effort, and the girl I started seeing in August dumped me by the end of September because I wasn’t available enough for her liking.

Trying to start anything with Lydia would probably be a bad idea for much the same reasons, even if she could stand being in the same room with me when we’re not working. I’ll be going back to school in a few weeks—I’m sure she will too—and while we’ll be in the same city, Seattle’s a big place with more than one university, I don’t even know which one she attends. If by some miraculous chance itisthe same one, that wouldn’t make any material difference. It’s not like my schedule is going to be significantly better in the spring semester than it was in the fall. And that’s already killed one relationship.

It wouldn’t be worth the effort of trying to make anything work with anyone else. That’s what I decided months ago, and there’s really no reason to change my mind.

As though Lydia would even agree to go out with me.

And then there’s that. See? I’m being even more stupid than I’ve been for the last several weeks. Probably I should’ve just kept up my asshole routine and saved myself the trouble.

Except if I could’ve done that, I’d be doing it right now instead of trying to get on Lydia’s good side.

Sighing, I grab my backpack and stomp back into Hudgins House, using the snow accumulated on my boots as an excuse to vent some of my frustration that way.

Once I’m changed, Lydia and I are kept busy getting the camera, laptop, and rest of the set ready to go before the group arrives. Kim is in and out, checking on our progress, offering help if we need it, but she’s obviously relieved when we reassure her we’re fine.

My shoulders pull tighter as the start time draws closer, but when the families arrive, I relax. There are only about seven or eight kids, and even though we’re booked for an hour, it definitely won’t take Dad the whole time to take pictures with all the kids. Sure, he’ll read some stories, and I’m sure we’ll work the whole time, but it’ll be far more low key than a standard day at ChristmasFest.

The kids seem to range in age from about ten or eleven to babies, and I notice a young woman standing off in the corner who I at first assume is an older teenaged or adult child of one of the couples, but when I see the mom pass the baby off to her after a few minutes, I realize she must be the nanny.

The kids predictably go nuts when Dad comes in, booming his signature, “Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!” Lydia and I have our hands full herding the kids toward the foot of Santa’s chair while Mom passes out sugar cookies.

The littlest ones are wide-eyed, and I can’t help smiling. Lydia catches my eyes, raising her brows, though whether it’s in question or surprise, I’m not completely sure. Probably she’s thinking about the day she asked if I feast on children’s Christmas joy to keep me young and beautiful. But one of the moms says something to Lydia, dispelling the moment, and then I’m kept busy entertaining the kids while Dad talks to each one and Lydia takes pictures.

I burn through the basket of storybooks—I’m regretting thinking I’d only need a handful of the cache we keep at ChristmasFest—and start the kids singing “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.”

Once I start singing, Lydia glances over her shoulder at me, and this time, unless I’m very much mistaken, the look on her face isn’t one of surprise or sardonic amusement, but something more like … warmth? Or admiration? Like she’s impressed that I’m capable of doing my job like this. Which rankles, even though it shouldn’t, because it’s not like she’s seen any evidence that I’d willingly entertain kids, has she? Whenever we’ve worked together, she’s the one doing the entertaining. I mostly deal with the parents, and I certainly don’t sing.

Not that she does either, but I definitely could see her doing it.

With the constant activity, the hour’s over before we know it, and Santa, having taken pictures and listened to each kid for far longer than they’d get at ChristmasFest, hushes everyone so he can read “The Night Before Christmas” before he and Mom wave goodbye, give a few high fives, and slip out the back.

Kim slips up next to me while I’m watching them leave. “You did wonderfully with the kids,” she says quietly.

I offer her a polite smile and turn to start cleaning up. “Thanks.”

She touches my arm lightly with her fingers to get my attention, and when I straighten, I notice Lydia has come over. Kim glances between the both of us. “Mr. Gossman—the man in charge of the group—was very impressed. And he’s wondering if you two would be willing to stay longer and entertain the kids?”

Straightening in surprise, my gaze darts to Lydia. “Oh, uh …”

“I know it’s last minute,” Kim rushes to say, “and he’s offering to pay you both quite well.” She quotes me a price per hour that makes my eyebrows lift and my eyes widen.

Lydia meets my eyes, her own wide, and I remember her comments about needing to save money. Pursing my lips, I shrug and gesture to her, indicating that it’s her decision.

“Well, um.” She glances around then refocuses on Kim. “I’m up for it, if …” She looks at me again.

“Sure. We can keep them up here at the front where Santa was. We’ve used up all our books, but …”

Kim smiles, relief evident on her face. “Kids don’t usually mind hearing the same stories more than once. And we have some puzzles and games that I can get out for you.”

“What about paper?” Lydia asks. “And pencils or crayons or something?” She glances around. “Some of them might be interested in drawing.” Her eyes dart my way. “We could divide the group if we need to—stories with Elfie”—my eyes narrow when she calls me that and her grin widens—“and drawing with—”

“Holly,” I interrupt, spitting out the first Christmas related word I can think of. Thanks to the garlands wound with bunches of holly draping the walls, I didn’t have to think hard. But she needs a last name. “Holly … Sparkleflakes.”

She suppresses her laughter, but her grin is irrepressible and her eyes are bright with amusement. Considering the fact that the only smiles I normally get from her are when she’s making fun of me, I’m thrilled to have made her want to laugh for real. “Alright, Elfie Tinselbottom.” Kim snorts, and I cringe, but Lydia doesn’t care, still grinning like she’s having the time of her life. “I’ll be Holly Sparkleflakes.”

“I’ll grab the paper and whatever drawing or craft supplies I can come up with. What about scissors?” She glances at the kids. “You’ll probably have to help and share, but you could do snowflakes?”

“Oh, that’s perfect,” Lydia says. “Thanks, Mom!”

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