Page 25 of The Grumpiest Elf

Kim darts away, stopping to talk to one of the men, then leaving the room. Lydia steps forward, her fingers catching my sleeve and dragging me along with her. “Did everyone have fun seeing Santa?” she asks loudly, and the kids cheer in response. “And I know Santa loved talking to each of you. Sadly, he had to go. Christmas is almost here, you know, and he’s very busy getting ready for his busiest night of the year. But Elfie and I,” she gestures at me, “will be hanging out with you for a bit longer. Who wants to hear more stories?”

A little over half the hands shoot up, mostly the younger ones.

I step forward, taking over. “Great. You guys stay where you are, and the rest of you can go with Holly.” I gesture to Lydia. “She’ll be showing you how to make snowflakes.”

A few of the kids look around and as we’re shifting, one of the ones that said she wanted stories changes her mind and goes with Lydia instead. When Lydia catches my eye, she gives me a warm smile, and while I’m not sure what exactly has changed in the last hour or so, I’m happy it has.

I return her smile with one of my own, then pick a book from the basket and sit in Santa’s chair.

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

Lydia

My skin tinglesas I lead my crew off to the side, arranging them in a semicircle where we’ll be out of the way but still have plenty of room to play with paper.

Dylan gave me an elf name.

Maybe it’s silly—I mean, the name is definitely silly—but it makes me feel included. I know only the Daniels’ kids have gotten elf names, and maybe it’s not totally official since I wasn’t named by Mrs. Claus—er, Mrs. Daniels—but it feels significant somehow.

And I don’t know if it’s the fact that Dylan apologized, though it certainly helps, or the way he’s been so amazing with the kids all night, but I can’t maintain my cool, polite facade with him when he’s being like this. I mean, seriously. Who would’ve guessed the grumpiest elf in the world would be so good with kids? And when he started singing Christmas carols with them? My heart melted.

Which I guess is why I’ve resisted acknowledging his niceness for what it is, choosing instead to see it as some kind of game or manipulation. Because if I can continue casting him as the bad guy, then my physical attraction to him can’t turn into anything more. Anything more would be setting myself up for disaster, and I’ve had enough of that lately.

It’s hard to resist a guy who’s good with kids, can handle light teasing,andis hot. How is that even fair? I’ve seen his abs, and don’t even get me started on his smile … those dimples. Gah!

He shouldn’t be allowed to be hotandnice. It’s just too much.

Turning to face my group of kids, I push thoughts of Dylan out of my mind, giving my mom a grateful smile when she returns with a pile of paper, pens and pencils, and a couple pairs of scissors. “I hope this is enough,” she whispers as she passes them to me. “It’s all I could scrounge at the last minute.” Turning so the kids can’t see her, she presses her lips together and shakes her head. “I offered to get craft projects or some activity for the kids, but they assured me that just Santa would be fine. And now look? I should’ve trusted my gut.”

“We’re fine, Mom,” I reassure her in a whisper, giving her arm a squeeze.

“You’re the best, sweetheart. Once they serve dinner, you’re off the hook, okay?” And then she’s gone, whisking away to ensure everything else runs smoothly.

I think we all should’ve known better than to think Dylan and I would be off the hook once dinner is served. After Dylan runs through all the stories again and I’ve helped everyone make a snowflake, showing them how to fold the paper and letting the older kids share one pair of scissors while I help the younger kids, it’s time to eat, and Mom approaches me, consternation obvious on her face. “They’re asking if you’ll stay and eat. Fortunately the catering crew always makes a few extra plates just in case something happens, so there’s enough for you two to eat. I hate asking you to do this. I’m sure you have other plans.” At this, Mom’s gaze darts to Dylan, because she knows I don’t. “And of course you can say no. But if you stay, you’d be helping me out so much.”

“I don’t mind staying,” I say before Dylan can answer. I toss him a glance. “I can handle them on my own if you want to go. I’m sure Mom can give me a ride home.”

Mom nods when I glance her way. “Of course.”

He seems to consider that, then shakes his head. “We still have to break down the set, anyway. It’s easier if there are two of us. I can stay to finish helping with the kids, then we can load up, and I’ll drive you home as planned.”

Before I can respond, Mom says, “Thank you both so much,” in a whoosh, and hurries away.

Dylan lets out a soft chuckle. “Your mom’s a great event coordinator, but I get the feeling she hasn’t worked at this kind of a place before.” At the quick shake of my head, he nods, glancing at the people gathered around tables, getting their kids settled as the catering staff brings out food. “Tell her that these kinds of groups do this a lot.” He meets my eyes. “This isn’t the first time an elf gig turned into babysitting duty.”

* * *

We end up staying all the way until the end, entertaining the kids with endless games of Ring Around the Rosie and Duck Duck Goose. Dylan makes all the kids an origami crane out of the leftover paper, and they’re all thrilled, the little ones racing to their parents to show off their treasures.

When Mom approaches us, my shoulders hitch, involuntarily bracing myself for her to tell me they want us to stay even longer for some reason, even though they look like they’re getting ready to leave. “You guys are lifesavers,” she says. The group starts singing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” and Mom hands us each an envelope. “Here’s your payment for tonight. I wrote you checks from Hudgins House to make it easier on everyone, but Mr. Gossman insisted on a cash tip as well, so that’s in there too.” I open my envelope, eyes widening at the crisp one hundred dollar bill nestled inside along with the check for our evening of babysitting. “I’m sure you’re more than ready to break down the set and go, but they’ll be done after the song. If you don’t mind waiting …”

A grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, Dylan nods. “Of course. No problem.”

Mom gives us another grateful smile and rushes off again. Dylan settles on the ground, reaching up to tug on the hem of my skirt. “Might as well get marginally comfortable. It could take a bit longer than they say for them to clear out.” He glances at the clock on the wall. “We’ll give them fifteen minutes. If they’re not done by then, we start discreetly taking out the small things, and once we’ve done all the discreet breakdown we can, we start taking everything apart. If they don’t want the kiddies to see that, it’s on them at that point.”

Chuckling, I settle myself on the floor, pulling both legs to one side so I don’t flash everyone in my skirt. “Sounds like a plan.” We sit in silence, but it doesn’t feel strained or awkward like it sometimes does with Dylan. It’s comfortable.

Imagine. Being comfortable with Dylan. Who’d’ve thought?

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