Page 19 of Honkers Under the Holly

From across the room, I caught Mac’s eye. He’d been helping set up lighting all morning, and something about seeing him in jeans and a tool belt had been doing funny things to my insides. He raised an eyebrow in silent question.

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed with a text from Magda.

Why is Svetlana’s agent calling me about a rogue goose attack?

Sir Honksalot honked triumphantly from his new perch atop the Christmas tree, Leo’s sock still clutched in his beak like a trophy.

“What do you mean you have an idea?” Sun asked, but not in an accusatory way. More like she was prompting me. Like... she’d planned this all along. Which was ridiculous.

“Mac is a sports agent, and I’m sure he’s got a client that could hop in on short notice.” Once again, I was praying Tommy was in town.

Sun nodded and was already striding toward Mac, her camera swinging from her neck.

She pointed at Mac. “You’re a sports agent? Who’s on your roster?”

Mac nodded, clearly confused about why this mattered when we had a model storming out, a hockey player with a bloody nose, and a goose causing a lot of chaos.

“Tommy Frayzer, running back for the LA Bandits.”

“Oh, yes, he’s deliciously perfect. Illustrated Sports cover guy for sure. Call him,” Sun commanded. “Get him here. Now.”

I watched Mac’s face transform as he caught on. “No problem. But don’t you also need?—”

“A Mrs. Claus,” Sun finished, turning to me with a gleam in her eye. “Someone who knows how to work with Sir Honksalot. Someone real.”

My stomach dropped, bounced like a red rubber ball, and went right up into my throat. “Why are you looking at me?”

Sun grinned. “You’re perfect. The curves, the natural chemistry with the goose, the way you light up when Sports Agent Boy looks at you...”

I felt my cheeks heat. Was I that obvious?

“But I’m not cover model material... yet,” I protested. “I mean, I am a model, but not for something this big. This is Illustrated Sports.”

“Exactly.” Sun was already moving, directing her assistants to adjust the lighting. “They want something fresh. Something authentic. Leo, honey, how’s the nose?”

“Had worse, like in last season’s playoff game,” Leo called from where the medic was tending him. “Wanna come kiss it and make it all better for me?”

“Why are the hockey players such insufferable flirts?” Sun winked at him. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ve got an idea for a naughty Jack Frost shoot that we’ll get IS to use for their January issue.”

I wanted to be like Sun Chen when I grew up. She was the mistress of her universe right now, and I was a little in awe.

“Sara Jayne, go see Paolo for wardrobe, hair, and makeup. Mac, get Tommy here in the next twenty minutes or I’m putting you in the Santa suit.”

Mac was already on his phone. “Tommy? Drop everything and get to Magda’s. No, you don’t need to bring emergency tacos. Thanks for thinking of us, though.”

“Are you sure about this? Will Illustrated Sports really put a plus-size model on the cov—” I started, but Sun cut me off.

“Look at me,” she said, her tone gentler. “I’ve spent twenty years in this industry watching them try to force everyone into the same tiny box. But the genuine moments? The ones that make a cover pop? They happen when we let people be themselves.”

She gestured to Sir Honksalot, who had finally descended from the tree and was now attempting to organize the scattered ornaments into some sort of pattern. Either that or he was eatingthem. “Even if themselves happen to include a slightly chaotic goose.”

“Magda’s going to freak out,” I whispered.

“Magda,” Sun said with absolute certainty, “is going to love it. Now go. Paolo’s waiting, and we have a Christmas miracle to create.”

As if on cue, Mac appeared at my side. “Tommy’s on his way. You okay?”

I looked up at him, at the way his eyes crinkled with concern, at the faith there that made me believe anything was possible. “Yeah,” I said, surprising myself by meaning it. “I think I am.”

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