Page 1 of The Snuggle is Real
CHAPTER 1
Mason
Holy fuck.
The folks who hired me weren’t kidding when they said Christmas Falls went all out.
I gazed up at the towering Christmas tree strangled in strings of multi-colored bulbs awaiting the official flick of the switch at the treelighting ceremony tonight.
Even more impressive, though, was the number of people packed into this little park. When I’d interviewed for my position as director of the Holiday Hope Foundation, I’d laughed off warnings about how wild the season got.
“I’m from the Ozarks,” I’d said. “I knowallabout tourism.”
Truth be told, though, I’d lived in a smaller lake town, and even at the height of the summer season, it couldn’t compare to the absolute gaudy flair that was Christmas Falls.
All the streets had Christmas-themed names. So did the businesses. Jolly Java. Dancing Sugar Plums. Jingle Bites. The Snowflake Shack. The list went on and on. Even the dang airport was named Reindeer Runway.
And the decorations…well, they put the little roofline twinkly lights I used to install back home to shame. Large inflatables. Rooftop Santas. Flashing lights and animatronics.
These people wentall out.And it wasn’t even Thanksgiving yet!
I was awed by it. A little horrified. But a lot impressed.
“Mason!” Griffin Calloway called, waving me over.
I tore my gaze from the holiday spectacle, adjusted the box under my arm, and jogged across the park. Griff was the events coordinator for the massive festival the town thrived on. When he called, you dashed o’er the fucking fields to get to him.
As the new guy in town, I was still working to forge the connections I needed to expand my organization. Holiday Hope Foundation had grown out of a small grassroots effort that included a coat drive, an angel tree, and few odds and ends programs.
My job was to develop it into one cohesive mission. But that also meant raising awareness about some of the changes in the works.
Hence why I was here, wagging my tail for Griff. Well, that and he was a fine-looking man. Taken, sadly, by another fine-looking man. Both of them were solid tens. Me? I was a six. Seven on a spectacular hair day.
I was too damn short and thin to turn many heads. Unless they were concerned the wind was about to blow me away. Always a valid concern in Illinois in the winter.
“Hey, Griff. How’s it going?”
“Well, no bulbs have burned out yet this year, knock on wood.”
He rapped on the table…which was made of plastic. I wasn’t sure if that would bring good or bad luck, but I was glad I wasn’t in Griff’s shoes.
I placed my box of brochures and donation forms onto the table. “I take it this is where I set up?”
“Yeah. You’ll have to share the table with Marlene, our volunteer coordinator. Hope that works for you.”
“Sure, yeah.”
“Good, because you’re not getting anything else.” He winked playfully.
When I first arrived in town, Griff’s reputation preceded him. He was a strict taskmaster who tolerated no nonsense in his festival planning. I’d been nervous to ask him if the foundation could take a more active part in the festival, given that everyone said Griff was inflexible.
But either he’d mellowed alotin the last year or people had vastly exaggerated. He’d been happy to fit me in.
“There’s the deputy mayor,” Griff said. “I’ve got to run!”
“O”—Griff was already gone—“kay.”
The deputy mayor, Taylor Hall, stood by the stage with—whoa,was that the star ofMerry Me, Santa?
