Page 1 of Make You Mine This Christmas
Chapter 1
Austin
“Please, Austin, we’re one elf short.” My best friend Cole sounds exhausted and I can one of the twins—or both—crying in the background. “Blaire would have called you herself, but she ran out the door to meet the new Santa. Looking at the boots she left behind, she’s not even wearing a matching pair.”
New Santa? One elf short? I’d think one of the twins’ books had come to life if Cole’s wife, Blaire, wasn’t in charge of planning the Holly Ridge–Winterberry Glen Holiday Festival. I stare longingly for a second at the couch and fuzzy blanket I intended to burrito myself in this afternoon. But Netflix and the indent from my ass in the couch cushion I planned to deepen will be here when I get back. No further explanation needed, I grab my coat and the keys to my Bronco.
A wail sounds closer to the microphone on his side of the call. “Melody’s weighing in. She really wants Uncle Austin to help out her mommy.”
“Well, if Melody wants me to, how can I say no?” The front door to my apartment shuts firmly behind me, and I jog down the stairs to head to the street.
“You’re already on your way, aren’t you? And here I am breaking out the twin guilt.”
“Well, you know me. I’ll do anything for my godchildren.” My voice holds a sarcastic tone, but I mean it to my core. I still expect Blaire and Cole to tell me, “Just kidding, we found a better role model,” even though it has been six months since they asked me to fill the role of godfather to their kids.
“Uncle Austin’s the best.” Cole’s voice holds a singsong tone that never fails to put a smile on my face and an ache in my gut. He’s a great dad.
“Blaire will meet you at the high school so you can change into the costume and head over to the town square. Her assistant is doing crowd control with Santa until you get there.”
My SUV roars to life, and I climb back out, tucking the phone between my shoulder and ear, letting the inside heat up while I scrape the windshield.
“There’s never a dull moment with this holiday festival, is there?” I ask, reflecting on the fact that five years ago, my best friend was a certified Grinch. Now? He’s married to the biggest Christmas lover who heads up the planning for the holiday festival our towns put on every year. A feat in its own right, this year is complicated even further by Blaire returning from maternity leave only two weeks before Thanksgiving and therefore two weeks before the festival started. Cole’s mostly a stay-at-home parent right now and adjusting to life as a family of four has added its own brand of chaos to the mix, on top of everything the festival brings on its own.
“Maybe once the twins can take on volunteer roles, we’ll be able to sleep again between Halloween and New Year’s,” he says, the fondness of his new life outweighing the exhaustion in his voice.
I snort, sliding into the front seat and clipping the phone onto the mount attached to the dashboard. “Keep telling yourself that, Dad. Let Blaire know I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Ten if I don’t come across any lords-a-leaping on my way there.”
“You’re the best,” Cole says.
“I know.” I turn onto the Main Street of Winterberry Glen, heading to the bridge that takes me over to Holly Ridge. “Give the girls a kiss for me.”
We hang up, and I turn the seat warmer down and the radio up, grateful it’s early enough in the day traffic isn’t crawling through this part of town. Eleven minutes later, I pull into the Holly Ridge High School parking lot and head into the gymnasium serving as festival headquarters.
A scene of organized chaos unfolds in front of me. People I recognize from both Holly Ridge and Winterberry Glen move around each other. Cindy from Winterberry Glen’s grocery store carries a four-foot candy cane in each hand, a garland crown resting on top of her long, dark braids. Harold from the Holly Ridge Gazette pushes a cart of boxes marked “fragile” at a frightening speed, narrowly avoiding a crash with the woman I’m here to see. Blaire’s buried in her phone, a clipboard tucked under her arm and what I’m certain is a Jitter’s Peppermint Mocha in her hand. Her gait is slightly uneven from her mismatched boots, but she walks quickly across the floor to stop in front of me.
“Austin!” She wraps her arm around me, her cell phone tapping me on the back. I lean down to press a kiss to the top of her head before pulling back. “Did Cole tell you you’re the best and a lifesaver? He was supposed to make that very clear.”
“He definitely got the general sentiment across. What happened with the elf? And there’s a new Santa?”
Blaire rolls her eyes and lets out a snort of frustrated breath. “The elf sprained their ankle in the Ice Town obstacle course last night. And what’s worse, they took our Santa down with them and broke his collarbone in the process. They’ll both be fine, but you can’t very well tell a five-year-old Santa can’t lift them onto his lap because his arm’s in a sling, can you?”
I cover my mouth until I get my facial expression under control, picturing an elf and Santa dogpiled on the obstacle course. “Well, at least no one suffered any long-term injuries. And you should update the contract next year to say they can’t participate in any risky festival activities until after their duties are fulfilled.”
Blaire snaps her fingers and points at me, her eyes shining. “Great idea, A. Thanks for that. Fits in an elf costumeandcomes with contract update ideas. Is there anything you can’t do?”
My mouth opens, and even I’m not sure what self-deprecating thing will come out. A crash from the far corner draws our attention. Blaire’s eyes shut tight. “I’m not going to look at what made that noise until I’ve got you settled. C’mon.”
She weaves back through the crowds to the wall closest to us. The area outside the locker rooms is set up like a cross between a fitting room and a clothing store, with more empty hangers than full ones hanging on the coat rack at this point in the day.
Blaire flicks through the few elf costumes remaining, muttering to herself. “No, no. Damn it, I swore... ah ha!” She pulls down a green tunic with red accents and a pair of red and white striped bottoms. “Five-eleven to six-two. Perfect.” She holds it out to me, proud of herself for finding one that will fit. Only a lifetime of love for Cole and an appreciation for how happy he and Blaire make each other stops me from grimacing as I take it from her.
“That’ll work,” I say, my eyes straying to the woman at the costume repair station behind Blaire, who hasn’t stopped checking me out since we walked over. “But I’m at the top of that range. These bottoms might need to be let out in the crotch if this is going to be a long-term thing.” I wink, and the woman’s eyes stray to the area in question appreciatively.
“Stop it,” Blaire says, whacking me in the arm with her clipboard.
I waggle my eyebrows at her. “What? An elf’s not allowed to mingle and have a little fun?”
“Not while you’re holding or wearing an elf costume, you’re not. You’re portraying the picture of wholesomeness for the kids, please. Now, go change.” She plops a set of long johns in my hands and shoves me gently toward the locker room. “Put these on too. Santa’s Workshop is heated, but with the door opening and closing you’ll benefit from an extra layer.”
