Page 1 of A Cozy Kind of Christmas
ONE
MEG
Was the Universe conspiring against her? Gam—her Reiki-healing, Christmas-cookie-baking granny—would say the Universe was always conspiringforher. But today. Nope. Not a snowball’s chance—it was definitely against her. The Universe had picked a side, and it wasn’t hers.
“Meg! Hey, Meg…” Johanna, Meg’s friend and managing editor, called out from her office as Meg attempted to scurry past, keeping her head down as she headed along the hallway lined with glossy posters of every sports legend imaginable—soccer stars, track champions, baseball icons, tennis heroes. At ESPN, they covered the whole wild, sweaty, adrenaline-fueled gamut. Sure, big-budget sports like football and basketball dominated the headlines. But Meg? Meg lived for and loved the obscure stuff, the rogue adventures, the races no one put money on, and the competitions where half the time she was the only reporter who showed up. Last year, the network sent her to El Capitan to follow a team attempting to break the free-climbing speed record. Her tenure had taken her to nearly every continent. But she was still waiting for the most coveted assignment—Antarctica, the holy grail for an extreme sports reporter. As of yet, she hadn’t managed to make it to the landof the golden sun or endless midnight, and quite frankly, she was well overdue. Her features garnered more engagement than any of her male colleagues. Sure, some of it was due to the viral nature of her content and her tendency to outfit herself in pink. But no one on staff could argue that she didn’t know how to sell a story.
There was just one problem. She wasn’t convinced these were the stories she wanted to tell anymore. Her heart and her laptop had been pulling her in a new direction. A direction she wasn’t quite ready to face. Not yet.
“Meg Reed, get your derrière in here,” Johanna’s voice called again. Meg stopped in her tracks and sighed. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to her. She did, as long as the topic was something safe, like if Johanna had hooked up with her date last night. But Meg knew what she wanted to talk about—an assignment. Not just any assignment but one in Bend, Oregon.Bend, wherehewas.
Meg had read the brief and passed twice.
Her answer was still no.
She glanced at the shimmery silver garland dangling from the drop ceiling in a failed attempt to camouflage the ugly fluorescent lighting. Could she make a break for the end of the hallway and seek refuge behind the fake Christmas tree tagged with donation requests for local families in need? Last week, Meg had plucked three names from the tree and spent her entire Saturday picking out books, LEGO sets, and ice skates, wrapping them in paper dotted with candy canes and elves, and depositing them in the bin on her way into the office.
It was too late to try and dodge Johanna. Plus, she hadn’t had enough coffee yet.
“Can’t chat. On a deadline.” She popped her head around Johanna’s doorway, waved with a wide grin, and tapped her smartwatch like an idiot. Her watch had nothing to do withthe story on the Spikeball trend sweeping college campuses she needed to deliver by the end of day, but it was a knee-jerk reaction. She had never outgrown her tendency to respond without thinking first. Gam had advised her on countless occasions about the power of a pause, taking a beat, a breath, a moment to gather the words before speaking. “Spikeball waits for no one.” She shot Johanna a lopsided grin and pretended to spike an imaginary ball. “Catch you later, yeah?”
“Guurrrll, get your ass in here.” Johanna pressed her lips together and gave a half scowl. “Look, I don’t want to play the I’m-your-boss card, but I’m your boss.” She raised one eyebrow, tipping her head toward the glass door. “And shut that behind you on your way in.”
Meg sighed, staring longingly down the white corridor with life-size posters of Michael Jordan and Serena Williams draped with cheerfulHappy Holidaysbanners and streamers. Her office was only a few feet away. If she could’ve hidden out another few hours, Johanna just might have caved and assigned the story to someone else. But it was too late. Johanna’s piercing brown eyes locked onto her like a heat-seeking missile. Johanna was a few years older than Meg with a stare that could slice through steel and the uncanny ability to make the cockiest of the sports bros quake in their sneakers.
“What’s up?” Meg slunk into Johanna’s office with its ridiculously impressive view of the New York skyline, shutting the door and desperately willing her brain to come up with a new excuse. Instead, it was a total blank, like a whiteboard that had been erased clean.
Damn, don’t fail me now.
Think of something—anything—to get out of this!
She frantically tried to scramble up a reason not to sign on to the assignment.
A sick pet?
No, sadly, she didn’t even own a goldfish.
Coming down with a cold?
She massaged her throat and glanced around Johanna’s office, trying to buy a minute.
Everything inside the office was sleek and intentional, much like Johanna. A minimalist white desk that probably cost as much as Meg’s remaining student loan balance, an orange leather chair that screamed “power move,” and a curated collection of signed sports memorabilia. No mess. No clutter. Just crisp lines, a ridiculous view of the Hudson River, and the undeniable energy of a woman who didn’t play games—she ran them.
The only hint that the holiday season was upon them in here was a potted Christmas poinsettia resting on the windowsill. Its droopy crimson leaves looked desperate for a drink.
“Are you going to make me beg, Meg? Because you know how much I hate begging. However, I’m not above it.” Johanna reached for a pink Sharpie, a gift from Meg, BTW, and made a show of circling something deliberately on a piece of paper. Then, with a sweet-as-Southern-iced-tea smile, she slid the paper across the desk. Meg glanced down and couldn’t suppress a laugh. The assignment was practically giggling on the page with pink hearts, doodles, and over-the-top, positive affirmations ripped from a motivational feed. In big, bubbly letters, it read:
Meg Reed is the only reporter for this job!
Subtle, Johanna. Real subtle.
Pink? Come on.
Johanna knew Meg could never resist a touch of her signature color. How dare she use Meg’s own tools against her?
Johanna was a formidable adversary. It was one of the things Meg liked best about her. They’d both started at ESPN around the same time, having landed in New York without knowing another soul. Johanna was from Georgia, and Meg was from Oregon. Her boss and friend was tall with dark hair, skin, and the deepest, warmest, and most casually terrifying brown eyes Meg had ever seen. Her Southern accent and sweet charm could lull almost anyone into complacency, and that’s when she went in for the kill. Meg was the opposite in pretty much every way. She was short and fair with unruly blond hair that never knew what it wanted to do with itself. Curl into waves? Sometimes, sure. Stick out on end like Pippi Longstocking for no apparent reason? Yep, absolutely. She was accident-prone, clumsy, addicted to mochas, and a hopeless romantic. Meg had a thing for vintage movies likeRoman HolidayandRear Window. Why weren’t there any Cary Grants left in the world? They just didn’t make movies the same these days, minus the blatant sexism and all.
“Hear me out, Meg. I have two things to sweeten my offer,” Johanna said, rubbing her hands together and leaning in for effect. Her eyes glinted with a touch of triumph like she already knew she’d won.
