Page 1 of Never Sleigh Never
One
Peeping Brad
Brie
Brad’s gentle brown eyes stare back at me. For most, it would be horrifying to see Brad on the other side of the window, but not in Mount Holly, where it’s a regular occurrence. His short, stubby tail wiggles with happiness. At least someone’s excited to see me in the mornings. Unlike my ex, whose morning greeting involved a grunt, a blanket over the head, and possibly a fart if he was feeling generous. Mornings weren’t his thing, but is it too much to ask for a little tail wag? Brad disappears for a second before reappearing with a mouth full of straw from my flowerbed.
“Oh, I see. You only came for breakfast.” I cross my arms over my chest. After he’s finished chewing, his mouth falls open, and he baaas before trotting off toward my neighbor’s yard. Again, just like the ex, he gets what he wants, then leaves. I sigh, grab my phone from my robe pocket, and open Mount Holly’s Shenanigans—our town’s unofficial social media group where Brad’s escapades are chronicled like Bigfoot sightings. Sure enough, the morning feed is full of him.
Brad is a sheep that belongs to Henry at the Reindeer Ridge Tree Farm. Unfortunately for Henry, Brad likes to live his best sheep life. Escaping fences, barns, and trailers has been his life’s work, and he has masterfully evaded every single one of them. At first, it was a nuisance. Now, my week just isn’t the same without a Brad sighting.
Brie: He just left my backyard and headed east.
I hit send and set my phone on the counter. Unlike the rest of the world, I love Mondays. Most people dread going back to their nine-to-fives and spend the next four days counting down until it’s the weekend again, but not me. Mondays are a new start. But this one is extra special. This Monday is the kickoff of Mount Holly’s annual Holly Jolly Festival. Not only will this Monday be my bitch, but so will this festival. It will be the festival to trump all festivals. Mostly, I need this year to be the best event this town has ever experienced. If not, I’ll have to pack my bags and leave town with my tail tucked between my legs. Perhaps that’s a bit dramatic, but it’ll be humiliating to ask my dad for a job at his hardware store. Again. He can’t fire me twice, right? Crossing my fingers, I hope I don’t have to find out. Thirty-two days until Christmas. Let the countdown begin.
I pull a coffee mug from the cupboard and lift the lid off the coffee container. Peering inside, I stare down at a dusting of coffee grounds. Oh yeah. That’s what I forgot to get at the grocery store the other day. One minor blip won’t ruin my Monday. This only gives me an excuse to visit Sloane at Sip and Sleigh. Not that I needed an excuse. I was going regardless.
After getting ready for the day, I hop into my SUV and head toward Mistletoe Street in downtown Mount Holly. The bell above the door of Sip and Sleigh jingles as I step inside, the warmth and chatter washing over me. Mount Holly’s resident coffee shop owner and one of my best friends, Sloane, effortlessly serves coffee and pastries to eager patrons. The familiar melody of Mariah Carey’s holiday hit mingles with the rhythmic hiss of the espresso machine’s steam wand. Her auburn hair flops back and forth from the bun on the top of her head. I don’t know how she gets up before the sun every morning to serve coffee to the town, but I’m glad she does, otherwise I’d have to make my own specialty coffee. As much as I’ve tried, even with the help of a fancy espresso machine that now collects dust after one use, no one can make coffee as good as Sloane. She’s a magical coffee wizard. After she finishes serving the customer in front of me, she drops her hands to the counter, a wide smile gracing her lips.
“How did you know this is my favorite song?” I tease.
She laughs. “I think you’re the only person whose favorite song is not only a Christmas song but also ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You.’”
My love for Mariah Carey runs deep. Her voice is iconic. “Doesn’t it just make you want to get up and twirl around and dance and throw confetti?”
“Nope. But I’m happy you’re happy.”
“It just makes my Monday even better.” I unravel my scarf from around my neck, letting the ends dangle over my shoulders.
Sloane spins around, grabs an extra-large vanilla caramel latte, and holds it out to me, a bright smile covering her face. With both hands, I grip the compostable paper cup. The moment the lid’s under my nose, I inhale caramel heaven. “Have I told you lately that you’re my absolute favorite person ever?”
“Every morning.”
I meet Sloane’s gaze. “This morning, I especially mean it. Brad stopped by, and it wasn’t to bring me breakfast.”
“Dammit Brad. He’s so selfish.”
I nod along.
“He’s had a rough three years. It will be good for him to be surrounded by family.” Irene Dahlby’s voice cuts through the rest of the chatter as she sits with the other six Gossiping Grannies, Gigis for short. They’re Mount Holly’s Golden Girls. Retirement has given them extra time to spend their mornings chatting about all the gossip in Mount Holly. They are the first to learn what’s happening in town, and they are also the first to tell everyone else, regardless of whether the information is true or false. You want the juicy news? They’re dripping like a freshly brewed pot of coffee. Lucky for me, Sloane always gets the secondhand gossip to share.
“So, what’s the topic of today’s conversation?” I nod at the ladies huddled around the table, sipping their coffee.
“Apparently, someone’s moving back to Mount Holly.” Sloane shrugs.
My lip curls in disappointment. “They need better gossip.”
“Like the herpes outbreak of twenty-twenty-two?” She lifts a brow.
“Yes! That was good gossip. Who knew that when Samantha dumped her boyfriend and slept with Peter, they’d both end up with herpes?”
“Only Peter didn’t know until he had an outbreak and later traced it back to Michelle, who was sleeping with his dad.”
“You forgot Michelle also got pregnant. The herpes outbreak was quickly forgotten. The next question then became was the baby Peter’s kid or his sibling?”
“At least it kept Dr. Montgomery busy.”
“Compared to that, people moving in and out of Mount Holly is weak. Unless it’s Paul Rudd, because that man has somehow defied time and doesn’t age. I want to know if he moves to town so I can question him about his secrets.” I point to the corner of my eye. “These crow’s feet are not getting any smaller.”
