Page 50 of Never Sleigh Never
“I heard that,” I say, very cool, as if I didn’t fangirl over her already.
“I want you to arrange a meeting with her. See if we can get the Holly Jolly Festival on her blog. And potentially her magazine. I think it’ll do wonders for exposure for the festival.”
I nod. “I completely agree.” Again, I tried, but my efforts were fruitless.
“I trust you can do this.”
Shit. “Yes, absolutely. I will get it done as soon as possible.”
She nods, fingers flying across the keyboard. “Time is running out—for the festival and the position.”
She doesn’t need to remind me. “I’ll get right on it.” I step into the hallway and inhale. Oh, great. All I need to do is woo a celebrity, out festival a hockey legend, and reclaim a kidnapped snowman. Going to the North Pole to find Santa might be easier than this. Merry freaking Christmas.
Eighteen
Shit. Damn. Fuck
Logan
The last few days have been eerily quiet. No run-ins with Brie at the coffee shop. No accidental encounters at the diner. Not even a showdown at the bar. No more stealing Christmas decorations or booking all the Christmas props for herself. And the worst part? I kind of miss it. Most sane people would celebrate not seeing the one person they argue with more than they breathe, but apparently, I’m not most people. The bickering, the banter, the sparks—it’s like some twisted addiction. And I need my fix. My pulse kicks into overdrive just thinking about catching a glimpse of her tonight. Even if it’s only a quick exchange of holiday contraband. The warmth that shoots through my chest says it’s not the arguing I miss most. It’s her. She’s been the most unexpected thing to happen to me in the last few years, along with the fluttering in my stomach. Of course, then there’s Simon. It can’t be serious. Right? One date doesn’t qualify as serious.
I tug open the coffee shop door, bracing myself. It’s only Sloane inside, the giant reindeer head perched on the counter.
“Sorry, I’m late.” I come to a halt in front of her. “Where’s Brie?”
“She couldn’t make it.” Sloane nudges the reindeer head toward me. “She left this for you.”
“Oh.” My chest tightens, and my chin drops. “That’s probably better, anyway. Otherwise, we’ll spend the next twenty minutes arguing over the nonexistent scuff on her snowman.”
Sloane’s gaze softens. “Yeah. Probably for the best. Plus, I need to finish closing duties.”
“Okay. So here you go.” I set the snowman on the floor, exchanging it for the reindeer head. “Oh. Also I have this.” I pull out the Mostly Nice. Sometimes Naughty. keychain and set it on the counter. “This belongs to her. Alright, I’ll see you later.”
“Bye, Logan. I’ll let Brie know I have her things.”
I press my lips into a tight smile and nod. Before I reach the door, I spin around. “Can I ask you something?”
“Um. Sure.”
“Is it serious between Brie and Simon?”
Her brows shoot up. “Serious?”
“They’re dating, right?”
Sloane’s laugh cuts through the silence. “You’re funny. Brie and Simon are not dating. Trust me, I’d know.”
Well shit. Fucking Simon. “Um. Thanks.” A wide smile covers Sloane’s face. Before I completely expose myself, I bolt. Back in my truck, I chuck the reindeer head in the cab. If they’re not dating, then why the hell did Brie say they were? Just to mess with me? And why didn’t she show tonight? I grip the steering wheel, torn between pounding on her door and demanding answers—or pretending none of this matters. Spoiler alert: It matters way too much.
I drum my fingers on the coffee shop table, checking my watch for the fifth time in two minutes. Emma, a Christmas blogger, has been hounding me for an interview. I’ve been putting it off mostly because I’ve been busy, but partly because interviews make me itchy. When I played hockey, reporters only wanted to know how I handled the pressure of a power play or if the other team really brought the heat. Easy stuff. Now? They want the messy, personal details I’d rather keep locked up tight. But this could be good exposure for the carnival, and that’s what’s really important here.
The bell over the door jingles. Emma sweeps inside like she’s on a runway. Her lips curve into a wide grin as she sashays toward me, unbuttoning her coat as if she wants to give me a private lap dance.
“Thank you so much for meeting with me,” she purrs.
“Of course,” I say, rising from my chair. “Though let’s be real—you weren’t leaving Mount Holly without this interview.”
She giggles. “That is true.” She shrugs out of her coat, and I help her take it the rest of the way off.
