Page 1 of Ghost of Ex-mas Past
1
Bea
I’m havingthe best Hallmark-induced daydream ever.
I’ve traded the Manhattan office I’m currently sitting in for a crystal-clear blue sky above me and trees around me. The frozen lake is perfectly smooth and the pines are snowcapped and picturesque. I’m surrounded by townsfolk and gracefully skating along until I lock eyes with a handsome, flannel-clad man skating toward me. He gives me a slow smile, and then I trip on something—a bump in the ice, maybe—and I fall, but like, in asexyway, and he catches me and?—
Okay, scratch that. First of all, if anyone can fall in a “sexy way,” it’s not me. I’ve never ice-skated before, not even a few blocks away at Rockefeller Center, which is packed right now since it’s December. Second, I am not even sure a small town in the Catskills like Here, New York, is going to have a skating rink. Sure, Here looks cute as hell, but it’s also pretty tiny—one small ski resort and a handful of restaurants and shops that make up Main Street.
Fine. Well, what if I take the flannel idea for a run with a different fantasy? In the backyard of the cabin my family is renting for the holidays I hear this loud thwacking noise. It’s a lumberjack—beard and everything—chopping wood for us. He catches sight of me, drops the axe (in a careful, safe way so he doesn’t lose any toes), and sweeps me into his arms. We make out against the woodpile, my hands running underneath that flannel until?—
Damn it. It’s cold outside. My nips would cut glass.
Unless he’s got a fire going.
Well, that wouldn’t solve the problem of splinters from the log pile. I do not want rough-hewn wood anywhere near my sensitive parts, thank you very much.
What if I’m in one of Here’s adorable locally owned shops and we both reach for the same... I don’t know, snow globe? And our hands touch and there’s a spark of electricity and?—
“Bea? Hello? Earth to Bea!”
I blink back into focus and out of my daydream.
Sigh. Goodbye, sexy mountain man.
Instead I’m in my boss’s office with him and his wife. It’s not unusual for us to have a casual lunch together. Clara often brings in food for both of us and she knows thebestrestaurants.
But right now, their attention is on me and Clara is smirking.
“Sorry, did you need something?” I ask, ready to put my food down—bao buns from that Chinese place a few blocks away—and step back into my job as executive assistant.
Nash shakes his head, a small smile on his face. “No, but your phone’s been buzzing nonstop.”
“Shit.” I snatch up my phone from the arm of the chair and check the notifications. Way to be snoozing on the job, Bea.
“Not that one,” Clara corrects. “The one in your purse.”
Oh. Well, that’s my personal phone. I feel less bad, though my phone buzzing enough to annoy Clara—not technically my boss but close enough—isn’t great either.
Don’t get me wrong. I like Clara and Nash a lot. Nash is the CEO of Heartly, a social media company built on positive vibes and wholesome content, and Clara runs food tours in the city focused on immigrants and their food culture. Calling them friends wouldn’t be accurate, though—this is business.
I pull my personal phone out and check the screen. Oh boy. I’ve got email notifications popping up like crazy.
Usually my phone is on Do Not Disturb during the workday, but I have it scheduled to be off during my break. I often leave it at my desk, like when we have meetings or a work lunch, but today, since we just got back from an off-site meeting, my phone is with me.
I open my email and scroll through the messages. It’s all one long thread and in my head I form a quick “TL;DR”: Dad wants to change the rules of our family secret Santa. The rest of the messages are mostly my three sisters chiming in something to the effect ofno wayandWhy? The way we do it is fun.
Secret Santa isn’t something I need to worry about right now, so I turn DND back on and tuck my phone away.
“Anything interesting?” Clara raises a dark eyebrow at me.
I shrug. “Christmas planning.”
“You’re going upstate, right?” Nash asks. He’s in a suit, like always, this one a deep blue that complements his dark features. I know so much about Nash, not only from working for him but from all the media attention he gets. He’s young, handsome, the estranged son of Arab immigrants, and he recently was handed the reins of Heartly from his former mentor and surrogate father, Clara’s dad.
“Yup. In the Catskills.”
Clara pops the last of her bao bun into her mouth. “Let us know how it is. Maybe we’ll go there next year.”
