Page 8 of Santa's Girl
Because Huntley’s best friend’s wife—someone I used to actually like—had invited me to their annual holiday party, making a point to ask if I’d be “bringing my new mountain man.”
I’d never go. Obviously, she was fishing for gossip, trying to see if he was real.
But maybe, just maybe… I could make him look real enough to I stared at my phone for a good ten minutes before finally scrolling toAunt Margieand hitting call.
She picked up on the second ring. “Becca? Well, this is a surprise.”
We fell into easy small talk—weather, holiday plans, the way Stanley still tried to steal the tree ornaments. She asked about work, and I hesitated just long enough for her to notice.
“What’s wrong, honey?”
So I told her.
About losing my job. About Huntley’s sudden reappearance and all the ways he’d tried to wiggle back in. About how I’d been feeling… stuck.
“I don’t know, Aunt Margie,” I said. “Maybe I need a change of pace, too. Something to shake off the mundane routine.”
There was a pause, then her warm, steady voice. “Sounds to me like we both need a little holiday cheer. And you know where to find it. My town goes full out and there’s plenty of snow. Truthfully, I’ve been a bit down since my boyfriend Steve, passed away eighteen months ago. Your father a few years before that… It’s been hard.”
“Would it be okay if I drove up? Just for a few days?”
“You’re always welcome here,” she said without hesitation. “The mountains are beautiful this time of year. Peaceful, too. I could use some company.”
Peaceful sounded like exactly what I needed.
We chatted a little longer—her garden, the neighbor’s ridiculous inflatable reindeer—before hanging up.
I sat there for a minute, phone in hand, feeling lighter than I had in weeks.
Tomorrow, I’d pack up my car. Stanley would go back to Mom. I’d bring along the senior center’s care packages to drop off on the way, and maybe… just maybe… I’d find that change I was looking for.
I hitthe local dollar store first, clearing them out of every roll of garland, tinsel, and sparkly snowflake ornament they had. Two aisles later, I tossed in half a dozen tabletop trees—three white, two green, and one that lit up like a disco ball.
When I dropped Stanley off at Mom’s, I raided her attic for the rest—boxes of old lights, the hand-knit stockings from my childhood, even the battered plastic reindeer Dad used to stick on the porch roof. Mom just shook her head, smiling.
By the time I packed the car, it looked like I was hauling Santa’s garage sale. Tinsel peeked out of every bag, the little trees rattled in their boxes, and the reindeer’s antlers kept poking me in the arm when I reached for my coffee.
As the final touch, I pulled on an ugly Christmas sweater I’d found in the back of my closet. Bright red, too many sequins, and a giant felt reindeer head across the front. It was ridiculous. Which was exactly the point.
If Aunt Margie wasn’t feeling the holidays now, she would after I was done.
Christmas music was blasting through my speakers—Mariah at full power—while I sipped my ten-dollar holiday drink from my favorite drive-thru barista. Peppermint mocha with extra whipped cream. Worth every penny.
The heater in my little Prius was purring, my sweater was cozy, and tinsel peeked at me from the back seat every time I glanced in the rearview.
The higher I climbed into the mountains, the more the road wound like a ribbon. Snow started falling in fat, lazy flakes, dusting the trees and guardrails. It was beautiful. Magical, even.
Not that I was nervous. Not yet.
Aunt Margie’s house was so close I could practically smell her cinnamon rolls.
Then the defroster kicked into overdrive. The wipers swiped frantically. My dashboard lit up like it was auditioning for a Vegas stage show, and the hum of the heater dropped a note.
The climb was getting steeper, and my car was struggling. I hadn’t realized just how much the cold and the incline could drain the battery on an electric car. Rookie mistake.
I muttered, “Come on, just a little farther…”
That’s when a squirrel—fat, determined, and carrying a whole walnut in its mouth—darted across the road.
