Page 1 of Tied Up In Tinsel
Annie
“Keep screwing me over, please, Harley.”
Get married, they said.
It’ll be fun, they said.
Liars. Every single one of them.
I listened to the advice. I married the man I’d known for over a decade—hell, we’d even had a child together—and we still ended up divorced. Turns out, he was about as reliable as a cheap umbrella in a snowstorm, or next-day shipping the week before Christmas, or that one grocery cart with the squeaky wheel you can’t exchange because there’s no other carts left.
Five years of marriage, and every time I needed him, he was either hanging out with friends, glued to his video games, or “working late.” Anything to avoid being here for Ruby or for me.
It took me an embarrassing amount of time to finally say enough is enough. I packed my things, took Ruby, and left. Decided I’d make it on my own without his help—which, honestly, wasn’t much help to begin with.
Fast-forward three years, and here I was, still dealing with his inconsistent, shiny-new-marriage-prioritizing ass.
“An opportunity like this only comes up once in a blue moon, Annie. You’ve got to understand.”
“No, I don’t,” I said, voice scratchy as tinsel. “And I won’t even try to understand how you could possibly choose your new trophy wife over your daughter.”
A groan came through the phone, followed by a long, dramatic pause. I could practically see his eyes roll back in his head. I’d been on the receiving end of that look more times than I could count.
“Her name is Emmie,” he said. “Please refer to her as that.”
“Only because you said please,” I muttered sarcastically, already flipping through the town directory.
It was the holiday season in Snowberry Peak, our little slice of winter wonderland. Trying to find a reliable babysitter during the busiest time of year was like trying to snag a parking spot on Main Street during the Christmas tree lighting. Between events, contests, and parades, everyone was booked solid. But I needed someone. Badly. I was desperate.
“Ruby won’t miss me,” Harley continued. “I’ll make it up to her when I get back. I’ll tell her I met Santa in Hawaii and he delivered gifts to her there.”
In the background, I heard luggage zippers and the thud of suitcase wheels hitting the floor, clearly packing mid phone call for his tropical getaway. Must be nice.
Ruby, for her part, had long stopped caring whether her dad showed up for the holidays—or any day, for that matter. At seven, she’d figured out it was just the two of us. She was whip-smart, hilarious, and had a way of looking at you with her big brown eyes that made you question your life choices… right before she said something that burned hotter than a shot of peppermint schnapps. A sweet-and-sour patch kid in human form.
Unfortunately, that combination also made her hard to babysit. She had a reputation. The last sitter I hired practicallysprinted out of town, and I’m not entirely convinced she didn’t leave the entire state.
This time, I didn’t just need a sitter for a couple of afternoons. My catering schedule for the next few weeks was all over the place. I needed someone who could be here around the clock until the season wrapped up.
“You can never just be here for your family,” I told him, slamming the directory shut with one hand while pinning the phone between my ear and shoulder. “There’s always something shinier, something more exciting than your daughter.”
“That’s not true,” Harley argued. “This isn’t something I can pass up. I’m sorry.”
“You know what? It’s not okay.”
I hung up before he could lob another one of his wobbly, meaningless apologies.
This was supposed to bemyseason. My big break. My catering business had landed the single most important gig in town: the mayor’s annual Christmas gala at the ski lodge. Every year it drew celebrities, politicians, and more than half the population of Snowberry Peak. And this year, I was the one ensuring their bellies stayed full and their canapés remained perfect.
When I left Harley, I’d taken that leap of faith and started my business. I hustled, sacrificed, and it had paid off. I had two employees, a growing reputation, and, most importantly, the freedom to be the kind of mother Ruby deserved.
The one time I actually needed Harley to step up?
I smacked the heel of my hand against the countertop. “Stupid. Men. Ihatemen.”
With nowhere else to turn, I pulled out my laptop and opened the Snowberry Peak posting board. Around here, it was the Swiss Army knife of community life—part classifieds, part gossip hub, part matchmaking service for anyone who neededanything from a handyman to a magician for a birthday party. And in my case? A miracle in the form of a nanny.
The beauty of our little mountain town was that recommendations came with built-in references. If someone vouched for you here, you were solid. No background checks, no awkward interviews, just trust, baked in like cinnamon in a holiday pie.
