Page 1 of There's Only One Sleigh
Chapter
One
Whitney
There’s nothing worse than Christmas in a small town.
Small towns look cute in the movies and, sure, sometimes I’ll pause while scrolling if Instagram’s algorithm inexplicably serves me a picturesque photo. There are probably hundreds of pictures of Charming Lake, New Hampshire online because it’s definitely picturesque. Christmas wreaths and lights and inflatables are everywhere, and I think every single building has an electric candle in every single window.
I think Charming Lake could have spent a little less of the town budget on wreaths for every pole, and more on basic infrastructure—like a drive-thru coffee shop or having separate stores for eggs and wool socks instead of packing everything into one general store—but nobody asked me.
I’m also not a big Christmas person. I don’t hate it or anything. There’s no trauma. There’s no childhood memory of the year I didn’t get a doll I asked for and thought it was because I was on thenaughtylist. Christmas is just…super annoying. It’s a distraction.
It’s pretty enough on the surface—all white glitter and sparkling red garland—but the holiday is an invasive weed that spreads and chokes off regular life. The root system is so well-established, it’s not even contained to the weeks between Thanksgiving and New Year’s anymore. Now you wake up the day after Halloween and—ho ho ho—Merry Christmas.
After the holidaysis one of the worst symptoms of the Christmas infection, and it’s one of my least favorite phrases. Every year, though, I hear it a little earlier. Work is put on pause while people obsess over cookies and how to buy the perfect gifts for everybody they’ve ever met without taking out a second mortgage on their homes.
When it comes to work, I don’t have a pause button. I don’t defer matters of business in favor of building gingerbread houses. It’s one of the reasons I went to work for Donovan Wilson. You don’t become a billionaire by slacking for two months out of every year.
Donovan is technically a millionaire now, I guess, because he’s giving so much money away, but that makes it even better. I can get the experience I need while working for a man I respect. Thanks to Donovan’s executive assistant going on maternity leave, I finally have a chance to stand at his side and prove myself. Even if the position is temporary, it’ll go on my resume, along with an excellent recommendation from the boss. I know it’ll be excellent because that’s the standard I hold myself to.
But Donovan got stranded in this small town by a winter storm just before Christmas a few years ago and fell in love with a local. And somehow I’ve been tasked with being his liaison with the town committee and acting astheirassistant to ensure Charming Lake’s Christmas celebration is the best it can be.
Christmas in Charming Lake.
It sounds like the title of a horror movie, and I’m the lingerie-clad co-ed being sent into the basement without a flashlight.
I’m actually being sent to the fire station, which feels like a weird place to have a meeting. I assumed we’d have a meeting room at the town hall, which is definitely a lot easier to find than the fire station. I think I’ve passed that front porch with the bear carved out of wood on it three times, but it’s hard to tell because there are a lot of wooden animals in this town. And a lot of front porches.
I knew public transportation was out of the question, but I assumed they’d have the bigger rideshare options. I should have guessed from the way Donovan chuckled as he tossed me the keys to a small all-wheel-drive car that this would be an adventure.
Okay, I’ve definitely seen that inflatable Nativity set at least twice. How is it so hard to navigate a town this small?
Maybe I should just set something on fire and let them come to me.
Chapter
Two
Rob
Rich people are a pain in the ass.
I know this because my sister married one. And then the guy Natalie married sent his assistant to assistmeand I don’t seem to get a say in the matter. Actually, I do have a say because I’m in charge of the Christmas fair this year, but my entire family pressured me to let Donovan do thisfavorfor me, so here I am, waiting for an assistant I don’t want who’s supposed to help me with things I don’t need help with.
Because, again, rich people are a pain in the ass.
A sound distracts me and it takes me a few seconds to place it—the authoritative clack of high heels on the cement floor. It’s not something I hear around the station very often. There’s nobody else around, so I leave my office and walk to the top of the stairs that lead down to the equipment bay.
The woman standing between the ladder truck and my red SUV has her hand on one hip and the other is holding a black satchel. Black seems to be the theme—black hair flowing downher back, black business suit with a skirt that shows off stunning legs, and black heels that make sure I don’t miss those legs.
She’s definitely not from Charming Lake. There’s no way I would forget having seen her before.
My battered leather work boots aren’t quiet on the wood steps as I descend the stairs to find out what she wants. She looks up and the overhead lights hit her hair differently. It’s not black, just a really dark brown, and her eyes are a light brown.
“Can I help you?” I ask when I reach the bottom.
“I’m looking for Rob Byrne.”
