Page 25 of Hacking the Holidays
“How would you even know that?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. “You weren’t here earlier.”
“And how would you know I wasn’t here earlier unless you’d already been here to get a cookie?” I asked.
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Are you calling me a liar?”
I bit my tongue hard, knowing that replying, “Yes, and I know exactly where your daughter learned the skill,” would probably end with me being banned from the library for life.
This was exactly why I preferred the solitude of my she shed. People are inherently unhappy, untrustworthy, and unpredictable, but especially people with offspring who’d apparently been trained in the art of interpersonal manipulation.
“I’m pretty sure you know where I stand on the topic,” I said. “Eleanor will be back in a moment, so I’ll let you take it up with her.”
“She’s got better things to do with her time,” she said, looking around nervously before holding out her hand. “Come on—just give me the cookie, so we can get back to the reading.”
I despised people like her, but the last thing I wanted was to create a disturbance. I sighed and shoved a cookie in her direction, hoping she would just leave.
“Fine. Take it,” I said. “Now, please go sit back down.”
It was the worst possible decision I could have made.
The little girl’s face lit up when her mother gave her the cookie, like she’d just handed her the keys to Disney World. She clutched the cookie to her chest and skipped away while singing, “I’ve got anothercookie! I’ve got anothercookie!”
The effect was immediate and catastrophic.
The Santa reading came to a screeching halt.
Every head in the library—including Sam’s—swiveled toward my table like sunflowers following the sun. Within seconds, the cookie table became ground zero for what could only be described as a holiday-themed stampede. Small hands snatched bags while I tried desperately to maintain some semblance of order, but it was like trying to stop a room full of crocodiles with a fly swatter.
“Please, everyone, go back and sit down. Santa hasn’t finished his story,” I said, but the screaming kids drowned out my words.
The chaos seemed to be just getting started, though.
A young boy, apparently the linebacker of his elementary school class, made his move, charging toward the table with the determination of someone storming the beaches at Normandy. His momentum carried him directly into the table, knocking it over and sending the bagged cookies flying in all directions. To make matters worse, I crashed to the floor as well, my elf bells jingling gleefully on the way down.
I lay there on my back, my legs flailing upward like a beetle that had been flipped over, surrounded by crumbs and plastic bags, while children dove around me for cookies likethey were hundred-dollar bills that had been dropped out of the airplane.
This was it. This was how my FBI career would end—not in a blaze of glory fighting federal criminals, but as roadkill in a Christmas cookie riot while dressed like a reject from Santa’s workshop.
Chapter Seven
SAM
There was something oddly fascinating and mesmerizing about how Rose could turn a simple and innocent volunteer shift into a complete debacle in the blink of an eye.
This woman is a walking disaster.
Why didn’t it bother me?
And why did I want to rescue her so badly?
The moment I saw Rose hit the floor in an avalanche of Christmas cookies and mayhem, I dropped my copy ofThe Night Before Christmason the table and flew in her direction. I covered the library’s length in a blur of motion, my clunky Santa boots making thuds against the carpet as I weaved in and out of the gang of cookie monsters.
Two concerned parents were trying and failing to pull her to her feet. I gently took over, lifting her and steadying her with my hands on her shoulders while she found her balance.
“You okay?” I said softly, close enough that only shecould hear me over the continued chaos of the cookie-obsessed children. “You took quite a hit.”
“Yeah …” Rose looked up at me with those intelligent eyes—now slightly dazed.
Most people would have either gotten defensive, started tossing the blame on someone, or even tried to turn the whole thing into a self-deprecating joke. Rose just stood there, dusting herself off.
