Page 293 of Screwged for Christmas

The power came back on sometime while she was out chasing the reindeer but it would take too long for the heat to fill the home.

Ivy stuffed her hands under her arms and huddled close to the fire for a few more minutes until she was sure the threat of possible frostbite faded.

With all the adrenaline and chaos, her stomach spoke up over the lack of her attention. Cookies didn’t count. And wasn’t that a shame.

Ivy tossed aside her blanket and found a clean pair of socks in her gran’s bedroom. Moderately warm again, she made her way back to the kitchen. Ivy plucked the last remaining cookies and bit into it as she considered her options.

She dusted off the crumbs as her gaze roved over the kitchen and the buckets of paint on the table all waiting for her. This would never work. Three days, eight rooms needing some kind of attention, cooking…Christmas trees. And now she had to re-do the lights.

She dragged herself over to the fridge. The usual condiments lined the door, some leftover chicken casserole, drumsticks in the freezer, and wine. Wine sounded good right now. She tapped the side of the door, giving it some real consideration. Did it count as dinner if no one witnessed?

She bypassed the wine glass and took out a coffee mug instead. It was tempting. Real tempting, but she had never been one to back down from a challenge.

Yet.

This year might push her over to a whole new limit.

She flung open all the cabinets and stood back.

Maybe she had been too hasty with Aspen. Suddenly she wished more now than ever she’d taken him up on his offer to drive her into town. He could have served as a buffer between her and all the old faces she was sure to see. They would want to chat and catch up when she needed every minute available to work.

“Yeah right,” she scoffed. “You just want to get another whiff of his cologne again and have another chance at him asking you to dinner.”

She placed her mug on the counter. Unless she wanted to test how long she could survive on dark chocolate icing, a trip to town was inevitable.

Ivy had never learned how to play hooky or back out of giving her word. She might as well have signed a contract. She turned and leaned against the counter in a huff. Cold, hungry, and she had to admit more than a little tired.

“Well, Ivy, you can gripe and mope or freeze and starve?”

She gave the chocolate a long side-eye look and pursed her lips. There was another option. Huddle in her bed with the chocolate and sulk.

She would have to slog off her wet clothes, into what she had no clue, and go grocery shopping. And inevitably run into people filled with lots of questions. Maybe it would be fun.

She pushed off from the counter. Her family was right. Their gran had lost her marbles.

She hated Christmas. All holidays. Scratch them off the list, mark them from the calendar. She never wanted to see another turkey or set of Christmas lights again.

Her cell rang and she plucked it up from the counter. “Gran! I can’t do Christmas this year!”

Or any year. Nothing could make her want to decorate another tree or baste another turkey.

“Sorry, sugar. Hate to disappoint and what’s so bad about Christmas? Thought you loved all the fancy lights and sparkly decorations. And why would you think Gran is calling? Isn’t she with you?”

Those were all very good questions. “Jon. The next time I see you, remind me to wring your freaking neck. And our siblings’. You all deserve to have every single one of my ten digits wrapped around your necks.”

“Whoa there, little sis. Murder is frowned upon in the modern days. Your Wild West show is a few decades too late.”

She swallowed hard and with it, her wrath. A heavy sigh released a bit of her anger as she tried to control her breathing so she wouldn’t pass out, but those blinky white lights across her vision refused to fade despite her best efforts. “If this was the Wild West I would be a single child by now. You won’t believe what our dear sweet little Gran did this time.” The grandfather clock nestled in the corner of the large gathering room chimed ten times.

“Try me.”

Ivy gave her brother the rundown, fell into a plush rocking chair by the fire and stared into the dancing flames.

“Now that Gran bailed on her own Christmas gig, I’m stuck here and I haven’t heard from my hopefully new employers yet.”

“Are you over your pity party yet?”

“Harsh much?”

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