Page 2 of A Very Merry Mistake

Is my father’s assessment of me correct? Maybe I don’t have what it takes.

I groan, knowing I grabbed that damn charger before leaving my penthouse this morning. Things don’t just disappear. I turn on my flashers and get out of the truck. The wind nearly knocks me over as I search for the release of the tailgate. When I find a handle, I lift it, then climb into the bed.

A shiver runs over my body, and it takes all my strength to drag my suitcase to the edge and unzip it. I rummage in my perfectly organized packing cubes but come up empty-handed. No charger in there, either.

I curse under my breath. If I’m walking, I need to leave now. So I grab my shit and let the burning anger inside push me forward. There’s no point in waiting any longer. The road is slick from rain and will be covered in ice as it grows colder.

As I wheel my suitcase behind me, I think about my past, present, and future. I’ve spent the last thirty-five years trying to prove my place in this world, and I don’t want to spend the next thirty doing the same. I want to be successful and respected for what I’ve accomplished. Not for who I am.

Merryville is supposed to be my escape for the holidays.

I’m surrounded by wide open skies and land that goes on for as far as the eye can see. It’s rugged, the type of place someone goes to disappear.

The quiet is disorienting, considering I’m used to the hustle and bustle of large cities, and if it wasn’t for the loose gravel of the road crunching beneath my feet, my ears would be buzzing. I try to pick up my pace, but it’s pointless when pulling seventy pounds on plastic wheels against worn concrete.

I feel an overwhelming surge of panic bubble, and it causes my heart to race. I can’t do this right now. Not here.

So I try to pull my mind away.

I think about some useless facts I’ve picked up over the years.

When I was a little girl, I’d get panic attacks in public places. Anytime I spiraled, my mom would hold me in her arms and tell me random things to calm my mind.

Scotland’s national animal is a unicorn.

The voice artists who played Mickey Mouse and Minnie Mouse got married in real life.

Australia is wider than the moon.

Before the invention of toilet paper, Americans used corn cobs.

The wind gusts make me wish I’d packed a pair of gloves. Then behind me, I hear the roar of an engine. A spark of hope erupts inside me, but I keep my gaze forward. I find it difficult to ask for help from anyone and have learned to problem-solve alone.

When the faded red antique on wheels passes me, I almost wish I’d stuck out my thumb, but I’m too proud. It might be a flaw that turns fatal if I freeze to death out here.

I watch the tail lights nearly fade into the distance, unsure of how I should feel.

As I come to terms with that being my last hope for rescue, I catch the flash of light and realize the vehicle has made a U-turn and now the headlights point directly at me. When the truck nears it slows to a crawl, and the engine sputters, then backfires.

I pretend not to notice, keeping my focus forward as the fogged window of the driver’s side lowers.

CHAPTER 2

JAKE

“Hey.” I nearly hang out the window to grab the attention of the gorgeous woman wheeling her gigantic suitcase down the country road. The curled ends of her brown hair bounce as she struts like she’s on a runway. It’s painfully obvious she’s not from around here, especially considering the swanky winter clothes she’s wearing that are more suited for a photo shoot at a ski lodge than the middle of nowhere in Texas.

While she’s pretty, it’s not the reason I turned around. If it was me, I’d hope a random stranger would grant me an act of kindness and offer me a ride. I’ve learned that in life you get what you give. So I’d rather put more good in the world than not.

Many influencers visit Merryville for their year-round photo ops with one of the most believable Santas in North America, who also happens to be my dad. She’s pretty enough to be one.

The truck’s engine is loud, so I put my fingers in my mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle, the same one my mama used to round up all the kids after dark.

“I don’t talk to strangers.” She doesn’t even turn her head to acknowledge my existence as she hypocritically answers. I should leave her be since she’s so damn determined to keep walking, but my conscience won’t allow that. I’ve watched the radar closely since yesterday and understand what’s heading straight for Merryville.

Time is of the essence.

If it gets back to my family that I left a woman alone this far outside of town, I’d never hear the end of it. Sure, Ma, I stopped, but she essentially told me to fuck off. So I did.

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