1 Chapter 1

“There he is, Uncle Matthew,” his niece announced quietly, her excitement tempered with the respect all children have for Santa. Eagerly, she nudged him and pointed ahead, barely able to contain her enthusiasm. She was practically bouncing up and down in her pink-and-white snow boots as a grin spread across her delicate face.

Finally, he thought, fighting another yawn. They had been standing in line for at least an hour. He shifted her pink coat onto his other arm and glanced over at Santa’s Workshop, immensely pleased that someone in a Santa suit was making his way over to the green velvet throne. The oversized plush chair was adorned with hideous gold accents and something that he could only assume from this far back was supposed to be holly berries. Larger-than-life presents and toys—was that supposed to be a spinning top?—surrounded the throne, and the ground was covered in lots of fluffy white faux snow.

Several more people dressed in matching elf costumes scurried around as they prepared to open the gate to the dozens of people waiting their turn. He looked down the line of frustrated parents as he tried to gauge how much longer he would be stuck in this nightmare, taking some personal satisfaction at the defeated expressions many of the adults wore. If he had to be stuck here, he was glad there were others suffering along with him. What kind of monster had created this special kind of hell that pulled children in through the lure of sitting on Santa’s lap, only to spit them back out tired, angry, and hungry?

While standing in place for the past hour, he had witnessed the process several times over as more than one ran from the line, a shrieking mother or father usually close on their heels. Most of those parents didn’t show back up, choosing to forgo the line and head home instead. Lucky bastards, he thought.

He scanned the department store again. Large, bulky wreaths decorated with red and gold bows hung everywhere, while thick garlands made of artificial greenery draped across signs, countertops, doors, and railings. Massive ornaments in every shape and color hung from the ceiling throughout the entire store. There was just no way to escape the holiday.

Stifling a groan, he plastered on a smile for his niece’s sake. “You’re right, Hannah. He’s finally back from feeding his reindeer.” The damn sign had been kind enough to inform everyone what Santa had been currently doing.

She nodded solemnly and smiled back. “He has a lot of reindeer to feed, Uncle Matthew. Do you think Rudolph was there?”

“Rudolph? Um, I’m sure he was there. He has to eat too, right?” He had no idea. What did reindeers eat anyway? Gingerbread men? Peppermint bark?

Hannah seemed satisfied with his answer and turned back to watch Santa.

God, how had he let his sister talk him into this? He sighed, knowing the answer. She had always been able to manipulate him, even when they were children. When she had called him early that morning and begged him to take his five-year-old niece to see Santa, he had tried to come up with an excuse, he really had, but he hadn’t had his coffee yet, and his brain was still in sleep mode. When she mentioned how sad Hannah would be if she didn’t get to see Santa Claus this year and how she had to work and nobody else could take her and blah, blah, blah, he had given in before she finished wheedling.

“Seriously? You’re saying yes and I didn’t even get to finish begging? I had a whole speech prepared, Matthew,” she said, a hint of laughter in her tone. “This is great. Thank you so much! You’re the best brother in the world,” she declared. “Trust me, this will be quick and painless—a cinch for you. Arrive at the store, meet Santa, get the picture, and you’re out of there. Easy!”

Lies, all lies, he realized, as he once again looked at the long line ahead of him.

It was December 23, which meant he only needed to get through two more days before he could pull himself from his annual Christmas funk and get back to work. God, he hated the holidays.

Hannah grabbed his hand and tugged. “Look!”

Following her gaze, he saw an elf holding a basket while moving down the line, stopping to chat with each adult and child before reaching into her basket and handing them something.

“What do you think she’s giving them, Uncle Matthew?”

It was probably too much to hope it was a mini bottle of scotch, but he could dream, couldn’t he? He cleared his throat. “I don’t know, Hannah. Must be something awesome, though.”

God, did he really just say awesome? About an elf and her free handouts meant to appease the tired and cranky shoppers? He could only hope that Christmas arrived quickly and left the same way.