Chapter 2
Garlands of fresh greenery, held back with poufy red velvet bows, hung from the stair railings and over the windows, filling the room with the scent of pine. He needed caffeine, but knew if he trudged up to the loft, he would find only cocoa. Jules mentally kicked himself for oversleeping and not allowing enough time to brew his morning coffee back at his cottage.
He sighed. It could be worse. At least he didn’t have to play at being an elf for the next three months. He’d never wanted to be one in the first place. At six-two, he towered over most of the other elves. Not that a person had to be short to be an elf. That was a total myth. Newsflash: elves came in all shapes, sizes, and genders.
“Mr. Winterson is going to be pleased with you today, Jules.”
Jules swiveled at Eve’s announcement, finding her so close on his heels she almost crashed into him. “Good grief, Eve. He’s our age, not some old man. You don’t need to call him Mr. Winterson.” He shook his head and eyed the man’s closed door. “Felixis fine. He even toldus that,” he reminded her.
Her cheeks pinked at his chastising and her gaze fell to the floor. “I know. But he’s our boss.”
Right. Boss.Of an island. In charge of toys. If any toys were broken, inadequately made, or inappropriate in some way, they ended up here, and from what Jules could tell, they never left. Which was why everyone back at the North Pole referred to Snow Hope as No Hope.
Honestly, he wasn’t even sure why there wasa Snow Hope Island. It seemed to be a place where toys came to let their dreams die. He sighed and ran his fingers through his shaggy locks. It was time for a haircut. He added that to his mental to-do list—right before “Get the fuck off this island” and after “Find some damn coffee.”
When he reached the tables, Jules was surprised to see even more large boxes stacked on the ground. He raised an eyebrow at Eve. “Why did we receive so many more deliveries than usual today?”
Her lips curved into a little frown, surprising him. Eve was the eternal optimist. “It’s getting closer to Christmas.”
He waited, thinking she would continue, but she just sighed and dropped into the nearest chair, bracing her elbows on the table, her shoulders sagging. She began picking at the tape on a box in front of her.
They didn’t have assigned seating at SOB. As long as they sorted through all the boxes, entered the toy, the defect, and the date it arrived into the Toy Box Database (TBD), they could start anywhere they wanted. He grabbed his laptop and powered up, logging into the system within seconds. The island might be a hop, skip, and a jump from the more cultured North Pole, but Jules had to admit, the technology was top notch.
“You going to finish explaining about the toys? What do you mean about it being closer to Christmas?”
Eve looked up from the box she was cutting open, her green eyes wide with surprise. “You don’t get it?”
Jules shook his head, irritated. He was new there—how the hell was he supposed to know the ebb and flow of toy shipments?
“Toy manufacturers are trying to meet the demand of Christmas, and some of the less scrupulous ones will cut corners, which leads to mistakes, and they end up with crates full of merchandise not fit for sale. The recording may be wrong on a talking doll, tires don’t fit the dump trucks, pieces missing from puzzles…things like that.”
“And they just dump them here?”
She nodded as she glanced at the new deliveries, the normal sparkle gone from her eyes. “The toy companies get a tax break by donating them to Santa Claus, but he won’t give out less than perfect toys, so they get rerouted to the island.” Eve met his gaze and shrugged. “It’s heartbreaking knowing every year we have more toys that don’t find homes.”
The front door opened, letting the cold air blow through, and their coworker, Zuzu, stepped inside and shook the snow from her perfectly coiffed mahogany hair. She hung up her red wool jacket before sashaying across the floor. Jules wondered if she’d ever been a dancer, because she had that tall, willowy ballerina build, her every step graceful.
“Good morning. I see we have a lot of new shipments.” Zuzu tilted her head toward the boxes
“Yes, ma’am. Just in this morning. We’re getting ready to open and catalog them now.”
Zuzu smiled warmly, her white teeth gleaming against her ruby red lips. “Call me Zuzu,” she reminded gently, squeezing Eve’s shoulder. “We’re equal here. Okay?”
Eve smiled back, her cheeks crimson. “Zuzu,” she whispered.