The last thing Brie Dalgleish expected her boss to do was ask her to
play an elf in the toy store grotto. She's even less enthusiastic when she
discovers Santa is the same bloke who drove his car through a puddle the
previous evening, completely soaking her.
Hector Clause is playing Santa in the family owned toy store under
sufferance as a favor to his grandfather. He'd rather be in a nice safe office,
using his law degree, than playing Santa in a shop full of squealing kids. Even
if the chief elf is on the cute side.
With the store's centenary fast approaching, the anniversary party
is abruptly cancelled. Hector resolves to celebrate anyway, but isn't prepared
for the curveball he finds headed his way.
Extract:
The pub was a five minute walk away. The air inside the
building was thick and heavy after the chill, damp December evening. More rowdy
than usual, the pub had a darts tournament going on at one end of the room,
with the Reading v Portsmouth match on the large screen TV at the other. Loud
music from the jukebox competed with the two sports.
This was a mistake. She shouldn’t have come out. Head
ringing, Brie turned to leave. She collided with a tall, firm, warm body.
He spun around, his beer spilling from the glass onto her
coat.
“Sorry…” They both apologized at the same time.
Brie took a step back, shaking her coat. Great, now I have to put this into the
cleaners. Serves me right for buying a ‘dry clean only’ winter coat. She
glanced up.
Blue eyes twinkled beneath the shock of untidy light brown
hair. Long fingers with short bitten nails curved around the now half full
glass of warm beer. “You okay?”
She inclined her head, trying her level best to be polite
and not allow her temper to bite his head off for not being careful. “I’m fine.
Can I get you a new drink?”
“No. Thanks for the offer though.”
Brie headed out into the fresh air. As she crossed the car
park, she was aware of someone following her. She moved to one side and pulled
out her phone. Rather than call the cops and make a fool of herself if it
turned out to be nothing, she did the next best thing. This was a failsafe back
up she and Lizzie had anytime either of them went out alone. They had a code
word to use if either of them got into trouble for any reason. The other then
knew instantly to dial 9-9-9 and get back up.
She dialed quickly. “Hey, Lizzie.” The bloke from the pub
raised a hand in greeting as he passed her. Brie watched him climb into his car
and drive off. “No, I’m fine. I just wanted to say hope it goes okay with Mr. J
tomorrow. If you need me, you know where I am.”
“Thanks. Have fun in the grotto.”
“I’ll try. G’night.” Brie hung up and walked briskly along
the wet pavement to the chip shop on the corner of the road. She pushed open
the door to be greeted by the tantalizing aroma of fried potatoes and vinegar.
She breathed deep. The scent always reminded her of her childhood, living next
door to her grandparents chip shop.
The bloke in front turned around. Of course it was the man
from the pub. Who else would it be? “Are you following me?” he asked with a
smile.
“Perish the thought. I really don’t want vinegar or ketchup
over my coat as well,” she replied, keeping her tone light. It really was quite
funny if you thought about it.
He held out a hand. “Hector.”
She shook his hand briefly, admiring the firm grip. “Brie.”
“Brie as in cheese?” His eyes widened and he sounded more
than a little surprised.
She stifled a chuckle. “No, although being named after a
cheese would have been preferable and more than a little more delicious. It’s
short for Briseis and way easier to pronounce. Mum had a thing for the story of
Troy. It could be worse. I could have been called Andromache or Helen.”
“What’s wrong with Helen?”
“I’m not pretty enough to launch a thousand ships, much less
fight a war over.”
Hector tilted his head. “Hmm, the jury’s out on that one.”
He moved forward with the queue. “But at least you weren’t named after a
cardboard cutout TV dog. Or have an older brother called Nicholas.” He turned
to the counter and placed his order.
“I can see why a cardboard TV dog is a problem, but
Nicholas?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “It is when your surname is
Clause. Nick never lived it down.” He handed over a ten pound note and slid his
wallet back into his pocket. He picked up his packet of food. “This may be a
little forward, but do you want to share a table and eat in?”
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