Page 9 of Stuck in Christmas

“Well, do you readPositively New Orleans?” I opened the door to the Mistletoe Suite.

“Not if I can help it,” Eli quipped back, a teasing glint in his eye.

“I’m a writer for that magazine. And I’m on deadline for some reindeer games.”

“What?” Eli replied, confusion mixing with curiosity.

Of course, he was confused; we didn’t talk about that part yesterday. “Never mind. Thank you, and good night.”

I slammed the door in his face and sighed. This is ridiculous. I needed to get out of this town just as soon as I got some sleep. I eyed my computer bag and remembered my deadline.

“Okay, new plan,” I told the empty room. “Hot shower. Write my story and meet my deadline. That’s what I need to do.”

That would have been a great plan if I hadn’t leaned back in the old-fashioned chair at the antique secretary's desk while typing my story. I heard a crack, and with a swiftness I couldn’t describe if my life depended on it, I flew off the seat and landed face-first into a snowbank outside Bonnie’s Inn.

Part Three

Four

“Shut the front door,” I swore.

How the heck was I stuck in another freaking snowbank? How did I get here? I just took a shower and changed out of these wet clothes, and yet, here I was again, right back where I started in Christmas, Mississippi.

Maybe this was one of those time slips you read about online. You’re walking down the street in 2024, and suddenly, you’re transported through a rip in the space-time continuum and stuck in 1908, where you have to deal with not being able to vote or have a credit card, but the men were manly men, and soda still had real sugar, and cocaine in it.

Or maybe I hit my head and slipped through stones, and any minute now, I’d meet a hunky virgin Scot with great legs and a backside that will forever live in my dreams when I’m forced to go back through…

I shook my head.

This was freaking ridiculous.

This was neither a fairy story nor a best-selling time-travel romance.

This was my life. Whether or not I believed in what was happening, it didn’t change the fact that I was stuck in Christmas, Mississippi, seemingly living the same day over and over.

I needed to get it together, fast, because my 35-year-old body couldn’t take more of the getting banged up part.

“Miss?” Joe’s voice brought me back to - my reality, it would seem.

I hopped up and grabbed his arms. “Joe. Something is wrong.”

“How do you know...?” Joe started, confusion etching across his brow.

“Never mind. Come on, we need Bonnie.”

I dragged him through the diner's door, those maddening jingle bells echoing throughout the dining room.

“Who might this be?” Bonnie asked Joe.

“Bonnie.” I crossed the room to grab her hand. “There’s something wrong. This is the third time I’ve woken up in your snowbank out front.”

“Eli!” Bonnie’s voice rang out.

Eli emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a flour-dusted apron. “Yes?”

“I told you to shovel that walk,” Bonnie scolded.

“Yes, ma’am. I was going to get around to it, but,” Eli began, shifting uncomfortably.

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