Page 13 of The Selkie Santa

“Four and a half months. But he’s going to be a big boy.” She was stroking her stomach now in that smug way some pregnant women had, as if they were the only person to ever give birth. “We’re keeping it under wraps until his daddy gets home, so, er, keep it quiet, won’t you?”

Harper gritted her teeth and swallowed the nausea rising up her throat. The same nausea she’d felt when she’d seen Dina on Noah’s boat.

Only worse.

That was it, wasn’t it? Conclusive evidence. And so much worse than she’d even imagined.

Howcouldhe? How could Noah have done this to her? Why hadn’t he told her he was seeing Dina again—and worse, that she was pregnant. She found herself replaying in her head all the times he’d been out to sea—or so she’d thought; when really, he’d been visiting Dina. She’d barely been able to contain her tears, wandering across Motham in a daze. Back at work, she’d spilled chowder as she ladled it into bowls during the lunch time rush, unable to even raise a smile for her regulars.

So when Gran rang the same day to ask if she could come and work at the Monsters of Mercy over Christmas because their cook had resigned in a huff, it seemed like a godsend. She needed to get away from here, if only for a break.

Mal understood.

“Won’t be easy getting staff, and we’ll miss you, Princess,” he’d said. “But I reckon you need time out from here. Come back when you’re ready.”

“I promise I’ll only be gone over Christmas.”

But as she packed her bags and took one last look across the quay to where Noah’s boat sat empty, Harper wondered if she would ever be able to return.

To see Dina and Noah pushing their baby along the quay…

And so here she was, at the Monsters of Mercy. And she did enjoy working here. She had her own little cottage on the edge of the complex, with a bedroom, a bathroom and a combined kitchen and living area. After surviving in one room above Sweet Clams and using their kitchen for years, this was sheer luxury. The Monsters of Mercy village sat in a leafy street, on the edge of Motham Hill, with glimpses of the sea across the manicured gardens. The waters of Motham Bay were more obvious now that the leaves had fallen, but it was far enough away that she couldn’t possibly spot Noah’s empty fishing boat among the masts. She liked walking through the crazy paving pathways, covered in frost in the morning, seeing monsters on their way totai chi and yoga, decked out in brightly colored headbands and leggings.

Afterward, they all came to the café for coffee and cake.

And of course, Eleanor had made sure that everyone knew she was her granddaughter.

Harper was soon quite a celebrity in her own right.

Old griffins and minotaurs with wrinkled faces and twisted horns would salute her. A grumpy gargoyle who’d sat outside the café on the railings for a year and never smiled, actually gave her a lip quirk as she took him one of her mince pies.

So maybe Gran was right. Maybe she did brighten the residents’ days a little.

And that lifted her spirits too.

Harper frowned as she arranged the slices of cake.

Except now, Gran was taking things too far.

She didnotwant to play an elf in the finale of the Christmas show.

“I should say no,” she told Biff.

Biff didn’t answer, which Harper was beginning to realize was Biff’s operational style. Monosyllables if you were lucky, otherwise grunts or just plain silence. Biff had been the one monster Harper had not managed to raise a smile from since she’d arrived here.

Yep. Her one failure.

Harper sighed and looked at her watch. “Better go and help them choose a Santa, I guess.”

Biff grunted.

When Harper arrived at the meeting room in the main building, Eleanor was sitting at the center of a long table at the back ofthe room, looking for all the world like royalty. She’d certainly dressed up for the occasion, decked out in a shimmering golden bolero jacket, a matching pill box hat perched jauntily on her silver hair. Next to her sat a row of monsters of different species. Harper recognized them from Eleanor’s Bridge afternoons and soirees. Toby, an elegant, ramrod straight vampire sat directly to her left. Maeve, a bird shifter of some sort, small and sparrow-like with missing feathers, sat to Gran’s right. Next to her was an aging orc called Harold, big green hands crossed over his ample belly, and on the other side of Maeve, a centaur called Horatio with a long, morose face, sat bent over in his chair.

Harper had got to calling them Gran’s Minions.

“Just in time my dear,” Eleanor said briskly. “Grab a chair and sit…. No, no, not with us, sit over there in the center of the room. I’m going to make our would-be Santas rehearse a few lines with you. We want to see the chemistry. There’s a copy of your lines on your chair.”

Harper’s heart sank. This was going to be gods damn awful.

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