Page 10 of The Christmas Cookie Crush

Nora

I’m so tired.This day is the longest. Sandra, who was scheduled this morning, called out sick, and it was so last minute that there wasn’t time to even try to see if anyone else could cover. I’m in charge of scheduling this year, so that meant it was up to me to cover.

I was on the schedule to work the evening shift today which means I’ve been here for eight hours already, and I still have two more to go. And I haven’t had a day off in over a week because I keep covering for the callouts.

After finishing up with a late elementary school aged brother-sister pair—who are blissfully easy after the rash of recalcitrant preschoolers and crying babies who preceded them—I hold up a finger to my dad to indicate I’m stepping away from the camera for just a moment. I need a second to wiggle my ankles, shake out my feet, and grab a drink of water before I take on the next batch of kids. It might put us a tiny bit behind on the appointment schedule, but no more than a minute or two. Andby this time of day, the fact we’re not already behind schedule is pretty amazing.

We make a good team this year. The non-family elves are doing a great job of getting people on deck so that there’s basically no down time between kids. Which is exhausting, to be honest, but it keeps the parents happier, which makes our job easier in the long run. Happy parents also tend to buy more expensive packages, and if we go over our target for the season, all the elves get a bonus. And since I’m Lead Elf, I get a slightly bigger bonus. I think that added incentive, which is new this year, is helping. We’re slightly ahead of the usual sales amount for this point in the season. If we can keep it up through Christmas Eve, we’ll be well over the target.

I duck behind the section of wall where we can take a quick thirty second break out of the public eye and pick up my water bottle. Closing my eyes, I let out a breath, relishing the brief moment where I’m not on. After a couple swigs and shaking out my hands and feet, I paste my smile back on and head back behind the camera. Dad already has a toddler in a red dress in his lap, her hair in pigtails held by red bows that match her dress. What a cutie.

I pick up my favorite penguin stuffed animal and shake it to get her attention. She looks at me, her finger in her mouth, and when I pop out from behind the camera to play peek-a-boo, she gives me a huge grin, showing off her teeth. With the camera trigger in my hand, I snap a couple of shots, and the bright flash of the lights makes her blink, her face going from happy to upset just like that.

Dad jiggles her a little. “Ho ho ho! My mischievous elf likes to flash lights at me sometimes. I’m sorry if she startled you.”

The baby looks at him, meeting his gaze, and I snap another shot, which has her turning in my direction again. Her brows pull together, and she points at me. “Bad. No.”

Grinning, I take another picture as I make the penguin do a goofy little dance. Last year, Lydia—who’s now dating my brother Dylan—did a fantastic job of getting smiles out of the youngest customers, and I picked up a few tricks from her. She did skits with the stuffed animals, and I’ve been doing it this year too.

“Hey, Mr. Penguin,” I say to the toy in my hand, “do you think you can show this little one how to smile?”

He shakes his head.

“What? Why not?”

He shakes his head again.

“Come on, Mr. Penguin. What are you here for if you’re not going to help me get kids to smile for their pictures?”

I make muffled sounds while making the toy bob his head like he’s trying to talk.

“What’s that, Mr. Penguin?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the girl watching intently. I hold the penguin up to my ear, like he’s whispering to me.

Meeting the little girl’s eyes, I gasp. “Do you know why he won’t smile?” I ask her.

She stares at me.

I crouch down, inching forward, being careful to stay out of the shot. “He says he doesn’t have any teeth!” I loud whisper, andshe giggles. Perfect. I snap the last shot. “Do you want to give Mr. Penguin a high five?” I ask her.

She nods, so I hold up the penguin’s flipper, and she hits it. Returning to the camera, I watch Dad give her one of the stickers we offer the under threes instead of candy canes.

While Dad finishes up, I walk to the computer to show the mom the shots I captured. She smiles at me, then sets a small white paper bag on the counter. “This is for you,” she says, her smile growing wider.

Confused, I hold up a hand and shake my head. “Oh, no. I can’t accept gifts.” I mean, it’s not technically a rule, but it’s convenient to say when random strangers are trying to give me things.

She chuckles. “Oh, it’s not from me. It’s from the guy at Give and Cake.”

The air coalesces in my lungs. “I’m sorry, what?” I wheeze.

Her grin dims. “The guy at Give and Cake. I’m sorry, he said it was an inside joke …”

She trails off as I snatch the bag off the counter and open it. Reaching inside, I pull out one of the individually wrapped, brightly colored balls, Warheads printed on the clear plastic wrapper.That motherfucker. I want to scream it. But I’m at work, and there’s a long line of children only a few feet away.

Instead, I force a laugh. “Oh. Ha. Yeah. Inside joke.”

The mom still looks uncertain. “I’m sorry. I bought a scone for us to snack on while we waited, and he said …”

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