Page 1 of Her Rugged Lumberjack

1

MARGOT

The fluorescent lightsbuzz overhead as I bend down, lining up another row of cereal boxes until the shelf is bursting with colorful cardboard. Just as I’m about to slot the last box of Apple Jacks into place, a shopping cart crashes against me, the metal grill knocking me forward. I land hard on my knees. The woman pushing the cart offers me a distracted apology before continuing past, her eyes fixed on her cell phone. My arms are already aching from a day of stacking shelves, but now my knees are throbbing too, and I wince as I straighten up.

It’s been another long day, but despite the darkness outside, the grocery store is lit up like a spotlight and crowded with people. Holiday shopping seems to start earlier every year, and the store is already full of Christmas decorations. Giant baubles dangle from the ceiling, and the dedicated Christmas aisle at the back of the store seems to double in size each time I look at it.

God, I can’t wait for the holidays to be over.

I’m not usually such a Grinch, but this year, I feel about as festive as a lump of coal. All I want to do is curl up in a blanket and hibernate until the new year. That’s what I need—a new year. A fresh start…because right now, my life is a total mess.

I try to ignore the soreness in my knees as I leave the cereal aisle and head for the bathroom, splashing some water on my face and frowning into the mirror. Purple bags line my eyes like bruises, and my face is ghostly pale. I look as crappy as I feel, and it does nothing to improve my mood. Neither does the sound of my phone chirping in my pocket. Lately, the only texts I get are from my parents trying to get me to take sides in their divorce. I moved out of the family home when I was eighteen to avoid their constant arguments, but somehow things are even worse now that they’re separating.

Reluctantly, I grab my phone and check the notification. It’s not my parents. It’s Freya, my best friend.

Miss you, Margot!

Coffee and cake on Saturday?

My treat.

I feel myself relax, smiling down at my screen as I tap out a reply.

Miss you too.

Sounds perfect. Just what I need.

Freya always makes me feel better. We lived together for years in our cozy shared apartment, but she recently moved out to live with her boyfriend in his cabin. I’m happy for her, but it’s been hard for me to adjust. She’s like the ray of sunshine to my gray storm cloud, and the apartment is so lonely without her. I would never admit it to Freya, though. She deserves happiness, and I don’t want her to feel guilty for finding it with Roman.

With a final frown at my reflection, I take a step toward the door when my phone chirps again. It’s not Freya this time. Theword ‘Landlord’ pops up on my screen, and my chest tightens. Something tells me this isn’t going to be good news.

Hi Margot. Your rent will be increasing in January by $200 a month. This is in line with the market value of the property. Thanks.

My mouth goes dry as I stare down at the words. I can’t afford an extra $2 a month, let alone $200. Panic swirls in my gut, a fist squeezing tight around me.

Crap, things just keep getting worse.

Zombie-like, I get back to work, my mind a million miles away from the items I’m stacking. Life sure has a way of kicking you when you’re down. I work my ass off here at Cherry Grocery, but things are already tight, and the money I make barely covers my ever-growing list of bills. The last thing I want is to move back in with Mom or Dad right now—not unless I want to end up in jail for murder.

Dammit. I need to find a second job.

It’s the only solution right now. Something to see me through the winter until I can figure out what to do next. The thought makes my throat burn as I restock a freezer with pizzas, the frosty air making goosebumps erupt on my arms. I already work long hours. My free time—the little of it I have—is spent writing my thriller novel. It’s my dream to make a living telling heart-pounding stories, and I’ve been working for ages to craft the best book I can. But a second job means my dream will have to be put on the back burner for months…maybe years.

I slam the freezer closed with more force than necessary and look toward the clock. It’s finally the end of my shift, and I grab my things from the back before heading toward the exit. My gaze lands on the familiar bulletin board next to the automatic doors,covered in fliers advertising everything from gardeners to dog walkers. But one message in particular snags my attention.

SEASONAL HELP WANTED

We are looking for a seasonal worker at Mistletoe Christmas Tree Farm.

Duties will include decorating and maintaining festive spaces, greeting customers, and processing sales.

Flexible shifts, no experience required, cocoa on tap.

Contact (303) 5922

The paper is ripped, and the last three digits of the number are missing, but it doesn’t matter. Mistletoe Christmas Tree Farm is just outside town, and I’ve driven past it a thousand times. I’ll head there first thing tomorrow morning. It’s only a temporary job—they won’t need my help once Christmas is over—but I’m desperate, and a tiny balloon of hope inflates inside me as I step into the crisp November evening. If I get this job and save every cent I make, I’ll have a little breathing room when the new year begins. It will give me time to find a new roommate. I just hope the job hasn’t already been snapped up by the time I get there.

Tiny snowflakes drift down from the sky as I cross the parking lot and get into my car, pulling my coat tighter around me. I drive away from the grocery store and make the quick trip back to my apartment on the edge of town. All I want to do is take a long, warm bath and read a thriller on my Kindle, but no such luck. My mom’s car is waiting outside my apartment. I can see her in the driver’s seat, and my stomach squeezes slightly. These days, I never know what kind of mood she’s going to bein. The divorce is spiraling into a total shitshow, and as much as I want to help my mom through it, I’m also tired of being forced to pick sides.

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