Page 15 of Storybook Christmas

I gasp, shaking my head. “Bertha!”

“See, that’s what I’m talking about—that was funny.” She points at me. “You need to lighten up, which is why your next task is to make a fool out of yourself.”

“Oh, boy.”

“And remember, Lace Pretty Face,” Bertha says, touching my shoulder. “Today, your book got selected by merit.”

“It did, didn’t it?”

A sparkle glimmers in her eyes. “And cutie-patootie Finn got to see his name in print.”

“He did, didn’t he?” My smile widens.

“I knew it.” She smacks her hand on my desk. “That was a trap. You like him.”

“No way.” I push my glasses up. “Not a chance.”

“Youreallylike him. And, as I’ve already said, hereallylikes you.” She leans back, folding her arms. “Forget a Christmas ham, babe. This year, you’re getting a Christmas bone.”

7

Magic Touch

IT’S 10:04 P.M., and I’m still at work because now, there’s a million and one things to do after the announcement today. So much so that I haven’t had time to eat, and I’m starving. Which is really inconvenient because The Upper Crust, my favorite sandwich shop, just closed four minutes ago.

Bugger.

I’m about to head to the office kitchen and dig through the refrigerator when Finn comes through my office door. And he’s carrying wrapped sandwiches from… The Upper Crust!

I gasp. “Thank you,” I say, taking the sub from his hands then staring a it like it’s the only food I’ve seen in years. Right now, it feels that way. “You’re my hero.”

“No way—I owe you, big time. Your changes to Winnie’s manuscript were on point. Joshua loved it.”

“Really?” I unwrap the sub and take a big bite.

“You’ve definitely got that magic touch.”

Wow. No one has ever used the word “magic” when describing my talents before. “Thank you.” That’s the highest compliment an editor can receive, and my cheeks are on fire. Dire to change the subject, I say, “So, how did you know I loved the cashew chicken wrap? Bertha couldn’t have told you because she went home.”

“Rummy knew your order.”

Rummy’s always working the late shift at The Upper Crust, so he knows me well. I side-eye Finn. “You’ve got a lot of tricks up your sleeve.”

Finn brushes off his lapel. “Some would call that charming.”

I narrow my gaze. “Maybe. But as my competition, it makes me wonder what you’ve done. Or what you’re about to do.”

“I’ve done nothing. I’m doing nothing. I need nothing. I was just getting food there for myself and assumed you had to be starving since you haven’t left this office all evening.”

“Well, thank you.” I shift in my seat. “What do I owe you?”

“How about instead of cash, you buy me some amazing New York-style pizza soon?”

I do a silent seal clap. “Ohhh. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

He sits in my guest chair, and we both go silent as we plow into our food. When I see Finn putting his chips on his sub, I say, “What are you doing?”

“Sandwich—good. Chips—good. Sandwich and chips together—transcendent.”

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