Page 4 of Storybook Christmas

I pump his hand, but it’s awkward, and we’re out of sync.

It’s particularly strange to be shakingJoshua’shand, the same one that used to brush away my tears and caress the soreness out of my aching muscles. But here we are. I meet his gaze, looking for that old spark.

It’s not here.

Yet.

The awkward moment is cleaved in half when the stranger turns around.

Mother of all that is good and pure.

Square jaw, sparkling green eyes, broad shoulders, perfectly golden skin.

It’s The Hurricane.

And now, his eyes are so big, they’re about to pop right out of his head. I’m sure so are mine. Thiscan’tbe a coincidence.

Bertha!

I fumble over and extend my hand. “Lacy Callahan.”

He shakes it with a tense squeeze. “Nice to meet you,” he croaks.

I try to look into his eyes, but I can’t. All I can think about is that a mere thirty-six hours ago, I saw him almost naked; he saw me beyond drunk, and I told him my secrets.

And… oh no. No, no, no.

I tried to kiss him.

I need the earth to split open and swallow me whole.

Joshua booms, “This is Finn Hayes. My new interim associate editor.”

Joshua hired the stripper?

Oh, dear.

I pat my hair that’s in a tight bun and force a smile. “Welcome, Mr. Hayes.”

“Please. Call me Finn.”

As I’m wringing my hands and averting his gaze, I see it out of the corner of my eye—the new artwork for Fireflies Save Christmas stacked neatly on my desk. I gasp, stepping over and snatching it up before flipping through it. Thrilled for a distraction, I say, “This is stunning. I knew it would be.” I hold up the papers and look back and forth at Joshua and Finn. “The artwork for next year’s big children’s Christmas book. We’re all so excited.”

Finn’s jaw tenses, and something flashes in his eyes.

“Yes. About that,” Joshua cuts in, tapping his fingers together. “It’s actually why we’re here in your office so early.”

My stomach pretzels. “Okay.”

“Why don’t you take a seat, Lacy.” Joshua motions to my chair.

“Okay,” I repeat, but squeakier. My already pale face must be almost transparent.

Once I’m seated, the two men pull up guest chairs and sit. Joshua hesitates, heaving out a sigh before brushing an invisible lint off his three-thousand-dollar Bergdorf Goodman suit. “I’m here to let you know that I’ve decided to submit a children’s Christmas novel for next year as well.”

I blink. “What? Why?”

“I want to go in a different direction. It’s still a retelling of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, but entirely reimagined.”

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