Page 44 of Rebel Without a Claus
Eve
The snow falls like powdered sugar on gingerbread rooftops, dusting the town in something so perfect it almost makes me want to cry. I chuckle thinking of the way Luke would groan and grumble at the sight. And I almost bet it… Holly Ridgeisobnoxiously picturesque. Children are building snowmen by the gazebo, Christmas carols are playing from the speakers near the café, and I’m about two peppermint mochas away from believing in magic again.
Oh, who am I kidding? I’m already there, I think with another lingering sip of my delicious Christmas coffee.
My phone buzzes in my purse, pulling me from my thoughts and I scramble, shuffling items into my other hand to search for it. The LA number that lights up my screen makes my stomach plummet.
With a gulp, I swipe my thumb across the screen and offer a tentative, “Hello?”
“Eve,” my old boss’s voice chirps through my phone. “How are you?”
I freeze on the sidewalk outside the bakery, peppermint mocha and bag of cookies in one hand, my phone pressed to my ear with the other.
“Uh, wow—hi, Kelly. I’m fine. Just… back home for the holidays. How are you?”
“I’ve been following your Instagram posts about the Christmas festival. Holly Ridge looks like some place straight out of a snow globe. You really captured something special.”
I smile despite the dread creeping up my spine. “Thanks. It’s, um, been fun.”
“Well, turns out that little photo dump of yours caught the attention ofWander & Nest. They want to feature the Holly Ridge Christmas festival.”
“But… the festival’s been going for almost two weeks already. The final contest istomorrow.”
“Oh,” Kelly snorts and I can practically envision her pacing in her office on those stiletto heels of hers. Never mind the fact that it’s the day before Christmas Eve. She’s still working. And she probably will be tomorrow. “They don’t want it forthisyear. They’re planning a whole new series! And they’re asking foryou, Eve. They want to bring you on full-time. Not only as a producer, but as the host and one of the judges of a new program. A new reality show where you feature and report on different holiday festivals around the country.”
Silence.
My heart drops. Not in a bad way. Not in a good way, either. Just the kind of drop that says,This is big.
“Full-time? Back in LA?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“Of course in LA. Where else would it be?”
I stand there stunned for another few minutes as she wraps up telling me about the details, reassuring me this will all be in an emailed contract to review asap. For a long second afterthe call ends, I just stand there on the sidewalk, boot soles slick on the icy pavement, every molecule inside me humming with static. The phone is still pressed to my cheek.
I let it drop, staring at the screen as if it might blink again with a different answer: Ha, just kidding, we don’t want you after all; your real life is here, in your hands, in the snow. But no. The words from my old boss buzz in my head, insistent and bright as a neon sign: Wander & Nest. Feature the festival. Full-time. Los Angeles.
I try to picture it: my crappy, old apartment in Los Angeles with the leaky sink and the birds-of-paradise outside my window. The endless, urgent traffic that promises at least an hour commute to just about anywhere in the city. The way Southern California never quite got cold enough for sweaters but always managed to feel bitter anyway. The coffee shop where I worked weekends to make up for my withered paychecks. And my nine-to-five, where in the white-walled offices, even the air smelled like ambition.
I try to fit the girl I am now back into that life, but it’s like trying to zip a suitcase over a wardrobe you don’t remember buying. The things I thought I wanted—-no,needed—-are suddenly foreign, like a language I used to study but now only recognize in fractured, forgotten phrases.
But with a job like this, everything could change for me. It’s the massive break I had been waiting for for nearly a decade. The sort of offer that could lead to bigger and better things. Some people work their whole lives for an offer like this and never get it.
And Idowant it. This job, it’s still my dream. Even if I don’t love Los Angeles anymore. Even if now my dream is fractured, split between the fault lines of wanting this show, this position… while still wanting to be home again with my parents.
Right here, right now, I’m clutching a bag of Christmas cookies on Main Street and my phone still feels warm in my hand from Kelly’s voice. The world is too bright and too loud and every carol on the speakers needles at my nerves. I can feel my breath fogging around me, uneven, sharp.
I wonder if I should run up the hill and tell Mom and Dad. I wonder if I should call Luke, or if that would just send the whole thing careening off the rails. I wonder if it’s wrong to look at the snowy, happy town and wish it would all just freeze for a second so I could catch up to myself.
I wonder if anyone else has ever been so split in two over something that should feel like a triumph.
The snow keeps falling, kids keep laughing, and I suddenly feel like I don’t belong in any of it.
I shake the intrusive thoughts from my head. I have tasks to do today. There’s still a festival to win. Still my parent’s inn to save. Still a grumpy reindeer farmer who’s counting on me to help him prep all the reindeer for the festival later today.
The little bell above the general store door jingles as I step inside, the blast of cold following me in. I stomp the snow from my boots and pull my knit hat tighter over my ears, scanning the holiday chaos. Rows of glittering tinsel, ceramic Santas, and miniature wreaths line the shelves like soldiers in a Christmas army. I’m here for more ribbon—something with a pop to add to the douglas firs we have outside the inn.
But before I can even make it past the “Season’s Greetings” welcome mat, I’m spotted.
