Page 40 of Babies for the Christmas Grump
There’s a line of guests snaking out the door, and people milling around with their phones out, giggling and whispering.
Some are in pajamas and fuzzy slippers, clutching coffee cups as if they had just run down from their rooms. Others are dressed in winter coats and hats, clearly not hotel guests.
At the center of it all is Ryder, grim-faced, in his immaculate coat, flanked by Dex and Nolan, who are valiantly trying to maintain order.
People are shoving things at him —napkins, receipts, even a Christmas ornament —and handing them to him for an autograph from the holiday celebrity.
Flash after flash goes off as guests pose for selfies with him. A little girl is hugging his leg, squealing about meeting “the real Christmas prince.”
I blink a few times. This is what’s happening right now?
I can’t even tell where the line ends. It’s some weird Ryder-themed fan event, except no one got the memo about how this whole thing was supposed to go down. Was this his idea? Or did this happen all on its own, without anyone realizing what was happening?
One of the pajama-clad women nudges me as I stand frozen in the doorway, her phone screen in my face as she tries to get a selfie with me in the background.
“Isn’t he just the cutest? I mean, you know, fromSnowed in With Santa. How does it feel, working with the Christmas Prince?”
I try to smile, but I’m pretty sure it comes out as a twitch of horror.
“I’m not sure how to feel about it,” I say weakly, my mind whirling with a hundred things at once. “It’s interesting.”
The woman doesn’t seem to notice my panic. She’s caught up in snapping another picture, probably planning to caption itwith something along the lines of “met a real-life holiday star and now my Christmas is complete.”
Meanwhile, the flash from another phone goes off directly in front of me, temporarily blinding me.
I look back at Ryder, who’s still stuck in the middle of this absurd, overwhelming scene. His usual stern expression is more of a stone mask, and I can tell he’s running on fumes.
He’s not handling this well. I can’t blame him.
A woman pushes through the crowd, holding out a gift bag. “Mr. Hale! I just wanted to give you this for all your hard work over the years. You really made my kids’ Christmases unforgettable.”
He takes the gift with a tight smile, nodding politely. His eyes are darting around the room, probably searching for an escape.
I hear a buzz behind the front desk and look over. Dex is sneaking peeks at his phone, grinning from ear to ear.
I march over to him, hands on my hips.
“Dex,” I start, trying not to sound too frantic. “What the hellisthis?”
He looks up at me, practically gleaming with mischief. “Oh, you didn’t hear? One of our guests—Lisa, I think her name is—posted a pic of Ryder yesterday with the caption: ‘Spotted: The Christmas Prince fromSnowed in With Santaworking at The Garland Rose Hotel! He still looks the same #ChildhoodCrush #ChristmasPrince #GarlandRoseHotel.’”
I stare at him, mouth slightly agape.
“It went viral overnight,” he continues, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “People showed up this morning, hoping for autographs and selfies. It’s like a Christmas miracle, only no one’s in on the joke.”
I take a deep breath, blinking rapidly to clear the fuzziness in my brain. This is happening. This is really happening.
And Ryder is right there, in the thick of it, an expression that suggests he’s about two seconds away from screaming.
Okay, I can do this. I can handle this. In the same way, I handle everything else by making the best of it.
I straighten up, cracking a grin for the crowd, hoping to charm them into some calm.
“Okay, okay, everyone,” I say, raising my voice to cut through the noise. “I know the Christmas Prince is looking mighty fine today, but let’s get a little order here, alright? Ryder’s a busy guy, not a public attraction, so let’s keep it moving, yeah?”
They don’t stop snapping pictures right away, but the murmur of the crowd starts to die down. Some people stop shoving things at him and turn toward me.
Good enough.
