Chapter 1

chapter

one

Joy

I am freezing my ass off. Intellectually I knew that upstate New York would be way different than east Texas, especially in the winter. But when you've lived in a climate that gets maybe six days of true winter a year, you kinda forget there are parts of the world that get more like six months of bone chilling cold.

At least it's not snowing anymore. For now. Who knows how long that's going to last.

You might be wondering what a nice Texas girl like me is doing in the coldest town in the continental U.S.

That's a fair question. The answer involves a shitty boyfriend, the price of my grammy's cancer treatments, and a mortgage on the business that had been in my family for four generations. Oh, and bankruptcy.

"Alex, I'll take ‘Things Joy is running away from for 200'."

It's not a pretty story. But it landed me this sweet little job in the quaintest, most charming, most Christmas-y town in America.

When I say sweet, I mean literally. I am now the head Fudge Elf at North Pole's Candy Shoppe right in the smack middle of Santa's Workshop.

While the job is perfect for me, I would be a little more excited about it if it didn't involve me wearing this ridiculous costume. I look like a slutty elf.

The previous elf must have been a good thirty pounds lighter (and several inches shorter) because the elf-dress is too tight and too short. All my overly round curvy bits are kinda overflowing and every time I bend over to slide out a tray of candy, I risk flashing someone.

Well, whatever. No one knows me here. I've only been here--North Pole, New York--for a couple of weeks. Enough time to secure a garage apartment. I already had the job. Now, I just have to stay warm long enough to put down roots.

I want to make my grammy's fudge a household name. There was nothing left for me back home once she passed away. So I packed up all her aprons and her handwritten recipes and trekked up to New York.

I'll say this about the place, it's beautiful. We're not too far from Lake Placid, which I haven't seen yet, and I all I can think about is Betty White and her man-eating crocodiles. Or were they alligators? It doesn't matter. It was a dumb movie. But the snow covered hills and mountains are lovely and I can't wait to see what they look like in spring when everything is green.

And not so damn cold that I could carve butter with my nipples.

Not that I'd try to carve butter with my...

That's when the door to the shop swings open and he walks in.

A man so damn hot that my brain short-circuits and I end up finishing my original thought out loud.

"Nipples," I blurt.

He arches one perfectly shaped brow over his ridiculously blue eyes.

I open my mouth and some sort of strange squeaking noise comes out so then I just spin on my heels and go back behind the counter. I'll just hide back here until Mr. Hot and Perfect moves along.

Except that's not at all what happens because once I turn around behind the counter, there he is. He's not smiling. He has a serious case of resting grump face.

I swallow my pride because at least I didn't say 'vagina' and smile at him. "Can I help you, sir?"

Both of his brows nearly crawl into his hairline. "What backwater state did you crawl out of?"

His voice is deep and luxurious like my fudge before it hardens.

It's the kind of voice I would want to strip naked and roll around in. If it wasn't dripping with disdain at my Texas accent.

And disdain is not good for my skin.

So, I put a fist on my hip and give him my best glare. "Can I help you with something?"

He's definitely got the brooding handsome thing going for him, but evidently he's a giant ass. But the Theo James scowl and pillowy lips are hard to look away from. Then there are his eyes that are decidedly not Theo-like at all, because they're not brown, instead they're blue. Like a million shades of blue all clustered together as if Van Gogh himself painted them.

"I want some fudge," he says gruffly.

"Well, you've come to the right place." With a smile so sweet, it would make Grammy and the head candy Elf proud. I motion to the glass display case between us. "We've got several varieties."

Suddenly he bends down and I realize he's standing there with a small girl. She's got a head full of ringlets and eyes wide with delight at the display of candy. His face and voice are gentle when he speaks to her.

"What kind do you want, Abby?"

Her big blue eyes scan the display and they brighten. She points. "That one."

I follow her finger and give her a big grin. She's pointing right at my most recent creation. A white chocolate fudge chocked full of brightly colored candies you'd use to decorate a gingerbread house. "Oh, that's a special one. I got the recipe from Mrs. Clause herself." I slide open the door, then glance up at tall, handsome, and grumpy. "How much do y'all want?"

His jaw tightens.

I know I have an accent. Pretty much everyone I've spoken to up here has commented on it. But my Texas twang seems to rub this man the wrong way and I want to smash warm fudge in his face and rub it around for good measure.

He gives me the amount in a clipped tone and I cut off the appropriate chunk. I busy myself packaging it, then hand it to the little girl.

"Make sure you make a wish with your first bite."

Her eyes widen and she nods.

I stand upright and her father is still staring at me. This time I can't suppress the shiver that rocks through me. His gaze is so intense, so...hot.

"Do you want anything else?" I ask and my voice is breathy. Ug I will never understand why I have zero chill around attractive men. They're never attracted to me. They don't flirt unless they want something. And nothing about this man suggests he's flirting.

"Mommy! Look what I got!" Abby runs off towards a tall blonde waiting by the door to the shop. She's not model-thin, but her curves look better on her taller frame than mine do on my pocket-sized body. Instinctively I suck in my belly.

I don't know why. He's obviously married to that gorgeous woman and I am a frumpy mess in a slutty elf costume.

I'm still irritated with myself when Josephine, the old woman who owns The North Pole Candy Shoppe calls me on my cell phone a few minutes later and tells me I should close shop early because a storm is rolling in.

I'm smart enough not to argue with her, because a) she's my boss and even though she's eighty-three and rocks the sweet little old lady vibe, I know all about the cut throat world of small business ownership so that vibe doesn't fool me, and b) I'm a wimp. The mere words "snow storm" are enough to send me running for literal covers.

So I lock up the shop and climb into Gertie, my aging Honda sedan. I just hope that once I make it home to my garage apartment, my annoyance with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Grumpy is enough to keep me warm.