1. Elsie

CHAPTER 1

Elsie

C hristmastime is quite literally the most magical time of the year, and no one will make me believe otherwise. It’s even more magical because I live in the quaintest little town that is often used as a set for Christmas movies. As a little girl I was even picked as an extra a couple times! I love Northbrook with its small population, old storefronts and community driven events. It’s truly the best, and I’m so excited that this year I’ve finally been chosen to coordinate the annual Christmas market.

It's a huge deal! I've been trying everything to get the job for almost five years, but Betty Rhodes is the city planner's wife and thus, the coveted job always falls to her—except this year. This year, Betty fell down the stairs at the community arts center and broke her hip. I’m not happy about her injuring herself, despite the smile I currently have on my face. I would never want someone to get hurt but, if I were to enjoy seeing someone get knocked down a peg, it’s Betty Rhodes. The woman allows her very minuscule power to go straight to her head. She uses the Christmas market as a popularity contest. All year the vendors will kiss her butt in order to get preferred spots and it’s not fair! The market used to be a place where Santa would sit for pictures and there would be crafts for the kids and lights and an ice sculpting contest. Now it’s scented candles and over priced jewelry, and children—while not banned—are not exactly welcome. But not this year; this year I’m bringing Christmas fun back to the market.

“Next!” I call from my place behind the counter at Not Your Average Joe – my coffee shop. I love this little shop. It was once a bookshop run by my grandmother but she outgrew the space after a social media influencer came by and showed off her rather extensive dark romance selection. After that— Spines and Vines became a hotspot for all the romance loving readers and she had to move to the corner building next door—leaving me to run the coffee shop.

Looking up from putting the peppermint mocha muffins in the case, I come face to… chest with Grant Anders. Grant the Grump as he’s known—by only me. No one else would look at this intimidating man and dare give him a nickname of any sort. But I’ve known him since we were kids. I lived through him during his awkward teens and his voice change—he can’t intimidate me. And I wouldn’t call him that if he wasn’t always so scowly; and then there’s his muttering and grunts. I keep telling him, ‘Grunts aren’t greetings’. He hates when I say that—so obviously, I can’t help but say it any chance I’m given.

“Happy Hump Day, Grant!” I sing out while beaming brightly. The way-too-attractive, black-haired man grimaces at my overly cheery greeting—which, why come in here twice a day when you know I’m going to annoy you?

“It’s Wednesday,” he grumbles out, and his overly annoyed attitude causes me to giggle.

“Obviously! Wednesday means we’re over the hump of the work week! Thus, hump day.”

“I’m going to have to ask you to stop saying ‘hump’,” he states while looking around the shop. For what, I don't know. I’m the only one who works here and nothing has changed since he was in here last night before I closed.

“Can I just get a large black coffee, please.”

“Oh come on, Grant! I just got some new blends in this morning and some delicious holiday flavors!” Reaching into the case I pull out a tray of pastries. “How about a sugar plum danish?”

“Elsie.” His sigh is tired and one of annoyance. It’s one I’m very used to. He’s been giving me that same sigh for years, especially since he and I stopped hanging out. It’s not that we were besties or anything, but my big brother, David and Grant were best friends growing up, so because I was the outcast—still am—I always tagged along in their adventures, like the three musketeers!

…or like a third wheel—whichever.

But since my brother’s passing about six years ago, Grant has pulled away. He’s become this closed off grouch and acts as though I am a nuisance to him, despite him coming in here constantly. Like, make your own coffee at home if I annoy you this much.

“Okay.” I give him a tight smile, feeling somewhat discouraged. It’s not just him, most are not into my coffee shop unless they are here for the bookstore. They come in, ask for a large black coffee and then scoff at the price and leave. “Large black coffee, coming up.” I turn to grab the most festive of the Christmas themed cups to pour his coffee in—Rudolph, perfect.

“Did you hear I’m in charge of the Christmas market this year?” I ask, turning back around. “I’m hoping to make it like the old days when we were kids! Remember? With Santa and all the festivities for the families?”

“Perfect,” he mutters, handing me a ten dollar bill. “Can’t wait for that loud-ass crowd.” He turns to walk away as I call out to him.

“What about your change?”

“Keep it,” he calls out as the door shuts behind him.

“You bothering Grant again?” I jump at my grandmother’s voice as she walks in from the back. I beam brightly at the small, older and heavily tattooed woman. I’m small but my grandmother is under five feet for sure. Though she has the attitude of someone two feet taller. I love her so much and firmly believe that I’m only alive today because of her.

Her grey hair goes down to her mid back and is in a thick braid that swings as she walks toward me, leaning on her cane. She beams while winking her wrinkled eye that has a tiny heart tattoo at the corner. “When are you going to make your move? I ain’t gonna live forever.”

“Oh please, you’ll outlive us all. Besides—” I feel my cheeks heat as I hold the ten dollar bill in my hand. Everyday, twice a day Grant pays ten dollars for his two dollars coffee. “You know he doesn’t like me.”

“Ah,” she scoffs before walking behind the counter to grab a coffee. “You’re gonna have to stop being so shy if you want in his pants, kiddo.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re very vulgar for a grandmother?” I joke as she waves me off. Though I do agree with her. I've had a crush on the guy since we were teens. And I’ve spent the better part of my life trying to get him to notice me, which I’ve failed at in every way possible—short of me breaking into his house and laying naked, spread eagle on his bed. Even still, he’d avert his pretty blue eyes and grumble something about getting me a shirt. It’s so frustrating, because I know if I could just get him to really talk to me, he’d realize that we would actually get along really well. But he won’t. It would take way more than a Christmas miracle to get Grumpy Grant to look at me.