Chapter One

Aster

The day I was promoted to Santa Chris's head baker was one of the best days of my life. From the time I was a tiny elf, I loved to bake. I would make cookies with my dads whenever I had a chance. It was a no-brainer for me to go to the North Pole Baking Academy when I was old enough. My goal from day one was to be selected for one of the Santas's baking teams and, from there, to eventually become head baker.

The elf who had the position before me had retired after many, many Christmases. That was the way of the position. Once you got it, you stayed forever, making the odds of getting the position not good. I'd accepted that, loving working with the other elves baking breads and cupcakes and muffins instead. But then the day came, and I was summoned by Santa and offered the position.

Some elves found the position too much and made it clear from the very beginning, they liked working in the main kitchens and had no interest in promotion. I understood. There was a lot of pressure for the head baker. The cookies had to be perfect—every last one. Could be a lot of stress.

Santa pretty much lived on cookies. If he had been human, it would've been beyond unhealthy, but he wasn't. Santa thrived on the confections, and it was my job to keep him stocked with fresh delicious cookies for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks. I also made all of the ones for the elves in our department. It was a full-time job and a half, but I loved it more than anything and didn't mind.

Every morning, I woke up excited for the day. I would bound out of bed without hitting the snooze. Why sleep when I could do what I loved?

My morning started before most of the North Pole rose. I enjoyed the quiet and beautiful walk to my cookie kitchen. Once in a while, I'd see a wolf shifter enjoying the solitude, but mostly it was me and the stars and the Christmas lights we kept up all year long.

That was one of my favorite parts about living in the North Pole. I had a couple of elf friends who went down south to start their families or go to school. There was no rule we had to stay here, contrary to what human storybooks claimed. We could easily blend with humans as long as we glamoured our ears, the only thing that kept us from looking like everyone else.

I'd never had a desire to leave my home. It was beautiful here, I loved my job, and my friends helped stave off the loneliness that had been settling in lately. It wasn't easy to watch so many of my peers finding their happy ever after knowing I hadn't so much as had a date—ever.

Ernie, my elf bestie, said it was because I worked too hard. There was a kernel of truth in that. But what he didn't know was that I'd had some omegas approach me about a date or attending a group activity together. But I didn't want to settle. I was waiting for my one true love. Maybe my fated would be from another department or possibly someone transferring in, I didn't know. But he was out there. I just needed to be patient.

I skipped into the kitchen and made cookie batch after cookie batch after cookie batch. I found a good rhythm, whistling some of my favorite songs, and got lost in the task.

Some varieties were always the same. There were going to be Christmas tree-shaped sugar cookies with frosting and sprinkles—Santa's favorite. That wasn't negotiable. But I liked to mix it up where I could. My new recipe for nutmeg cookies that went over really well the other day. And, of course, creating new shapes for the gingerbread always put a smile on people's faces…especially the time I made them to look like actual elves in our department. That had taken me all day, but to see the smiles on their faces, it was worth it.

Maybe I needed to do that again this year.

Normally, I was good at my job. No, scratch that, I was great at it. Today, on the other hand, I'd ruined everything. I don't know what happened. I woke up just like I always did, whistling Christmas carols, bopping around the kitchen while making dozens and dozens of cookies, all different varieties. Nothing seemed off.

When my friend Ernie came in to see if I wanted to go for a hot cocoa break before cleaning up, I happily agreed, feeling on top of the world. But then, he snatched a cookie on the way, took one bite, and spit it out. And my life turned upside down.

"What? What's wrong?"

Ernie always loved my cookies, but the look on his face was anything but love. "Didn't you notice? Even if you didn't taste one, these cookies are, like, not the right texture."

I looked down at the one in his hand. Suck. He was right. I'd been so into what I was doing that I hadn't really noticed. That's what I got for being lost in the zone.

"Well, you can't serve them to Santa."

My stomach dropped. It was too late. I had already sent a plate over.

"Come with me!" I grabbed his hand, and we rushed through the bakery, down to the main house, and up to where Santa was having his cocoa-and-cookie break—just as he bit into a gingerbread star.

I didn't have to ask if I'd messed up only one or two batches. My hope that maybe, just maybe, I was lucky, and he got a good one vanished. He looked like he wanted to be sick.

Unlike Ernie, he didn't spit it out. Instead, he chewed and swallowed, but the pain on his face said it all. Yay for manners, but I wished he hadn't swallowed it, not if they were as awful as Ernie said and they looked.

"Santa—" I was hesitant to interrupt, but hiding wasn't an option. He'd forgive me—Santa wasn't a jerk—but I hated disappointing him.

"Aster," he said as I entered the room.

"Yes, Santa?"

"Is this a joke?"

"No, no, no! I promise, Santa, I promise it's not a joke. I don't know what happened." I grabbed the cookie out of Ernie's hand and took a bite. Salt. It was salt.

I tried to remember the last time I had to refill the sugar container, and it had been a while, which meant someone else had done it as a way of being helpful—only it was the opposite. Making excuses wasn't going to get me out of trouble; it would make it worse.

"I think it's best you take these away, and we'll talk about this later—after I've had an awful lot of hot cocoa and something—anything—to get this taste out of my mouth."

"Yes, Santa." I scurried away, halfway surprised to see that Ernie wasn't with me. He was usually my ride or die.

I knew Santa intended for me to go back to my place, but I had to stop at the kitchen first and see with my own eyes what went wrong. Sure enough, when I opened the container of sugar , it wasn't sugar at all. Somebody had filled it with salt, just as I'd suspected. Lots and lots of salt.

The place was a mess, and I spent the next hour throwing out all the cookies and cleaning up. I wouldn't make more unless Santa asked me to. He hadn't told me to stay in my place specifically, but it was what he meant. I'd do exactly that after finishing this because leaving this mess for someone else felt like doubling my mistake.

In the best-case scenario, he'd forgive me, and I'd still have my job. Worst-case, I'd lose my job. Santa wasn't like some of the others who sent the naughty elves away—at least not that I'd heard.

Crap.

I didn't want to be sent away.

This is my home, and I love it here.

Please let him not be like the others. Please let him give me a second chance.