2. Chapter 2 Joy to the World （aka Grum’s Nightmare）

Chapter 2: Joy to the World (aka Grum’s Nightmare)

J oy

“Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way…”

I sing along with the all-Christmas-music station as I hang another string of lights in the shop window. Outside, the Los Angeles sun beats down, a stark contrast to the winter wonderland I’m creating inside Jingle All the Way, the store I envisioned in childhood and made into a reality a few years ago. Everything about this store is a physical expression of who I am.

A car horn blares, followed by a string of colorful curses. Ah, the sweet sounds of L.A. traffic. Whatever, I shrug. It will take a lot more than that to spoil my mood. Not today. Not when we’re so close to moving all the decorations I’ve accumulated all year to the Santa’s Workshop event in the Integration Zone’s community center. I can picture the excited looks on all those needy little faces. And—how exciting!—this year some of those faces will be green with happy tusked grins, or have pointed wolven ears and wagging tails, or have little minotaur horns, or be covered in sparkling blue naga scales.

“Joy?” Marcy, my assistant, pokes her head around a life-sized nutcracker. “The tinsel delivery is here. Where do you want it?”

“Everywhere!” The word bursts out before I can stop it. Marcy’s eyes widen, and I quickly backtrack. “I mean, let’s start with the main display area. We can always add more later.”

Marcy nods, but I catch a slight eye roll as she turns away. It’s a familiar reaction these days. Even my assistant and enthusiastic volunteers are starting to flag under the weight of my holiday cheer.

But they don’t understand. They can’t. This isn’t just about Christmas. It’s about… No. Not going there. Not today.

Shaking off the sadness that sometimes lurks at the edges of my mind, I turn back to the window display. The handcrafted village needs more snow. Definitely more snow.

As I’m sprinkling artificial flakes over tiny rooftops, the bell over the door chimes. “Welcome to Jingle All the Way!” I sing out, not looking up from my work. “How can I help you find your Christmas spirit today?”

“You can start by turning off that horrible music.”

The gruff voice makes me jump, scattering snow everywhere. I whirl around, coming face to face with… Oh. Oh my.

He’s huge. That’s the first thing that registers. Tall, broad-shouldered, with skin the color of pine needles, eyes like warm honey, well, hot honey. Is he angry? And… tusks. An orc. And not just any orc. This must be…

“Grum?” The name squeaks out.

He grunts, crossing his arms over his massive chest. “Chief Brokka sent me. Said something about community service.”

Right. The help Brokka promised for the Santa’s Workshop event. But I was expecting… well, not this. Not a scowling, man-bun-sporting mountain of muscle who looks like he’d rather eat Santa’s reindeer than help them fly.

“Of course!” I manage, plastering on my brightest smile. “We’re so glad to have you here. I’m Joy Noel.”

I stick out my hand. Grum stares at it as if it’s cursed.

Okay, then. Dropping my hand, I scramble for something to say. “So, um, have you ever helped with a Christmas event before?”

The look he slants me could curdle milk. “Do I look like I’ve ever helped with a Christmas event?”

Fair point. With that permanent scowl, his black tongue, and the star-shaped tattoo dead center on his forehead, he looks more like he’s plotting a Christmas rampage than spreading holiday cheer.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything!” The words come out too bright, too chirpy. I wince. “Why don’t we start with something simple? Like… oh! You can help me finish decorating the window display.”

Grum’s scowl deepens as he pierces me with his stare. “I don’t do decorating.”

“Oh, come on. Everyone can decorate. It’s easy!” Without thinking, I grab his arm to pull him toward the window. Mistake. Big mistake.

Not only don’t I budge him, but he jerks away like I’ve burned him. “Don’t. Touch. Me.”

The words came out as a menacing growl, which spikes fear down my spine.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have touched you without consent. I, um, didn’t mean to offend. Look, why don’t we start over? I’m sure we can find something you’re comfortable with.”

Grum grunts again. It seems to be his preferred method of communication. They’re not even monosyllables. They’re prehistoric. If I didn’t know better, I’d think all orcs were this way, but Fire Chief Brokka was very respectful and well-spoken when we talked on the phone.

This is going to be tougher than I expected. But that’s okay. I like a challenge. And if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s spreading Christmas cheer.

Even if it kills me.

Or him.

Whichever comes first.