Chapter 1
Avery
Bells. Why were bells ringing when the sun wasn’t even up yet?
Still groggy from sleep, I reached for my phone on the nightstand to check what time it was… only it wasn’t there. Dammit. I’d left my cell phone in my office again. Downstairs. My bleary eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light of my bedroom, and out the window, the inky blue of the nighttime was giving way to the first hints of a rising sun reflecting off the snow-covered ground. If I had to guess, it was probably around five o’clock.
At the foot of my bed, my dog, Kringle, growled. He never growled. Ever. He was a total lovebug who would probably run up to a burglar for some snuggles before he would ever bite anyone. “Kringle, shhh! Stay.”
My yellow lab grumbled, but sat down, his ears going flat against his head. He didn’t like obeying that order, but he followed my command… reluctantly.
The bells rang again downstairs, and this time I heard a gruff curse. Someone was downstairs… in my shop. And I couldn’t even call the cops because I’d stupidly left my phone down there.
I swallowed my cry, forcing myself not to panic. Panicking wouldn’t help anyone at the moment… least of all me. And if the burglar realized that there was very little cash in the register and the only things left to steal down there were toys for Christmas… would he come up here next?
I crept to the top of the stairs and peered down, noticing that the lights were on. Whoever was robbing me was really no good at being stealthy about it. Then again, they probably didn’t know I was living above the store. Most people didn’t. I’d only moved in a few weeks ago after the pipes in my building froze one night. Frozen pipes may not seem like a catastrophe… until your bedroom ceiling caved in and a waterfall landed directly on your bed. The renovations were extensive and left me without a home for a couple weeks right before Christmas.
I reached for the biggest, closest thing to me that I could use as a weapon. A three-foot plastic candy cane decoration at the top of the stairs. It might look ridiculous, but that thing was heavy and could do some damage if wielded by the right person.
I, however, was not the right person.
With a gulp, I gripped the candy cane tighter and held it high over my shoulder like a baseball player going up to bat. Slowly, quietly, I crept down the stairs, leaving Kringle behind me, obediently waiting in the closed bedroom.
As I rounded the corner of the banister, I caught a glimpse of the back of his head. The bells that usually lined the front door of the store were wrapped around his legs and he was grunting and cursing as he kicked them off.
“Who puts a string of bells on a goddamn door?”
I had to act fast. I would only have the element of surprise for a small window, and if I didn’t use it, I had no doubt that he could easily overpower me. From where I stood, I could tell that he was well over six feet tall with broad shoulders and thick biceps.
I reared back as I stepped down off the final step and swung the candy cane at the back of his head like I was Derek Jeter scoring a home run.
The hard plastic made a loud noise against his skull… only, he didn’t go down like I expected him to. He didn’t crumple into a pile on the floor and pass out like people do in the movies when you hit them in the head.
Instead, he shouted more profanities, spinning wildly to face me. “Ow! What the fuck?”
Upstairs, Kringle went berserk, barking and scratching at my bedroom door. I jerked the candy cane in front of my body, holding it up like a shield. “What are you doing in my store?” I cried and as I pulled back to hit him again, this time he was ready for me and caught the candy cane as I swung a second time, deflecting the hit.
“Your store?”
I blinked as my adrenaline wore off and the man came more into focus. His three-piece suit, bright green eyes, dark cropped hair and trimmed beard didn’t exactly scream burglar. In fact… he looked familiar.
Oh, shit. He looked really familiar.
“The whole damn StoryBook Christmas franchise belongs to my family!” he shouted, his hand falling to the back of his head and rubbing where I had clocked him with the candy cane.
The plastic decoration slipped out of my hand, bouncing on the floor by my feet as I covered my mouth, horrified. Oh, God. No.
“You’re Chris Pohle? Jack’s son?”
Just then, I heard the distinct sound of my bedroom door swinging open, banging against the wall. The clack of my dog’s nails on the floor was thunderous as Kringle charged down the stairs toward Chris.
Dammit, I forgot these old doors didn’t latch very well.
“Kringle, no!”
In a blur of yellow fur, my dog launched all sixty pounds of himself at Chris, licking him. I breathed a little easier when a small smile flicked at the corners of my boss’s full lips and he paused to pet Kringle between the ears.
I grabbed my naughty dog’s collar and tugged him off of Chris.
“Did you not get the memo my office sent yesterday stating I would be coming?” he asked.
I nodded, utterly speechless for a moment while I combed the recesses of my memory for that email. “Y-yes. But you said—”
“And did you not see that we had specifically asked for any security codes and access that might be needed if we came after hours?”
“Yes, but—”
“Well, then. I guess I can rule out illiteracy as the reason for this mishap.”
My hands balled into fists. “I’m not illiterate. Your email suggested you might come into the store a little earlier or later than our operating hours. It didn’t sound as though you’d be sliding in before the sun was even up!”
Crap, now I was shouting. I was shouting at my boss immediately after assaulting him with oversized candy. I took a deep breath, forcing my voice to quiet down to a normal speaking volume. “And if you had properly read my response, you would have seen that I sent a reminder to your assistant that Jack is renting me the apartment upstairs for the next couple of months.”
His brow tightened at that, eyes flicking toward the top of the stairs. “My dad is leasing you that apartment?” he pointed, driving the question home.
“Yes.” I crossed my arms, suddenly aware how undressed I actually was wearing only my long sleeve sleep shirt, bare legs, and elf slippers. With each tap of my toe against the hardwood floor, the bells on the toes jingled. It sounded far too cheery to mirror the annoyance I felt toward him.
“Dammit,” he hissed and yanked a cell phone from his back pocket.
“Also, I thought your dad and mom were coming for the Christmas Festival.”
Jack Pohle and his sweet wife, Cecilia, always came to Maple Grove’s Christmas Festival every year. And every year, they dressed up as Mr. and Mrs. Claus. Chris, their son, never came out to the store. I had literally only met him once in my time managing their flagship store, and that was at their Christmas party last year. He waltzed into that party with some mammoth-tall supermodel on his arm, stole a bottle of champagne from the bar before whisking his date out to some private balcony on the top floor. When he came back, I only saw him talking to other suits and board members until he and that model had some very public breakup—right there at the party. His presence created a whole lot of drama for what was usually an uneventful company party.