Chapter One
Music filtered into the bedroom from the small rectangular box January kept on her nightstand. She had a fondness for the old alarm clock that her parents had given her when she was in middle school, always preferring it to the alarm on her mobile phone. But the dreadful song playing through the small speaker only intensified January’s desire to grab the box and throw it against the wall.
As the chorus from “I’ll be Home for Christmas” continued to fill the room with its melodic verse, January grabbed the closest pillow and chucked it against the box from Hell. When that didn’t diminish the sound, she slammed the pillow over her head in hopes of drowning out the remainder of the noise still blaring between her ears.
Just as sleep tiptoed January back into unconsciousness, the phone sitting adjacent to the alarm clock began to play a song meant to torture January even further. She couldn’t help but wonder who was out to get her today.
Her hand jutted out, blindly reaching for the device, but her sleep-filled limbs knocked the phone from the nightstand. A groan escaped from January’s puckered lips at the loud sound of a clatter against the hardwood floor. Of course, her luck would have her lifeline shattering against the hard surface instead of the soft cushioned rug beneath her bed.
The music continued to play as she reached over the bed. Her eyelids remained squeezed tightly together trying to fight off the morning.
Without a glimpse at the screen she knew was now cracked, January brought the phone to her ear.
“I hate you so much right now,” January mumbled into the receiver.
“Good morning, Sunshine!”
Ignoring her co-worker’s chipper attitude, January rolled over in her bed, finally prying her tired eyes open, their dryness making it more difficult than usual.
“Why did you change my ringtone, again?”
“Because if anyone could use the Christmas spirit, it’s you.”
January moved her body languidly as she sat up in bed and turned on the speaker setting for her phone as she spoke with Samantha. Taking a deep breath, January filled her lungs with fresh air at the same time she stretched her arms above her head.
“I thought I told you yesterday to stop messing with my phone.”
A disappointed voice sounded on the other end of the call. “Oh, I figured you just didn’t like that song.”
“Samantha,” January chastised, “I haven’t liked a single Christmas song for the last two and a half decades.”
Silence filled the room as she finished her stretch.
“Samantha?” she prompted.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it,” her friend replied solemnly.
“I know, and it’s okay. Anyway, why the early call?”
“Oh, yes,” Samantha’s excited voice filled the room again. “I pulled the research you requested on the baking contest and how Ms. Smith is being accused of copying Mr. Daugherty’s recipe. And I also got you an interview with the head of the Christmas Festival.”
January tossed her legs casually over the side of the bed and stood, the image of her pajama-clad body ignored in the mirror.
“Why do I always get these assignments?”
“Because you’re the best reporter in Lifestyles and everyone knows it.”
For the first time this morning, a smile graced January’s lips. “Thanks. I’ll see you soon.”