Step-Santa - A Stepbrother Forbidden Romance

One

WINTER

Elf you, world. I can’t believe she eloped. What was she thinking? How could she not tell her daughter? Her own flesh and blood.

My mother isn’t the spontaneous type who boards a plane and flies to the south of France to marry a man she just met, but that’s what she did.

I didn’t even know she was serious with Randall Snow, and now she’s married? Three weeks into dating him?

“When you know, you just know, sweetheart,” is what she told me over the phone.

So, of course, I rushed home to Jingle Hills, Colorado, to talk some sense into her.

Married.

As I travel up the snow-covered mountain pass to reach Jingle Hills, I slow my car, hoping I don’t swerve on the icy roadway. Who gets married right before Christmas?

While others enjoy their peppermint mocha, I’ll be talking some much-needed sense into my mother’s Chanel earmuffs.

Married.

Sometimes I feel like the adult instead of the child. Sure, she and Dad didn’t have the best marriage, and when it ended, I was happy to see them part, but she wasn’t even single five years before remarrying.

What is she thinking?

And at her age.

I guess you could ask me the same question. Maybe if I hadn’t let a curse word slip, I’d still have my job. I’ve vowed never to say another, but I don’t know if my mother will vow to stop getting married.

I snail it down the two-lane road, when I spot a deer up ahead, meandering near the tall pine trees.

“Please, stay over there,” I mumble.

The deer ignores me like I know Mom is going to do this week, and trots onto the snowy pavement, antlers held high. I slam the brakes, causing my blue Honda to swerve out of control.

Freddy Sparklepants, please, let me be ok.

My tires come to a screeching halt on the shoulder of the road.

The deer gives me a little smile as he prances away and down the mountain.

Asshole. I mean, Cookie McJingles.

My car sputters and stalls, and I try to turn over the engine.

Fuc— I mean Twinkle Figgybottoms. This is not my day.

Instead of cursing this year I plan on creating crazy elf names instead. It works. Call it a weird quirk, or call it insane, but it’s me. Winter Joseph.

I rifle through my bag, looking for my phone, and relax once my fingers wrap around the familiar metal.

Yes. My savior.

My savior turns out to be a fake because the darn phone is dead, and the charger is the one thing I forgot to pack. This just went from ordinary bad luck to the start of a horror movie.

I try the engine once more with no luck.

Spanky Elf-droppings.

No problem. Everything is fine. This is a heavily traveled road, since it’s the only path that leads into Jingle Hills, so help will arrive. The sun shines over the mountaintop, promising to stay with me for a few more hours, so at least I have some company.

The engine most likely needs a rest, that’s all.

It’s getting chilly without the heat on, so I grab my gingerbread-colored mittens from my Tory Burch bag and panic in the privacy of my car.

I’m stuck and no one will find me until morning after I’ve frozen to death.

This literally can’t be my life right now.

Not only will wild animals maul me, I lost my manager’s job at the Tory Burch store in the mall. It’s not surprising. Deidre, my boss, always hated me.

As ludicrous as it sounds, my strawberry-blonde hair made her jealous.

From day one, she asked me, “What dye do you use on your hair?”

When I told her it was natural, she laughed and then mumbled under her breath, ‘So are your tits.’ They are, thank you very much. A week ago, just before Thanksgiving, Deidre announced a bun-only policy for me. My hair is a distraction to the customers, she said.

My response, “Are you fucking kidding me?” was probably not the professional way to address the problem, and ultimately got me canned. Hence, why I’ve taken to substituting crazy elf names in times of stress so it never happens again.

My best friend, Aspen, said I should take my dismissal to a higher up, Tory Burch herself, and she would tell them my firing wasn’t justified. It’s just not worth it. She works there with me, but she’s biased because we’ve been besties since we were five-years-old. Went to college together and everything. So yeah, pointless. She’s coming home to Jingle Hills in a few days and will probably be the one to find my cold-dead body in a frozen block of ice in my car.

A tear trickles down my cheek at the thought of losing my job… and my life. I will not waste my last hours alive crying.

So my mother didn’t invite me to her wedding. Big whoop.

So what, I lost my job. Double big whoop.