SO SERENDIPITY
A holiday short story
KELLEY HUNTER
by Some Fluffy Books at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Kelley Hunter
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Dear Reader,
If you’ve purchased this book, I thank you. All proceeds my books earn are donated to charity, and now you’ve helped me to make a difference for some wonderful organizations. So I truly appreciate your support.
If you’ve borrowed or sampled this book, I thank you for reading as well. A story is nothing but sorry little words on a page unless it’s allowed to come to life by being shared and read. I do hope you’ll enjoy mine. Regardless, I love that you’ve let it come to life, and I hope you’ll consider purchasing another down the road.
As you know, this is a short story-a small, and sweet, taste of the SO SERENDIPITY novel about Siri and Nick that will be available in 2012. You’ll be able to check it out then. I’ve also included an excerpt of my prequel novel, SERIOUSLY SERENDIPITY, for you after this story’s conclusion. So make sure to keep scrolling.
And please, if you do enjoy this book, or any book, it’s so wonderful to let others know. Spread the word, leave reviews, drop that author a note. Books, writers-we are nothing without you, the reader. So I do. I thank you.
My best,
Kelley Hunter
Also by Kelley Hunter:
For adults:
SERIOUSLY SERENDIPITY
SO SERENDIPITY: THE SHORT STORY
THE BEST ONE YET: A HOLIDAY SHORT STORY
FAITH, HOPE & CHOCOLATE CHIP CANNOLI: THE CHRISTMAS BLOG STORIES
For tweens and teens and lil terrors:
TIPPING THE SCALE OF SUCKOCITY
TROLL-A-RAMA
Coming soon:
SIMPLY SERENDIPITY: THE SWEET BEGINNINGS
SO SERENDIPITY
SORT OF SERENDIPITY
SO SERENDIPITY
A holiday short story
Kelley Hunter
CHAPTER ONE
*SIRI*
If there was one thing Siri was sure of, it was that she could never love a man who had the bad taste to wear plaid boxer shorts.
Not that she’d had any problem sleeping with one. The very fact that some guy in tartan undies named Nick was lounging at her breakfast table was living, breathing proof of her hypocrisy. But love him? That she couldn’t do. Not again. She did, however, need to get his tartan’d butt out of her apartment, and pronto.
“You need to go.” Siri added a, “Please,” to be polite. It just seemed the right thing to do after getting naked with the man.
“Really?” Nick cocked an eyebrow and smiled lazily at her. A dimple sunk into his scruff-covered cheek. “You seemed to like having me around earlier.”
Siri choked over a response. This Nick had no right to look so self-satisfied. It had just been sex, after all. So what if it had been spectacular? It wasn’t like he’d brokered world peace.
Though. It had been pretty hot, the previous evening.
“I’m serious,” she said. Though, to be honest, her voice quivered and sounded pretty uncertain to even herself. Damn, him.
“I don’t believe you.”
She spied a fresh hickey on the curve of his neck, the very same curve she vaguely remembered running her tongue along only hours ago. The memory sent her blushing, which only annoyed her further, and tiny, hot bubbles of irritation swirled through her veins.
Before she could think, Siri grabbed the first thing she could reach and whipped an English muffin at him. It struck his bare chest and bounced onto the table.
Nick looked up at her, his eyes widened in surprised. “I might have gone peacefully, you know. You don’t have to throw things at me.”
Siri closed her own eyes briefly and sighed. A long and embarrassed sigh.
“Sorry. I’m not usually a violent person.” And she wasn’t. It was unseemly. Though, it had felt good to momentarily disconcert him.
“This was a mistake. A horrible mistake. I just don’t do stuff like this. Ever.” Siri’s head swam. That was one hell of an understatement she’d just made. “Anyway, I was thinking, um, as soon as you’re done eating, you should, well, you know, go.” She gulped. “That’s all I meant.”
Nick swiped the muffin and began to butter it.
“Actually,” he said, “I was considering staying a bit longer. It’s still early.” He winked. Another dimple sank deep into his other cheek. “My meeting isn’t until nine.”
Siri stared at him in disbelief. “Stay? For what? To chat?”
The very idea was insane. She hadn’t let him stay the night because of the stimulating conversation they’d had. And she definitely hadn’t stayed up all night with him because of it, either. But now the fun was over, it had to be, and Siri she had her own critical meeting to attend. What didn’t he understand? There could be no more staying.
“I thought we could do a little reminiscing about last night. Maybe even a little reenacting,” he added.
He bit into the muffin and chewed, contemplating her. She grew warm under his gaze, watching those full lips of his curve into a smile again, and squirmed. Siri didn’t like him having an effect on her; but then she didn’t like any man having an effect on her–particularly one in such hideous boxer shorts. And especially not on such an important morning.
“Look. I’m sorry. Clearly I’ve given you the wrong impression.” She absently rubbed the back of her hand along the curve of her jaw and flinched at its soreness. Like some pathetic lovesick teenage, she had razor burn, and now she’d have to cover it somehow.
“No.” Nick chewed some more and considered her words. “The impression you gave seemed pretty right to me.”
The bubbles of irritation which had been whirling around inside her transformed into a boiling stream of anger.
“Why are you not listening to me? For the last time, you should go now.” She waved to him across the table. “Bye-bye. Ciao. Have a nice life.”
Nick put down the muffin and stared at her for several too-long seconds. Those intense, and more importantly unrepentant, bedroom eyes of his made her want to heave something bigger than an English muffin at the man. Something with the heft of a Mack truck, actually.
“Are you really kicking me out?” he finally asked.
She sighed, a sigh of exasperation that went from the top of her brunette head all the way down to the tip of her cherry red painted toes. “Yes. I am. Last night was great and everything, but I’m just not looking for more than that right now.” She paused. “Or ever.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“It’s not.”
He cocked his head and studied her. “I don’t believe you. And you know damn well it was better than great.”
Nick pushed his chair back and stood. Long and lean, tan even at the end of December, his body was beautiful. Worse, she suspected he knew it, that she felt that way.
“I feel so used. I’m not a piece of meat, you know. I have feelings.” He winked at her again. “Are you really sure you want to do this?”
No, she wasn’t. Not as long as he was standing so temptingly in front of her like that. Siri wasn’t positive at all. But if there was one thing she was sure of, it was that he needed to stop with that damn winking.
“This is your last call,” Nick said.
Before she could answer, to tell him what exactly he could do with that last call, there was a pounding on the front door. With a loud crack, it shook loose and flew open. The very last person in the world Siri wanted to see, or be seen by, burst into her kitchen and skidded to a stop. Oh Lord, no. It was Camille.
“Who’s that?” she asked, staring at Nick like he had geraniums growing out the top of his head. A frizzy halo of red hair jutted out around her own head, making her look like the deranged second cousin of Bozo the Clown.
Siri groaned and threw up her hands in frustration, sending her fork flying across the kitchen. Her day had just gone from bad to horrible now that she’d been found out. The whole town would know about her indiscretion in less than ten minutes. “Doesn’t anyone ever knock?”
“Why would I do that? You’d never let me in then.” She waved at Nick. “Hi. I’m Camille. I’m the best friend.”
Nick sat back down at the table. He passed Siri his own fork before waving to Camille. “Hi. I’m Nick. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too.”
“Come in, it’s okay.
Siri fumed. “It’s not okay. Actually, it’s far from okay. Camille has a mouth bigger than the Grand Canyon. My privacy is about to be shot to hell.”
“Siri and I met at a bar last night.” Nick smiled and, as was proving to be his modus operandi, ignored her completely. “You could say we hit it off.”
“I would say so. That’s seriously shameless of you both, you know. Incredibly entertaining and mightily out of character for Siri, but still. Totally shameless.”Camille looked accusingly at Siri. “By the way, how come you weren’t going to tell me about this? Especially something like this? And don’t lie and tell me you were, because you definitely weren’t.”
“I tell you stuff when it’s your business,” Siri said. “And this is not your business. Nor should it be the whole village’s. You might want to remember that.”
Stealing from Nick’s playbook, Camille ignored her answer and pointed to his breakfast. “Are those scrambled eggs? I love Siri’s scrambled eggs.” She sighed. “She’s such a good cook, but she refuses to ever do it.”
“Are you serious? Good? She’s a great cook.” Nick held up his plate. “Want some?”
“Go away, Camille,” Siri said, trying to hide her embarrassment over the compliments. Cooking was her secret passion, something she indulged in alone. Why had she ever let him persuade her into cooking him breakfast, never mind sharing it? And for that matter, why the hell was he so damn persuasive about everything? No man who wore plaid boxers deserved to be so charming.
Camille waved off the plate. “I better not. But isn’t anyone wondering why I’m here?”
“Well, I am.” Nick turned to her, concerned. “What’s the problem? How can we help you?”
“Thank you. Nice boxers, by the way. Plaid looks good on you. It’s such a shame Siri hates plaid the way she does. But, hey, maybe this will make her rethink her position.”
His eyebrows practically shot up into his hairline. “Hates it, does she?”
“Oh, yeah. You have no idea. But, for the life of me, I’ve never been able to figure out why. Anyway, I’m here about Alex, if anyone cares. He was a complete jackass.”
“You shouldn’t have snapped at him,” Siri said, because it didn’t take a genius to figure out this latest drama of hers. Every fight between everyone and Camille had been sparked by her great big, impulsive yap.
Camille stared at her. “How did you know that?”
“I know everything.”
“I can attest to that,” Nick said.
“Ick.” Camille groaned. “T.M.I., please. Anyway, he never even told me about this woman he was interviewing. So now Alex and I aren’t speaking because of someone named Katherine.” She paused and turned to Siri. “Do you know who Katherine is?”
“Of course.”
Camille looked at Nick. “Do you know who Katherine is?”
He shook his head. “But I once knew someone named Bambi. It was her real name, too.”
Siri grabbed her plate still loaded with congealed, uneaten eggs and got up, fuming. “You need a new chef. And Katherine would be a good choice.” She paused and added, “She needs a job. Her husband ran off.”
“Salacious,” Camille said.
“Very,” Nick agreed. He smiled and leaned back in the wooden chair. It creaked against his weight. He crossed his arms. “She really does know everything, doesn’t she?”
Siri walked to the sink and dumped her plate into it. “Maybe if you’d stop flapping your lips once in a while and let your boyfriend talk he would have had the chance to tell you too, Camille.”
“That’s sort of what he said. But he was nicer. He didn’t say I flap my lips. That was a bit harsh by the way.”
“I’ve noticed Siri seems to have that tendency,” Nick said. “Being harsh.”
She gaped at him. Tendency? She’d show him tendency. Siri reached over and flung another muffin at him, but this one missed. It hit his coffee mug instead and ricocheted into the dish of butter.
“Nice shot.” Camille scooped up the muffin and began to spread jelly on it. Siri snatched it away before she could bite into it.
“So what do I do now?” Camille asked, pouting.
Siri spun, her hands on her hips. “Get the hell out of my kitchen.”
“You’re incredibly testy first thing in the morning, aren’t you?” Nick sighed and patted the empty seat next to him. "Sit, Camille. We need to talk."
Camille sank into the chair and slumped forward. She banged her head onto the table. Once, twice, and then a third serious whack for good measure. "What? Just say it. Start lecturing already."
Siri sat back down in her chair. This was just great. Her one night stand was helping her straighten out her best friend. Could her morning get any more ridiculous? Really?
“Stop being so dramatic. Go and work this out with Alex like an adult would. No one’s going to magically do it for you, especially when your ass is sitting in my kitchen," Siri said.
Camille sighed and lifted her head. Angry red indents crisscrossed her forehead where she’d pressed it into the tablecloth.
“That’s it? That’s your great advice?”
“Actually, it’s not bad advice,” Nick said, shifting in the chair. As hard as she tried not to, Siri stared at the way his muscles bulged as he moved. He was like a car wreck she couldn’t turn away from. Whether she liked it or not, and boy, she didn’t, Nick sitting at her table, half-naked, was making her mind wander dangerously. It was now after eight, and she needed to go. Everything depended on her acing things this morning, and she’d been stupid to jeopardize it all like this. Beyond stupid, actually. It had been irresponsible.
“You think?” Camille asked.
“Yeah. Give it a whirl. And if that doesn’t work, get naked and spread whip cream all over yourself,” he said.
Camille burst into laughter. “Now that always works. I do, Siri. I like this guy. Are you sure he needs to go? You could both come to Ella’s Christmas Eve party tonight.”
“I am so sure that I can say confidently that it’s time for both of you to get out. Nick was just leaving and he’s never coming back.”
“Oh, that’s way too bad,” Camille said.
Nick just shrugged, but kept smiling that damn smile. Siri thought she was about to explode. How had this all happened? Well, besides the too much tequila explanation. Because this was the one thing Siri never did–she never, ever lost control.
Camille pushed the wooden chair back, the legs scraping on the tile floor, and stood. “Thanks, Siri. I owe you. Again.” She turned and waved again to Nick. “Nice to meet you. We’ll have to talk more next time.”
Nick toasted her with his O.J. “Until next time.”
“There will be no next time!” Siri yelled, slapping the table. The dishes rattled under her blow.
Camille giggled. “You know what, Nick? It is just a tendency, her harshness. She’s really a super squishy marshmallow inside. The secret is you just can’t let her kill you before you discover it.” Then with a final wave, she slipped through the front door and disappeared out into the blowing snow.
Nick picked up his English muffin again. “Does she always just pop in here like that?”
“Well, considering she does only when there’s drama going on in her life, yes. All the time. But about this work thing, I need to go. Seriously.”
“Work? On Christmas Eve?”
She bristled. She’d been upset when the trustees had called and told her the interviews would be held Christmas Eve morning. They typically closed the library early, and now this would be cutting into the holiday. She’d have to stay later than rush to the group home as fast as she could. The only upside would be she’d have everyone there to celebrate her good news.
“You said you had a meeting too, so it can’t be that odd. What is this appointment you’re going to anyway?”
Nick nodded at the doorway. “Do your friends always just break into your apartment like this?”
“Just Camille.”
“I like her.”
“Sometimes I do too. But for the four hundredth time, you need to go.”
“Alex her husband?”
Why did he keep asking questions? Or refuse to answer hers? And why couldn’t he just get out of her apartment and life like she’d asked? “Not yet. But assuming she doesn’t screw up even more, he will be.”
“That’s good. It sounds like she really loves him.”
Siri ignored him. She was drawing the line right there; no way was she discussing love with Nick. “For the final time I have to go to work.”
“Who are Claude and Ella?”
She let out such another huge sigh of frustration; her lungs felt like collapsing from the effort. “Ella is her grandmother, and Claude is a Santa look-alike who owns the village’s bakery, the Gingerbread House. They’re shacking up together, and now Alex and Camille have taken over the running of it. It’s just not going so smoothly.”
“For such a sleepy town, there’s a lot of action going on.”
Siri squirmed. The conversation was making her uncomfortable. She didn’t want him to know about her or her friends, or even Miller’s Village. She definitely didn’t want to know anything about him. The less connection they had the easier it would be to walk away. Not that walking away had ever proved easy for her. From anything.
Siri pointed to the clock. “It’s almost eight thirty. I need to go.”
He looked at his watch. “Shit. So do I. I’m going to be late.” Nick stood up, then spun and walked toward the bedroom, the plaid fabric clinging to his ass in all the right places. Siri found herself getting more than warm, and increasingly doubtful. Nick had been spot-on; the previous night had been more than great. Would it have killed her to have gone along with the reenacting? Really?
Probably not. Actually, it would have done something a lot nicer. Certainly, the thought was tempting. But she shook it off. She had to get to work, she wasn’t letting him screw up what was the single most important meeting of her life.
Siri stood, gathered the rest of the dishes, and cleared the table. Nick absolutely needed to go and she needed to forget he’d ever existed. With everything she’d ever wanted, and needed, on the line, Siri had to focus on her future with a laser-like intensity and this mistake she’d made named Nick and his plaid boxer shorts had no place in it. It was all just a mistake, the previous night, and one she could undo—and would never repeat again.
“Siri.”
It was Nick, a fully dressed Nick, back again. His hand, hot and sure, slid down her back. She turned, defenseless and surprised at his touch. Without a word, he pulled her into him, and his lips, lush and full and so damn hot, were on hers, driving all thoughts of mistakes and tartan and futures from her mind. All that mattered was that he just kept kissing her.
Except he didn’t. Slowly, too soon, Nick let her go, and a wave of shame swept over her at how much that disappointed her.
“Why did do you that?” she finally whispered. Her voice was husky and thick, betraying her, and the shame doubled.
“No reason. Just a little good luck for your meeting today.”
He winked, and before she could recover, Nick was gone from the room, and Siri’s life, once more.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Besides writing short stories and novels, New England native Kelley Hunter is a mom, wife, and lackey to four cats. She’s also an unrepentant cheat at mini-golf. All proceeds from her writing are donated to charity, and she welcomes your emails at hunterka[at]live[dot]com. You can also read more about her and her books here at her blog, So Seriously! Find her on Twitter as @Hunter_ka. Get her Kindlegraph too. Oh, and she likes cannoli too much. Way too much. But she’s good with that.
Excerpt from:
SERIOUSLY SERENDIPITY
KELLEY HUNTER
CHAPTER ONE
Camille makes an imperative wish and a most solemn vow, but not before contemplating kicking some elf’s butt.
December 13th
The elf got lippy and nearly ruined everything, which wasn’t the plan at all. Camille’s plan had been so simple, too. Sneak into the mall, plead her case to Santa, and haul it to Ella’s party—that’s all the Universe had to let her do. But of course, per her usual luck, it chose to mess with her and all hell broke loose instead.
No sooner had Camille stepped out of the taxi then the cabbie refused to give back her last ten dollars in change. (She didn’t care what he said. It wasn’t her. She didn’t sharpie “I’m an old fart who smells like cheese” on the back of his seat, even though she could completely sympathize with someone who would.)
She then stepped into the mall only to find a line jam-packed with shoppers who wouldn’t know what a bottle of deodorant was if it smacked them upside the head, repeatedly, and that she’d have to endure waiting in this line listening to bad Muzak interpretations of Christmas carols for oh, forever. And if all that wasn’t bad enough, there was the mortification of some child mistaking her for Kleenex and coughing the most disgusting mucousy stuff all over her coat.
Her new coat.
Her only coat.
Still, a plan was a plan, and Camille had stuck to her plan since leaving her apartment that morning. But then the Universe had gotten really nasty and sent the elf to mess up her plan.
“Piss off,” the elf said, just because she wouldn’t get out of the line leading to the North Pole. So Camille discreetly flipped her off under her jacket and just prayed none of the kids saw, which definitely wasn’t the plan either but certainly seemed appropriate at the time.
The bottle blonde elf in too tight spandex glared at her in return. Granted, it fell sort of flat given the scary-long felt hat perched on her head. Her every movement sent the bell on its tip flying through the air. Her every other movement threatened to dislodge her substantial cleavage, which was already straining at the flimsy fabric. Her nametag had “Jessica” scribbled across it in purple crayon. But there was genius for you, because underneath it said “manger-in-training.”
“Ha-ha, nut job.” The elf leaned forward, and lowering her voice, said, “How about you just keep your fat butt out of line? Huh? How about that?” Her breath actually smelled of stale candy canes.
“Or, you could just watch as I take my butt back over to the line and rat yours out to Santa?” Camille asked. And to be honest, it sounded like a really good plan to her too.
“What is your problem?” Jessica shook in agitation just like one of those small yappy dogs and sent the jingle bell on the tip of her elf hat jangling furiously. It whipped through the air and smacked her on the forehead. “This line is for kids!”
She was wrong, of course. Technically, it wasn’t. But if there is one thing Camille had learned during her twenty-two years on this planet, it was that it was impossible trying to argue with some people-and she was pretty sure that included fashion-challenged people sporting elf costumes and bad attitudes that were named Jessica. So she turned and dropped back into the snaking line of waiting children instead, cutting in front of a little girl with carrot-colored pigtails.
“Thanks for holding my spot.”
The child eyed the elf warily. “No problem, I think.”
“Foul-tempered creatures, aren’t they?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah. And did you see her nametag? I mean, I’m only six, and even I can spell manager. How dumb is that?”
“That’s it!” The spandexed elf stormed over and grabbed her sleeve. Her acrylic-tipped fingers bored right into Camille’s one and only coat. “You are so out of here. No one calls me dumb! Get out of line now.”
She couldn’t believe it; Camille wasn’t even the one who’d called her dumb and now the elf was molesting her.
“Take your hands off me, you freak. I’m not going anywhere.” Camille shoved her hand away. “I can’t believe this. I’ve been assailed by an elf.”
“You need to leave.”
Camille pointed at the wooden North Pole sign burrowed in mounds of fake snow. “You’ve got two seconds to show me where it says that. There’s no height requirement, no fine print that I.D. is required.” She knew, too, because she’d checked. Just to be safe. “Nowhere does it say this line is just for kids.”
“But you’re a grown woman,” the elf said. “Why the hell do you want to see Santa?”
The kids in line gasped and parents’ heads shot up. The little girl in pigtails pointed at the elf. “You said a bad word. I’m telling Santa.”
The elf shook her head, sending the jingle bell flying. It thwacked her on the nose. “No, I didn’t, and no, you’re not.”
The kids nodded their heads. “Yes, you did,” they chorused.
“You did,” the girl said. “A really bad word too. And everyone knows elves aren’t supposed to swear.”
Camille had to agree. It was shocking, really, such a potty-mouthed manger-in-training. “You did. We all heard you.”
“You stink too.” The little girl scrunched her face in disgust. “You smell like the candy cane air freshener in my dad’s car. Yuck.”
The elf’s face flushed a deep red that matched her hat so perfectly Camille couldn’t help but be impressed, even as upset as she was. Who would have thought it was even possible to turn such a spectacular shade of burgundy?
“That’s it. Get out of line,” she said. “Now!”
She was mistaken, though. There would be no now for Camille, thank you. Not after she'd spent almost two hours waiting in a line packed with kids and gawking parents. Not after the elf had called her butt fat and manhandled her coat. And not after she’d been humiliated and shamed for no good reason. Oh, no. She wasn’t going anywhere after all she’d been through.
Camille did, however, say, “You’re the one who singled me out for doing nothing wrong. So I’m waiting in line to see Santa, and there’s no law that says I can’t.”
The kids nodded more feverishly. A few parents stepped forward. A few more covered their children’s ears and looked ready to call the authorities.
“Now do us all a favor and go take your scrawny elf-butt back to the North Pole,” she finished.
The children broke out in laughter and cheered. The elf’s face went from that deep red to a Concord grape purple that Camille had to admit was equally impressive.
“Fine.” She huffed. “But I’ll get you for this. Just you wait and see.” She swiveled on her bell-tipped booties and flounced away through the crowd.
Relief flooded through Camille as the woman disappeared, and tears sprang to her eyes. The Universe may have tried hard to stomp on her plan and it may have thrown obstacles of snot and elves in her way but she’d done it. Camille had actually done it. She’d gotten her way and was going to see Santa. And to be honest, she really needed to talk to the Big Guy. It was imperative.
She peered down at the children huddled around her and felt a tear slip free. “Thanks for backing me up, guys.” She wiped at her eyes. “She was one vicious elf.”
A small tow-headed boy in a cowboy hat winked up at her. “That was great.” He snorted. “Get your elf-butt back to the North Pole. You got guts, lady. Santa’s not going to be happy.”
***
The boy had been right; Santa wasn’t at all happy, and he was almost as confused as the elf had been.
“You’re here to see me, why?” he asked, peering out from behind black wire spectacles perched on his nose. He sat, tucked inside the North Pole, his hands clamped over the arms of his golden throne. A fuzzy, red hat topped his head, gray curls peeking out from under, and his brown eyes crinkled around the corners. He looked exactly like Camille remembered from her childhood. Well, except for that quizzical frown on his face. Behind him stood his helper, another identically suspicious elf, right up to the jingly bell at the tip of her red felt hat. Camille ignored her, though. It was Santa she’d come to see.
“Good question,” she said. “But if you’d just let me explain…,”
“I will. But, why? Why is a grown woman here to see Santa?” he asked again.
“It’s because I have nowhere else to turn,” she said. “You’ve always come through for me before. And, well . . .”
Santa looked at her expectantly. “Well?”
“All right, fine,” she said, feeling a little sheepish. She dug through her coat pocket and pulled out the crumpled note. She didn’t even need to read it; she knew each line by heart.
He read it, paused, and then asked, “You did all this for a child?”
She couldn’t lie to Santa, of all people. “Well, my best friend Siri also dared me. She actually bet me twenty dollars I wouldn’t come. But don’t worry, I was still going to do it—visit you. I promised the little girl. Though after that that cab ride here, I could really use the money.”
Santa turned to his helper, who shrugged.
“There’s nothing in the policies preventing it,” the elf said. “I wouldn’t say it’s normal, though.”
“Oh, please.” Someone really needed to sit and have a little chat with his employees. Like a grown person dressing in a spandex costume was so normal?
Santa ran his gloved hand down his snowy beard as he considered her request. “Well, I guess it would be okay. I don’t know if I’d go so far to say it’s abnormal. Though, I will say it’s a mite unusual.”
That was good. Very good. If there was one thing she was okay with, it was being considered unusual. Heck, she’d been called way worse before. And Camille wasn’t stupid; she knew a grown woman coming to see Santa was unusual. But she was desperate for that little girl, and really, somewhere deep inside maybe Camille still wanted to believe too. In Santa, in magic, in wishes coming true. So in a weird, warped way it had made sense, coming here. To her.
“I knew you’d see things my way. Thanks.”
She walked over and waited in front of Santa. He stared up at her.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Waiting. It won’t work unless I sit on your lap and tell you. You know that.”
Before he could answer, Camille plunked herself down. He grunted and let out the most horrific groan. How mortifying. She’d crushed Santa. “Sorry. I was really hoping I wouldn’t be too heavy. I’ve been upset, you know? So I resorted to chocolate.”
Santa nodded and shifted in the chair. “It’s fine, fine. I’ll be fine.” His voice was coming out a little squeakily, though. Probably not a good sign. “Perhaps we should speed this up a little,” he squeaked again.
“I know, I’m sorry,” she said, blushing. “But I wouldn’t have come if this wasn’t important.”
Santa’s expression softened beneath his beard. “So I’m guessing you want me to convince this little girl I still exist as her note clearly states she believes I do not. What’s the other problem?”
She paused. This was never easy for her, asking for help. “It’s my heart,” she finally admitted.
Santa gasped.
“No! Oh, no.” She giggled. “Sorry. I meant my heart, as in love. What I want is the perfect someone to love. For myself and for my grandmother.”
“Don’t scare an old man like that. I’m not sure my own ticker can take it.” Santa’s bushy eyebrows knit together in concern. “But may I say, I can’t quite see how a woman who’ll tussle with my elves for cash has trouble finding someone to love?”
“You may say. It’s just,” Camille sighed, “I’m not very good at it, that whole picking out the right guy thing. My life’s a disaster, you know?”
“No, I can’t say I do.”
“All right, bear with me.” She took a deep breath. “But, my last boyfriend, you know, Jeremy? He’s the perfect example. I thought he was The One, and wham, he squashed my heart.”
It had been humiliating, too, how he’d told her he was leaving. Jeremy had just climbed out of bed and walked away. But the worst part? He’d left her in the dark alone, something that he knew scared her. For hours, she’d lain there and sobbed until dawn had crept into her room. Truthfully, though, Camille had cried not so much because he’d left her, but more because now she’d never have the chance to suffocate him with her pillow. The thought still filled her with regret.
“So this Jeremy broke your heart?”
“See? You understand. It’s not my fault. I just have judgment issues when it comes to men.” She frowned. “That spineless jerk better be on the naughty list this year, by the way.”
Santa sighed, a long and squeaky sigh. “I do understand, and I have no doubt he’s been penned in if what you say is true. But, I’m confused. What is it exactly that you want?”
“Maybe you could bring me someone, a special someone?” She paused, searching for the right words, because as Siri always said, specificity was a girl’s best friend. It was the only way to get exactly what you wanted. So she said, “Someone maybe, who, okay, was cute like Jeremy. But one who was, well, nice, you know? With someone like that, all my problems would be solved.” This was a lie, of course. Having a boyfriend wasn’t a solution at all. It was, however, an excellent avoidance tactic. It kept Camille from having to deal with her life, herself. And maybe that was shameful. Maybe it was even pathetic. For sure, though, it was desperate, and Camille just didn’t like thinking about that.
“And your grandmother? You have a request for her too?”
That brought a tear to Camille’s eye, thinking about Ella. “She’s just been really lonely. She needs someone beyond perfect.”
“Someone? Beyond perfect?”
“Yeah. But not just anyone. It has to be the right someone to put that sparkle back in her eye, you know? The day my grandpa died, well, he took that with him.”
Santa sighed more deeply and squeakily. “I can’t do that, and you know I can’t. Nor should I. But I can help, I think.”
Her heart pounded with excitement, practically cracking her ribs. That was exactly what she wanted to hear, the whole reason she’d come. “You can?”
“Actually, I think maybe you should help yourself, Camille, because all I can offer is advice.”
That was exactly what she didn’t want to hear. “Are you sure that’s the best you can do?”
Santa’s helper caught her eye, jumping up and down wildly and waving her spindly arms in the air. She was signaling about the time, clearly annoyed. Camille checked over her shoulder. The children in line were getting restless. They’d been on her side earlier, but kids, when they turned, they could get vicious. Maybe the elf had a point. It was time to wrap things up.
“Do you really think there’s something you can do?”
He chuckled. “Now, don’t go getting all excited. I said you needed to do it. The laws of magic forbid me from intervening.”
The laws of magic? Was he serious?
“That and I’m just an old man who works in a mall. But I do know if you tackle that disaster of a life you claim to have and just believe a little in yourself, well, things have a way of happening. Your grandmother is a grown woman, too, who’ll do just fine on her own.” He slapped her knee, making her flinch. “And you know, if you’re lucky you’ll stumble into a little serendipity, because I think you might be looking for the wrong thing.” He shoved her off his lap. “Now, get up. I’m not sure I can feel my legs anymore.”
“I swear, I’ll work on that whole resorting thing.”
“Go, Camille, go.” Santa waved her off. “It’s Christmas Eve. Go find your Mr. Perfect and have someone bring that little girl by. I’ll see what we can do about her believing. And meanwhile, you try to work on that whole naughty thing, okay?”
She leaned down and kissed the old man softly on his cheek. His bristly whiskers tickled her skin, and up close, he smelled exactly like gingerbread. How did he do that?
“Thank you,” she said, pulling away.
Santa’s helper tugged on her sleeve, interrupting, and pointed toward the exit. “You need to leave now,” she ordered.
Camille checked the kids again. They’d moved beyond restless and were clearly contemplating committing mutiny. The elf definitely had a point.
“Fine,” she said. “I’m going.” She gave a final wave and turned, heading for the way out.
“Just believe,” Santa called after her. “Believe in yourself, and there he’ll be. And you come again next year and let me know how you are, okay?”
“I promise,” she shouted back. “And I promise to do everything you said.” That naughty thing was going to prove a bit challenging, though.
As she walked past them, Camille waved goodbye to her new friends, especially the pigtailed girl and the boy in the cowboy hat. “Be good and watch out for those elves,” she warned.
Then she shoved her way into the herds of shoppers and wove through them to the exit. With one last look over her shoulder, she walked out of the North Pole and back into the store. The heat and chaos of the crowd overwhelmed her, and Camille took a step back and sighed. The New Hampshire Mall was Hell disguised as box stores, especially during the Christmas season. It was time to go.
She tucked her chin, gripped her pocket book close, and set off into the crowd migrating to the front door. At the exit she reached out to grab the metal door handle when a shopper shoved his elbow into her ribs. Camille gasped in pain and turned away when another shopper knocked her from behind, sending her flying into the glass door, nose first. She felt a crack, a sickening snap, and fierce heat. Her hands flew to her face, and when she pulled them away scarlet blood covered them. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. Not here, not now, no way.
“You broke my nose!” Camille spun around to whoever had thrown her into the glass. “You actually broke my nose!”
A man looked back at her, wide-eyed and clearly on the cusp of freaking out himself. “It wasn’t me, I swear. You stopped and someone pushed me into you.”
He looked down, patted his coat pockets, and pulled out a pack of tissues. He shoved them into her hand. “Here, use these.”
Then he grabbed her much abused jacket sleeve and dragged her through the door, outside into the bitter cold morning and away from the crowd. The frigid air bit into her lungs, making her gasp. She wanted to cry.
“I’m so sorry.” He studied her face. “Are you okay? Should you go the emergency room? You know, you shouldn’t have been in the way like that. If you’d kept going, this would never have happened.”
“Are you saying this was my fault?” Camille’s face throbbed, and she winced from the pain. She tried to blink back the tears. “Why? Just tell me why? I mean, what kind of crazy person gets their nose broken on Christmas Eve?”
He startled, and then laughed. Though his reaction seemed a little odd, at least he didn’t look so freaked out anymore. “Well, you actually. You’re the crazy person. Or at least, I think so. It seems broken.”
His words shocked her, mostly because they had the ring of truth to them, and Camille burst out in laughter as well. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m being a jerk too,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.
“Too? Well, maybe I deserve that,” he said. “You’ve every right to be upset. Who wants to end up in an emergency room on Christmas Eve?”
These words took her by surprise, too. They were actually kind of nice, certainly not the sort of words one would usually hear from jerks, and to be honest, he didn’t really look like a jerk. Sure, he was short, or at least shorter than Jeremy had been. But somehow, it was good. His eyes were brown and kind, and they crinkled a bit around the edges, just like Santa’s had. His hair was also doing a sort of loopy-dipping-porcupine thing that all together was kind of cute. And in a vague way, he looked familiar.
“Do I know you?” she asked
He held out his hand. “It’s Alex, Alex Lockwood, and no, I just moved here so I don’t think so. It’s weird, though, because I really got the feeling I knew you from somewhere too.”
Her hand disappeared into his, and her first thought was how warm and strong and surprisingly soft it was. How it seemed to be the kind of hand that would be good to hold. But then the thought made her a little too warm in a little too pleasant of a way in a really inappropriate place for someone she’d just met, so she dropped it. Fast. “Hi, I’m Camille, and I should probably get to an E.R.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Camille who should probably get to an E.R.” He looked around, searching. “Do you have bags or anything? A car?”
“No, no bags.” She ignored the car thing. No way did she want to go into that. “I was just inside talking to Santa.”
“Santa? I know him,” Alex said. “He and I are tight.”
“You are?” But then her train of thought went poof, just like that. As Alex reached forward to call a taxi, his down jacket slid open, revealing his T-shirt. It was black with a large red heart across the front and the words “Mr. Perfect” underneath.
Her jaw dropped, and she pointed to his chest. “Where did you get that shirt?”
Alex looked down at himself. “This? It was a joke from my cousin. He likes to tease me. He says maybe this year Santa will give me away to someone and he’ll be rid of me.”
Camille stood, speechless, while a green-checkered cab pulled up and Alex opened its door.
“Your sleigh awaits,” he said with a bow.
She stared at Alex, then at the brick facade of the department store. This had to be a joke. This couldn’t really be happening, could it? The guy in the red suit wasn’t even the real Santa, just some hired mall lackey. But then Santa’s words came to her: just believe.
Well, crap.
“Alex,” she said. “Will you come with me?” She paused and felt herself blush to a degree that would have put the elf to shame. “I’m sorry. What am I thinking? You’re probably a serial killer and it’s Christmas Eve and I’m sure you have plans.”
Alex frowned. “No, actually. No plans at all, especially about killing anyone. I’m not sure I could fit another single body inside my freezer if I tried.” He paused. “Besides, I’d never let you go alone.”
Fractured nose or not, she broke out in a grin. He actually had a sense of humor, and a good one at that. “Thank you. I bet you wouldn’t.”
“Hey, it’s not every day I break someone’s nose. Now please, get in. It’s freezing out here.”
While Alex propped the cab’s door open, Camille held the tissue to her nose and cautiously slid into the cab, careful not to bleed on anything. Then he climbed in beside her and spoke brusquely to the cabbie.
She studied his profile as he gave directions, and decided she kind of liked it, that commanding thing he had going on. Still, he wasn’t exactly her usual type. And the pants could go. It was completely shallow of her, but she had no idea what he’d been thinking wearing chinos and those loafers, and Camille was definitely hoping those were not black dress socks on his feet. But okay, he was still pretty scrumptious.
Though, she couldn’t believe this. She was stunned, really. It had actually happened. Santa had sent the perfect guy. Because obviously, Alex had to be that perfect guy: the shirt, the heart, the sense of humor. He’d even offered to take her to the hospital. He was commanding and chivalrous.
Perfect.
While the cab sailed through the snowy streets toward the highway, her head swam. The pitiful truth was Camille just wasn’t the kind of person good stuff happened to, certainly never perfect stuff. But maybe, this one time, she should believe it was her turn at last. Like Santa had said. That’s why she’d gone to him after all, because in that odd way she’d wanted to believe. So maybe, just this once, she should. What did she really have to lose? And she only had everything to gain.
Her mind made up, Camille sunk back against the cab’s cracked vinyl seat and let her hopes soar, smiling through the pain.
To purchase your own e-copy of SERIOUSLY SERENDIPITY, go to Smashwords. Thank you!
Also by Kelley Hunter:
For adults:
SERIOUSLY SERENDIPITY
SO SERENDIPITY: THE SHORT STORY
THE BEST ONE YET: A HOLIDAY SHORT STORY
FAITH, HOPE & CHOCOLATE CHIP CANNOLI: THE CHRISTMAS BLOG STORIES
For tweens and teens and lil terrors:
TIPPING THE SCALE OF SUCKOCITY
TROLL-A-RAMA
Coming soon:
SIMPLY SERENDIPITY: THE SWEET BEGINNINGS
SO SERENDIPITY
SORT OF SERENDIPITY
What reviewers are saying about Kelley Hunter’s books:
“Hilarious!”
“There's lots of slapstick, lots of snark, and lots of funny.”
“It made me laugh.”
“I caught myself giggling quite a few times.”
“…it's really funny. Like, REALLY funny. And the further in you get...hilarious. But what was unexpected was how sweet it was, especially when it comes to the other characters, and how it's really all about family.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Cglade & iStockphoto.com for cover art.