by Pixie Chica
Chapter 1
Grace
December 7th
“Frost Christmas Emporium, where bringing joy and the Christmas Spirit is all in a day's work. How can I help you?” I say as I answer the phone, immediately recognizing the voice on the other end.
“Do you always have to sound so damn chipper?”
“Merry Christmas to you, too, big bro. To what do I owe the pleasure? Are you coming to see me this year? I need someone to play Santa,” I cheerfully continue. He’s the biggest grump, and no matter how mean he tries to act, I know he’s lonely. I’m his one weakness, though, so he puts up with my Christmas-loving self. Our grandparents were the glue that held the family together while they were alive, he and I have always been close, despite being polar opposites.
“Me? You’re either smoking some shit, and Lord help us if you are, or you’ve had a lapse in judgment.” I merely roll my eyes at his response, asking once more what he wants. Nick prefers texting to actually talking, so he has to have a reason for breaking that. The man is constantly in a rush, and I can only hope when he finds his one, she’ll be able to slow him down. Not that I’ve found mine either, but there’s something in the air lately that has me thinking that might change. “Just wanted to know if you’re okay. Dad and Mom won’t be around much, and you’re so far away. These fucking streets full of Christmas cheer make me sick. I’m trying not to murder everyone in sight.”
“I’m fine, and I’m sending you a gift.”
He grumbles, knowing he can’t stop me, then adds, “Love you. Take care of yourself.”
“Love you, too, and I promise. And you do the same about finding some cheer. What if you meet her this year and your attitude scares her off?”
“Don’t curse me.” After hanging up, I head to my desk and take stock of all the things I have to get done. The most important being getting a shipment to SC Incorporated. While I own the only year-round Christmas themed store/attraction in the area, I still don’t get a lot of orders during the off season. I used the inheritance my grandparents left me to open this place and forge my own paradise. Unlike the rest of my family who live in New York and work in high-rise buildings, trying to make the next billion. Three years ago, after graduating from art school, I hugged my family, then moved to Florida, and I enjoy the life I’ve made here.
They didn’t even blink an eye, always claiming that I’m a free spirit that can’t be tamed, the same as my grandmother. She was a Christmas-loving hippie who never quite fit in with the big city lifestyle, which is exactly why my grandfather fell for her the moment he saw her. She brought color to the black and white world he lived in. They loved each other until their dying days. That trait skipped a generation, my mother, and came to me instead. My father while a sweet man, is as driven and set in his ways as she is. Don’t get me wrong, they’re good people, they’re just motivated by a success that’s only attained through monetary gains.
Which leads to why I'm sort of proud of this customer. It’s my first big sale, and I have to send out ten thousand ornaments by the end of the month. There’s also a promise to double that next year. When I’d seen an ad requesting designers for ornaments, I sent samples of my work, including a special one I’d decorated during a lonesome point. Apparently, it caught their attention, and the person in charge had loved the unique piece so much she kept it, then placed an order for the others. I just know something big is coming.
I hum along to We Wish You A Merry Christmas as the front door opens, the door programmed to play it every time it does so. I look up to see Kent, my best friend and employee, approach my counter.
“Girl, are you almost done? Tonight, is our mojitos and Harry Potter marathon, and I need a drink after dealing with our new neighbor. She’s the rudest person I’ve ever met. Crystal and I went over to say hi, she saw us and closed the door in our faces. I think I look lovely.” He’s dressed as a Florida elf, which means green Christmas shorts with suspenders and a hat. It’s hot as hell here given that it’s December.
“You do. I love that costume,” I reassure him sincerely. He’s always ready to join my crazy ideas, and when he’s not playing Santa’s Helper, he works the register or stocks the inventory. Sometimes our friend, Crystal, pitches in, but she’s not exactly pro Christmas, aside from the profit part of it. She’s the best baker in town and makes a killing with her holiday cookie shop, but she swears up and down it’s a conspiracy against humanity.
“Maybe she’s just shy,” I suggest. “I’ll take her some cookies after the shipping company calls. I’m so intrigued by my new customer. I tried searching, but found nothing. I thought about having Nick do it, but I don’t want to be that person.”
“I would. Your stuff is top notch, don’t get me wrong, but they asked for ten thousand without batting an eye. It sounds fishy. You sure they aren’t trying to smuggle shit in your trinkets.” He smirks, then because he can’t help himself, goes for the punchline. “It’d be one hell of a white Christmas if you know what I mean.” He acts like he’s snorting powder, which makes me burst out laughing. We became friends when I moved in next door to him and Crystal, so the three of us are always together, and he’s the comedic relief of our group.
“You’re a mess,” I tell him as my phone rings. Once the shipment has been confirmed, I grab my purse, shut off the lights, and we lock up, our arms interlocked as we skip home. I know we’re drawing some strange looks as we make our way down the sidewalk, although the regulars have gotten used to it. We’ve become a novelty, the shirtless guy in Christmas clothes and the woman dressed head to toe as Mrs. Santa.
Our complex is only a few blocks away, and we’re pretty close to the beach, so the streets are full of friendly tourists who ask to take our picture, turning our five-minute commute to thirty. I’m laughing at Kent’s jokes as we reach the second floor when I see notice a shadow walking into the apartment next door. The mystery girl Kent was complaining about. I’ve always believed in letting my feelings guide my actions, and right now they’re telling me I need to know more where she’s concerned.
For example, where’s all her stuff? I don’t see a moving truck or any boxes like I expected to. Maybe she’s not staying long, I tell myself, the thought causing an uneasy reaction. One thing is for sure, I’m taking those cookies over as soon as possible. I feel guilty when I’m
relieved Kent skips his usual coffee at my place, yet it doesn’t last long. I love having him over, but I’m a woman on a mission, so I also reschedule our plans. After setting the cookies in a basket, I move to my oversized bedroom filled with Christmas items and gifts for the local boys and girls club. To say my room is a clusterfuck of decorations and ribbons is an understatement.
Squeezing between my boxes of tinsel and lights, I remove my favorite ugly Christmas shirt from the closet and pair it with red and white polka-dot skirt. Taking a glance in the mirror, I run my fingers through my hair and apply a coat of Snow-White lipstick from NYX. When she doesn’t answer once I ring the bell, my eagerness falters a bit and I bite my lip nervously. Could I have missed her in the fifteen minutes I was getting ready? Perhaps her doorbell just doesn’t work, then again, I think I heard it. Trying again, I knock, but there’s still no answer. I do, however, see the shadow in front of it from the inside. “I know you’re in there. Come out with your hands up, I have you surrounded. Not really, but I do have cookies.” Now I’m getting quite miffed. Where’s common courtesy? Knocking harder, and raising my voice, I try another tactic. “I’m your next-door neighbor. We’re all friendly on this floor, so you should just get with the program and accept it. I can do this all day.” Hoping my warning prompts her to acknowledge me, I wait a few more minutes. Just as I’m about to leave, my spirit crushed, I hear the lock turning. Much better.
The door opens abruptly, and I come face to face with a blonde angel. She has the softest red lips I’ve ever seen. Her honey brown eyes with the slightest glint of purple look at me, and I see the surprise register on her
face. When she takes a step forward, I tilt my head back in order to see her because she’s definitely taller than me. She’s also my one.
Chapter 2
Brandie
PEOPLE HERE ARE WAY too friendly, and a couple months ago, I would’ve welcomed it, however, that was then. Now all I want to do is stay here until New Year’s which is when I start my job with my uncle. He thinks I’m being rash, but I’m not, and after spending a week with them, I had to find my own place. They’re the best, though the constant nagging to call my parents quickly got old. I wasn’t ready yet. Heck, I haven’t even talked to John Alexander, which I feel guilty about that, and now I have to deal with pesky neighbors.
This morning, it was the perky two across the hall. Who is that cheery in this heat? I couldn’t help but slam the door, and apparently, they aren’t done. It has to be them ringing the doorbell non-stop since I heard them coming up the stairs. But perhaps it’s not. This voice is softer and reminds me of the finest carolers who sang on Christmas day.
What does a girl have to do to be left alone? When it becomes more urgent, I check the peephole to make sure it isn't an actual emergency before returning to my couch and ignoring the imbecile on the other side. Except, all the air leaves my lungs when I instead see a woman that can’t be taller than five feet, hands on her hips ready to blow my door down with the glare she’s giving it. She’s much shorter than my own five-nine. Her brown locks fall in waves, her blue eyes similar to that of the bluest skies. Yes, she’s the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen, but it’s her outfit that has me itching to open the door. She looks like a Christmas advertisement; she’s even got the cute hat with lights on it. I open the door with more force than I mean to, angry at the pull she has on me, and see the shock on her face. Remember, don’t get friendly. You’re here to be alone, I have to remind myself, though I almost cave when she smiles because it lights up her already too gorgeous face.
“Hi! I’m Grace Frost and I was just welcoming you to the neighborhood. Mind if I come in?” She states, not really asking permission as she squeezes in through the small space between my door and me. I close it in disbelief, then follow her. Who does that? Apparently, Grace. I notice her eyeing my apartment in disgust, and I’m about to protest when she asks, “Where’s all your stuff?” A hint of sugar cookies hits my nose, making my stomach growl. I haven’t had much of an appetite since I left home and my stomach has chosen this moment to revolt.
“Someone’s hungry. When did you last eat?”
“I ah...I don’t know. If you don’t mind, I was about to turn in for the evening.”
With a cocked brow she looks at her watch then at me. “It’s seven. You’re obviously hungry, so why don’t you pick something for us to watch while I make us dinner.”
“What? I don’t even know you.” The spitfire extends her hand, and a little flabbergasted at her directness, I take it. She repeats her name and that she lives beside me and is going to make us food, adding matter-of-factly, “I do recall just saying all that not even a minute ago, so sit your ass down and choose a movie. If I do it, I can guarantee it’ll be about Christmas.” I surprisingly find myself obeying. When I glance in the kitchen, I see my own ‘Betty Crocker’ leaning to see in my refrigerator, her skirt rises and I get a glimpse of her ass, suddenly making me wish this was more of a Netflix and chill type of night.
“Are you having fun staring?” She asks, and I’m mortified at being caught. “It’s okay if you are, I don’t mind you looking.”
Not wanting to admit I was, I try to pay attention to Grey Matters, one of my favorite movies, as I fight the urge to sneak a peek, but it’s not happening. I lose the battle multiple times, and sure enough, she catches each with a knowing smile.
Half an hour later, the delicious aroma filling the room is making my stomach roar in anticipation. When I see her carrying a tray of food, I immediately admonish her. “You didn’t have to bring it out here by yourself. Then again, I don’t even know why I let you do this. You do realize this isn’t normal, right? Is this a thing? Another neighbor tried to be friendly earlier.”
“Kent told me all about your lack of people skills, but we’ll work on them,” she informs me as she sets the tray down, the food resembling that of a gourmet meal.
“You did all that with what was in my fridge?”
“I can make miracles; I’ll be good to have around.” And then she sits next to me, our thighs touching.
“Um...I’ll keep that in mind,” I respond, not exactly sure how to deal with her. A part of me is glad she pushed past my barriers because I know I’d never be so straight-forward, but another is trying to stay guarded. I’ve never been in love, yet I can already see how easy it would be to fall for this perky, sweet woman.
“What brings you to this part of town? Are you from around here?”
“Not really. I’m actually from up north,” I answer before taking a bite. A moan escapes my mouth at the flavors hit my tongue. “Oh my god, this is good. You really are Betty Crocker.”
Chapter 3
Grace
The way she’s savoring my food, listening to her enjoyment, is the very definition of torture. Everyone says my cooking is delightful, but her praise has me ready to push her flat on this sofa and show her other things I’m good at. And that thought has me discreetly squeezing my thighs together in hopes of relieving some of the ache she’s causing, even though I’m certain nothing will until I have her screaming my name.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” She asks mid-bite, making me realize I’ve zoned out.
“Uh yeah, sorry. I just haven’t seen anyone like my food as much as you do.”
Her cheeks flush and I know I’ve embarrassed her, she apologizes, then tells me, “It’s been a few weeks since I’ve eaten anything worthwhile. I can bake, but I’m a horrible cook. Molly usually handles that for me.” Jealousy sparks at the mention of another woman’s name, and I don’t even attempt to hide it. What’s the point? I’m not planning on letting her go. Whoever this Molly is, she’s lost the battle. When I want to know who she is, her response is one of a shock. “Just a...wait, why?”
“I want to know who I need to watch out for. I mean, not that she’s really competition, otherwise, you wouldn’t be here alone.” She chokes on her food at that.
“What?”
“You heard me. Now who is she?”
“A family friend I consider an aunt, not that I should have to explain that to you. You keep forgetting I don’t know you.”
Gripping her thigh, I don’t miss the tremor that courses through her at my touch as I remind her, “And yet here I am, taking care of you.”
“I don’t need you to. I can do that myself,” she retorts, making me sigh at how much she has yet to understand. “Not well enough. I mean, the fact you allowed a stranger inside is a bit concerning, so let’s not do that again. Eat up,” I urge her. “I want to cuddle and finish the movie. It’s one of my favorites.”
“Um...okay?” She replies hesitantly. I know I’m crowding her, but I’ve never been known for being patient. She either gets on board, or well, that’s her only option. When we’re done, and doing just as I said, all is right in my world. I pull her arm over my shoulder, and while she resists for a second, I win, and it stays there the rest of the night.
Waking up the next morning, not that I’d really slept, there was a noticeable pep in my step, which is saying a lot as I usually bounce off the walls. I reluctantly left my sleeping beauty a few hours ago and came home to plan our next date, even though I’m quite certain she won’t consider last night one. I want to rush back over there and greet her with a kiss, but I don’t as a glance at my Christmas tree clock shows it’s only five in the morning.
Then again, I should return the key I’d swiped since I wanted to ensure she was locked safely in her apartment. Deciding to head to Kent’s instead, knowing he’ll be up, I walk outside with breakfast for us, not expecting to see Brandie wearing a running suit. Want
ing to talk to her, I step in her path, causing her to almost fall in surprise as she hadn’t seen me yet.
“Where'd you come from?” She screeches, removing her headphones.
“Sorry,” I tell her, meaning it. “You’re up early.”
“It’s fine you just caught me off guard. I run every morning to clear my head. I gotta stop at the manager’s first to see if he has a spare key. I have no clue where I put mine, which isn’t like me as I’m always very organized.”
Giving her a sheepish smile, I pull it out of the front pocket of my Grinch hoodie. “Sorry. I meant to return it this morning. I figured you wouldn’t want your door unlocked overnight, not that you have a lot to steal. We need to get you some Christmas stuff.”
“Are you a stalker, Ms. Frost?”
“Not usually, but with you, I just might be.” I bat my eyelashes and it has the effect I was hoping for. Her seriousness falls away and is replaced by a breathtaking smile.
“Thank you for thinking of my safety. I better get going as you have some goodies to deliver there. See you around?”
“If you give me five minutes to drop this off at my friend’s, I’d love to join you. I’ve been meaning to start working out since I tend to gain a few pounds during the holidays.”
“I think you’re gorgeous either way. I... I probably shouldn’t have said that,” she stammers, biting her lip and looking everywhere but at me, though I still call it a step in the right direction. She’s so adorably shy. Rising to my tiptoes, I kiss her cheek.
“You’re going to do wonders for my ego.”
“I’ll probably regret this, but okay. Get ready and I’ll grab another water.” Waiting until she goes inside, I smack my head as soon as her door closes. Really, Grace? Your idea of exercise is watching the fools on the Amazing Race. The things I’ll do for this woman.