calls and reservations. We’re officially booked solid for the month of December the next three years.”
My mouth fell open. Ivy slid a transparent tablet off the coffee table and brought up the article, handing it to me.
I sat my cocoa down and eagerly ate up every word and all its photos. Moving images of the floats and the actors were bright and crystal clear.
I read aloud, “If you ever wondered what Christmas on Earth might’ve been like, Tinsel is the town to visit. Try your hand at crafting the best gingerbread house or compete in the Running of the Santas. Maybe you just want some candy and a few swats from the local Krampus during the Kringle Parade. Whatever your preference, Tinsel’s got you covered.”
This never happened! League One was the biggest global news outlet. They covered everything from capitol elections to interplanetary trade deals and gossip on high-ranking families.
To make it to one of their top five anything lists was insane exposure for Tinsel. But that they specifically displayed coverage from the Kringle Parade?
It made my little heart bash excitedly against my bones, trying to escape.
“The boss wanted me to tell you, you’ve got a free spa day any time you want it as a small thank you.” Ivy winked and took a sip of her cocoa.
The Mezook Lodge, where Ivy managed the finances, was the biggest hotel in Tinsel.
“Thanks but,” I set the tablet down and grabbed my mug, “the parade is a team effort. The crew works hard, not just me.”
Ivy shrugged. “Stop being modest. Without your vision, the crew wouldn’t have a direction and be the success it is. So, shush,” she bumped my shoulder with hers, “and take this as a win. It’s good for Tinsel tourism.”
We turned our attention back to the windows, watching the snowball fight.
Ivy’s words warmed me, but I knew this year wouldn’t have been a success without the help of one giant, horned and hooved guy whom I currently stared at.
Seemed my debt to him was stacking up.
How would I ever repay it all?
My giddy mood instantly plummeted as I remembered exactly how. Rather, who I would have to call to accomplish the how.
“I’ve got some calls to make.” I raised my mug. “Thanks for the cocoa.”
“Any time,” Ivy said, but her eyes were fixated on the warzone outside.
Once back in my apartment, I took a deep breath, as if it could fortify me against the rising feeling of dread.
Didn’t work.
I tapped on my comm and opened a connection to George.
“Hello?”
I raised my eyes to the ceiling, silent.
“Hello?”
“Hey, George,” I finally replied. “It’s Holly. I’m calling because Fiona—in the office,” I added, because apparently I thought he knew a lot of Fionas and I needed to clarify, “said you might have the contact info I’m searching for. I need to get in touch with one of the elves.”
“Er, okay. Hi, and one sec.”
‘Who is it?’ Perry whispered in the background.
“Holly,” George whispered back, like I couldn’t hear, but at least he didn’t lie to her. He had a history of doing that. “Give me a minute.”
For a little while, all I heard was muffled air and then, “Holly?”
“Still here.”
“Sorry, I had to find the information. You got a pen?”
I rushed over to my kitchen nook and fumbled in the drawer for a pen and scrap of paper. “Yep, I’m ready.”
He rattled off a few numbers and letters. “Is everything okay? Did something happen with the elves?”
“All good. Thanks!”
I disconnected and stared down at the paper.
For a split second—a nanosecond, more like—I thought about not calling.
What if I didn’t call this number?
What if I accidentally tossed it into the fireplace?
What if I didn’t hold up my end of the deal and, instead, kept Kye with me forever?
I followed that messed up thought train for a nanosecond. An awfully long, not-really-a-nanosecond nanosecond.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I whispered to myself.
He’d hate me forever.
I’d hate me forever.
But, if Dr. Molina were in my kitchen right now, she’d tilt her head to the side and say, ‘why do you think you want to spend forever with Kye?’
I didn’t.
Or maybe I did.
Maybe I hated him. Maybe he was annoying.
Maybe I despised his Christmas cheer and the fact he decorated my apartment so vexatiously perfect in a way the old me would’ve swooned over.
But maybe I didn’t actually hate him.
Maybe he wasn’t actually annoying.
And, most of all, maybe when we were alone, as much as Kye seemed to dislike me, and as much as