The One Night Stand Before Christmas - Jana Aston

Prologue

I wake up, blinking against the sunlight flickering in through the windows as I take in the carnage from last night.

On the floor, red pants trimmed with fake white fur. A matching jacket, with the equally hideous fake white fur lining the cuffs and hem. A wide black belt tossed on top of it.

And, of course, the matching hat.

I sort of hoped it wasn’t true. That I’d had too much to drink and was remembering the night prior through an alcohol-tinted lens.

Except all I had was an overabundance of hot cocoa.

And Santa. I had him too.

Yup.

I just had a one-night stand with Santa Claus.

That’s one hell of a way to get on the naughty list.

Chapter 1

“Are you single? I have a grandson and he needs a wife.”

If I had a dollar for every time I’ve been offered someone’s son or grandson or brother I’d probably have like… thirty or forty dollars. Still, they mean well so I just roll with it.

Besides, I love my job so much I don’t even mind when they try to pimp me out to their grandsons. Much. I don’t mind much.

“Why does he need a wife?” I ask. I’m curious to hear what she has to say because older folks tend to say whatever the heck they want and most of the time it’s pretty entertaining.

“Every man needs a wife,” she replies, her tone implying this is fact and something I should already know. “He works too hard, and what’s the point if you don’t have a family to provide for? It’s time he moved back to Reindeer Falls and settled down. He’s coming home for Christmas and I need to marry him off before the new year so he doesn’t go back to the city.”

I raise an eyebrow while trying not to laugh. “That’s not much of a sales pitch, Mrs Carrington. Besides, if he needs a wife no one will want him. All the good ladies like a man capable of taking care of himself.”

“Oh, he takes excellent care of himself. It’s why he’s still single. Too damn good-looking for his own good, that one. Takes after his granddaddy, rest his soul.”

“Perhaps he’s not the marrying kind,” I offer.

“No man is, until he meets the woman he can’t live without. Mr Carrington was a scoundrel in his day. Then he met me and the man damn near tripped over himself wooing me.”

Ah, the days of wooing. I don’t bother to tell her those days are over. Wooing in today’s age is waiting until the third text message to send a dick pic. “Well then, I hope your grandson finds someone.”

“Oh, he will. I’ll make sure of it. He can’t run around getting the milk for free forever. Boy’s gotta buy the cow sometime.”

If I was drinking coffee, I’d have spit it across the room.

“Mrs Carrington!” I sputter around a hybrid cough-laugh.

“He’s got a good job,” she adds hopefully, a twinkle in her eye that tells me she knows exactly how inappropriate she is.

“Go find yourself a seat,” I instruct, doing my best to be firm and professional. It’s Canasta Day at the community center, which is why Mrs Carrington is here. To play cards and socialize, not to find a wife for her grandson. At least I hope that’s why she’s signed up for canasta. I wouldn’t entirely put it past her to have signed up as some elaborate plot to hand-select her future granddaughter-in-law. Mrs Carrington is a hoot. “Find a seat now or I’m going to write you up for impertinence,” I add as a joke.

“Impertinence!” Mrs Carrington laughs in delight. “No one has called me impertinent in some time. I like you.”

“I like you too, Mrs Carrington. But you need to let your grandson find his own wife.”

“All right, all right.” Mrs Carrington makes a show of waving her hands about as if she’s put out by this, but she’s smiling. “Can’t blame a lady for trying,” she adds.

“No, ma’am,” I agree. Then I spy Mr Owens peeking in our direction. And it’s not the first time, either. Mr Owens is somewhat new to town. He moved here to be closer to his grandchildren after his wife died a few years ago. “Looks like there’s a seat open next to Mr Owens,” I say, looking pointedly at the empty seat and then back to Mrs Carrington. Matchmaking is fair game, and there’s nothing like the holidays to make you believe anything is possible and it’s never too late.

For Mrs Carrington, that