The One Night Stand Before Christmas - Jana Aston Page 0,2

has to do with the Hobby Reindeer Championships.

“Oh! Right. So I saw the documentary and decided I’d adapt it for Reindeer Falls. So I’ve got all the kids in the after-school program making reindeer on a stick for the competition next week.”

“Right, right.” I nod along as if this is the most logical idea Jillian’s ever come up with. “As one does. So what is the problem exactly?”

“Oh. Well, I realized I have no idea how to judge a reindeer trot.” Jillian shrugs and then grabs another scone from the tin with a big smile.

“Riveting crisis, Jillian,” I deadpan.

“I know. But I’ll figure something out.”

“I know you will. I have faith in you.” I roll my eyes as I stand, ready to take myself and my cookie tin back to my own office.

“Thanks, boo. But I do have one other teeny-tiny problem I could really use your help with.” Jillian looks at me beseechingly, her hands clasped together and tucked under her chin as she leans forward in her chair and does her best impression of puppy-dog eyes.

I groan.

Chapter 2

Ugh, where is this guy? I bounce my knee nervously while glancing at the door. Pictures with Santa start in twenty minutes and Santa is missing. Or rather, the guy coming to put on the Santa suit is missing. But at the moment, it’s the same thing.

I’ve got a room full of kids and no Santa.

If Jillian’s brother bails on this gig I will kill him. And her. It turns out her work crisis has nothing to do with planning an event in which the kids are going to prance around the community center gymnasium on stick reindeer while jumping over obstacles she bought online. Obstacles meant for dog agility training, but whatever. Apparently one has to make do with what they can find until hobby reindeering takes off.

That’s a direct quote, bless her heart.

Anyway.

No. Her crisis was that her boyfriend surprised her by planning a weekend trip, not realizing it was the same weekend as the fundraiser pictures with Santa at the library. An event that Jillian arranges as it falls under youth services. An event I’m now overseeing because Jillian’s skiing with her boyfriend.

So here I am. Ho-ho-helping.

All I have to do is get Santa into the Santa suit and ensure none of the children knee him in the balls. That’s the gist anyway. It’s a bigger problem than you’d think. As is finding someone to put on the Santa suit. All the professional Santas get snapped up by the big payers—the River Place Shops, the Christmas-themed hotel with an indoor water park. Heck, Otto’s Christmas Mart keeps three full-time Santas on staff year-round. Besides which, Jillian blew most of her budget on the hobby reindeer supplies so she wouldn’t have been able to afford a premium Santa even if she had been able to book one.

Hence, she’s booked a second-rate Santa. Her brother.

“Teddy’s a flirt,” she said. “He’s currently unemployed and living in our parents’ basement, so save yourself the hassle.”

Noted. At least she’s not trying to set me up.

She promised him fifty bucks to show up, which is more than I got, now that I’m thinking about it. But I don’t mind helping. I really don’t. As long as her brother shows up to put on the Santa suit.

I’m giving him another ten minutes before I place an emergency call to my dad and beg him to fill in. He’d probably be happy to do it, as I’m sure Mom’s got him on wrapping duty. He hates wrapping presents. If he doesn’t line up the pattern perfectly she makes him redo it. Then he suggests gift bags and then she tells him gift bags are for quitters and, well, things can get a little tense this time of year.

I’m just about to call when a man I’ve never seen before enters the library. He’s carrying a couple of books and headed toward the return bin, but then he sees me and pauses, something like recognition crossing his features. Granted, I’m standing in the lobby and I’m staring right at him, but he’s giving me that look that you give to strangers you’re meeting up with. Anyway, I think I’ve got my Santa. Finally.

“Teddy?” I ask, fighting the urge to look pointedly at my watch as a not-so-subtle reminder that we’re on a schedule.

He dumps the books into the return slot and then closes the distance between us with a slow stride, like a guy with no job