CHAPTER1
Jenny
“Oh my god, just go!” Eve scrunches up her pale, little nose as she tries to keep a straight face. I’ve been badgering my bestie with all sorts of questions about the hunk I dared her to kiss at the Halloween party a few months ago. He just so happened to be her new boss, but it took them a while to figure out who the other was because they’d both been masked at the masquerade. Theirs was like a super smexy fairytale story complete with the happy ending. They ended up getting married, and I’m truly happy for my best friend. If anyone deserves happiness, it’s my dark-haired little friend Eve who was born on Halloween.
But I won’t lie to myself and say that I’m not insanely jealous of her because I am. I’ve seen the way Eve’s husband showers her with attention. He has eyes for no one but her, and I’m not stupid. I know guys like to look at me. I get hit on all the time, and I’m a shameless flirt, but it’s all a front.
Despite all my talk, I’m still a virgin. I’ve just never found someone who makes me all gooey inside the way Lucian obviously does Eve.
I feel like a bit of a prude to be twenty-one and still a virgin. Maybe that’s why I put on such a show with all my flirting—to hide the fact that I’m about as inexperienced as they come. All I’ve ever done is kiss. None of my friends would ever believe me if I told them I’d never gone all the way.
I just never could bring myself to give it up to some loser who I didn’t feel anything for, though.
Maybe I’m too spoiled or too much of a romantic at heart, but I want fireworks. I want unbridled passion and to know that he’s the one before I commit my body to someone.
Is that too much to ask?
“Jenny,” Eve’s amused voice breaks me from my reverie as she points out, “you’re going to be late.”
I glance down at my phone and jump up with a curse, “Shit! I gotta go! Love ya, girl!”
I give Eve an air kiss before I jump in my hot pink car. It was an early birthday slash Christmas present from my parents.
Yes, I love pink, and yes, I’m a Christmas baby. In the autumn, I’m an unapologetically pumpkin-spice loving, scarf and boot-wearing white girl. So, shoot me. I’m a walking cliche, but I don’t care. I’m just me.
Whereas my bestie might have been born on All Hallows Eve, I was born on sweet baby Jesus’ birthday.
My parents like to call me their Christmas miracle. They’d been trying for years to get pregnant before they were blessed with me, and then I came on Christmas like the present they’d always wanted.
Suffice it to say I’m an only child, and my parents dote on me. I love my mom and dad, and I’ve never been starved for affection or anything, but my parents are older, which means that they have some old-school ways of thinking too.
I huff as I high-tail it down to the mall, cursing traffic along the way. I’m cursing myself for getting too caught up and being irresponsible yet again. I always do this. Mom swears I’ll be late to my own funeral, and I’m begrudgingly starting to think that she’s right. It doesn’t seem to matter how early I get dressed or how much I try to plan ahead. I’m always running late.
I try to reason with myself, though. It’s not like I’ll get fired or anything. This is charity work, something I volunteered for and that my parents think is a waste of time, but it’s something I really want to do.
If my parents had their way, I’d never work a day in my life or do anything but sit around the mansion and look pretty.
But I get bored with nothing to do, and I love children. I think that’s what I love the most about Christmas—all the happiness of children. Growing up without any brothers or sisters, I was often lonely and always wished I’d had another kid around to play with. Sure, Mom and Dad took me to their friends’ houses, but all their kids were usually several years older than me, so I was kind of too little to really make lasting friendships with any of them. I was always the little tag-along kid who got in the way of what the older kids wanted to do.
Plus, I hate staying cooped in the house, and it’s not like I need any more money or anything, so I volunteer down at the children’s hospital as much as I can—another activity that my parents don’t necessarily approve of, though they admit that it’s an “admirable pastime.”
They donn’t realize it’s more than just a pastime for me, though. I want to make a difference, and I love seeing the kids’ faces light up when they get a visitor, especially the ones who are only children like me and incredibly lonely. I play silly games with them and do whatever I can to cheer them up.
And I love every minute of it, even if it is heartbreaking to see them so sick.
The hospital is where I learned about this Christmas gig down at the mall. I’m all dressed up as an elf to be Santa’s helper as kids sit on his lap and tell him all their Christmas wishes before getting their pictures taken with him. I’ll be directing the line and giving out toys to every kid who shows up.
Though it was supposed to be a paying gig, I wanted to do it so bad, I made sure I got picked by promptly telling the hiring manager that I’d do it for free and that I’d donate toys to be passed out to all the kids.
His eyes had about bugged out of his head at my offer, and I’d been hired on the spot. No doubt he thought I was some special kind of crazy, but who cares, right? I’ll be doing what I love and helping kids.
Of course, I didn’t tell my parents where this was all happening at. I didn’t exactly lie to them. I told them what I was doing. I just didn’t disclose the location. They’d lose their shit if they knew I was working down at the mall, which they thought was in a dangerous location.
They worry too much, though. I’ll be in a big building with tons of people about. It’s Christmastime, and families will be shopping and bringing their kids by to get their photos taken with Santa.
It’s going to be a blast.
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