Madness reigned before the Christmas Eve shift even started. First, the parking lot was so packed that Elise had to park in the suburbs and walk fifteen minutes to Bennington’s, sometimes through thigh-high snowbanks. Second, navigating the parking lot on foot was a safety hazard; she was nearly hit three times, each time earning her an excessive amount of honking from the distracted driver behind the wheel. Once inside the store, she’d contemplated turning around and going home. Never before had she seen so many people in one place that wasn’t zoned for stadium-sized crowds.

Why weren’t they all at home tonight? They’d had a whole month, at least, to shop. Her mom usually finished Christmas shopping in September, for goodness’ sake.

It took Elise twice as long as normal to get back to the staff room, as navigating the crowds proved challenging at every turn. Her only flickering moment of solace, of happiness, was coming face-to-face with those starting their shifts at the same time as her. There was an unspoken bond between all the employees working that afternoon—a camaraderie akin to that forged in times of war and strife. For Christmas Eve at Bennington’s was indeed a battleground, associates against panicked last-minute shoppers, and it was a skirmish Elise intended to survive.

Holiday vest on, hair pulled off her face, Elise joined her fellow minimum-wagers as they left the staff room unified at the start of the shift. Immediately the can-do attitude melted away. No longer could she slip through the masses unnoticed. Elise had the vest on. She was fair game for everyone. Head down, she beelined for the toy department, trying not to make eye contact along the way. As shitty as it was to be working Christmas Eve, for once the department had six other people working too.

Every cash register was open. Every department was stocked. Every manager was on duty.

D-Day had arrived.

And it was hell.

Exhaustion hit about two hours in. She’d argued with customers, cleaned messy aisles, and pulled a kid off a rickety shelving unit after he’d decided he wanted to live in the toy department—and was then berated by his frazzled mom for touching her son. She’d been called to the front to help with carry-outs. She’d had to run to the stock room more times than she could count to confirm that, yes, they were sold out of said item. All she wanted was a break, but Penelope had laid into her already about grabbing a sip of water at the fountain in the staff room.

That was seven hours to go.

Tired, sore, with her patience stretched pretty damn thin, Elise busied herself in the doll aisle, a familiar haunt this month, and straightened things up during a rare moment of peace. The lull before the next storm.

And then she saw it.

Jack’s white whale.

The blue-haired Miss Molly. Six of them. Just sitting there innocently, waiting to be mobbed by desperate parents. She had no clue if Jack would be in tonight. She hadn’t seen him since the cash register incident, though he’d been on her mind every time she saw that uneaten chocolate bar in her locker.

Whether he was coming in or not, he wasn’t going to strike out this time. Yanking the price-adjuster gun off her belt with a grunt, she grabbed a blue-haired Miss Molly and tacked a 50% off sticker across the front of the box. Then, merchandise under her arm, she scrolled through the gun to the defective label and added that too. Her cheeks warmed as she stared down at it, the first smile of the day crossing her lips, and then hurried to the back warehouse, pretending not to hear the customers who tried to flag her down. On the way, she made a subtle rip across the bottom of the box, holding it flush to her slightly hunched body so the camera wouldn’t see. It was the best she could do, but she wanted to do it for Jack and his little girl.

Just in case he showed. Just in case Christmas miracles were real.

After stashing the reduced box at the back of the warehouse, the stock guys too busy with their own form of holiday hell to pay attention to her, Elise begrudgingly returned to the floor and kept an eye out for a man with model good looks who made her heart pitter-patter like they were two lovers on a cheesy TV Christmas special.

* * *

It was all over. Christmas Eve was here—and not a blue-haired Miss Molly in sight.

Jack Lewis was, officially, the worst dad on the planet. He stood there, arms hanging limp at his side, and stared at the messy shelves. Barbie and Miss Molly boxes strewn everywhere. Clearly the specific one he wanted had been snapped up early in the day. This was what he got for showing up at Bennington’s at eight o’clock, December 24^th. The store closed in three hours. The sheer number of people in there was astronomical, and Jack felt as though he stood two inches tall amongst them. Sure, they were all last-minute shoppers, but he was the one who was going to disappoint his little girl.

At least he wouldn’t see her face tomorrow morning—not that that made it any better. She and Gloria were already in Florida. He would call, of course, so he could hear Maya’s voice—and pretend that she was at his place, opening presents on his couch, pancakes bubbling on the stove and Christmas tunes in the air.

Whether she was here or not, it didn’t matter anymore. Jack had failed her. He had no one to blame but himself.

Work had eaten up most of his time the last few days. After he’d told his boss he could come in, no longer needing each precious second to spend with Maya, the guy had seized the opportunity and had Jack hopping on planes and jet-setting around the country to seal last-minute deals before the holidays. At this point, he was exhausted—exhausted and pissed off. All he’d wanted was that fucking doll. He wanted to give it to Maya, see her smile, and watch her play with it. That was it. That was all Jack had wanted for Christmas this year.

Instead, he got a bare-bones shelf and every fucking colour of doll hair in the rainbow but blue. One big fuck you after another this December.

“Christ,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Don’t swear. Don’t have a meltdown in the doll aisle at Bennington’s. Don’t do it.

“Hey stranger.” The whispered greeting warmed his ear, and he whirled around to find none other than his favourite Bennington’s employee gazing up at him. She cocked her head to one side, lower lip caught between her teeth—the gesture ensnaring his gaze longer than it should have—before sighing and nodding to the shelf. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“You should have assumed,” he muttered, sweeping a hand through his hair. “I was destined to fail one last time.”

Elise grinned. “Maybe I can help with that.”

Then, much to his surprise, she grabbed his hand—loosely, their fingers curved around one another—and led him out of the aisle. Their connection broke, though not by Jack’s doing, and he followed her to the far corner of the store, away from the madness of the evening shopping surge, straight to a door marked Employees Only.

“I’m not an employee,” he protested weakly. She grabbed his wrist this time, her smile blossoming in a way that made his cock stir, and all but dragged him through the door.

Wordlessly, Elise led him to some back corner, a tucked away little nook, the kind where you might sneak a cigarette or take a leisurely phone call on company time. He noted that here, based on their positions, the two nearby cameras seemed to just miss them—a blind spot. Elise glanced over her shoulder, then crouched down and pulled something out from under an empty wooden skid.

“I saved one for you,” she told him. “Just in case. Made it a bit cheaper too…for your troubles.” She licked her lips, the sweep of her tongue distracting him for a few seconds. “And because you’re kind of cute.”

“Unprofessional elf…” He studied her, waiting for her blush, and only looked down when he clued in to what the hell she was talking about.

In her hands…was a box. The box. A blue-haired Miss Molly. Besides the rip in the cardboard packaging across the bottom, it looked perfect. Jack stared at it until his eyeballs dried out, unable to accept what was right in front of him. His heart hammered hard against his ribcage. His palms coated themselves in a cold sweat. He couldn’t feel his toes. Only when Elise nudged it at him did he accept it, a tremor skittering through his hands.

“You…” For once, words failed him. “You…”

Elise sighed dreamily. “I know. I’m a real-life Santa’s elf. You don’t have to thank me. Thank the big guy—”

Unable to stop himself, Jack smothered her words with a kiss—thanking her in the only way he could think of. The only way he wanted to.

Elise—beautiful, sweet, gorgeous Elise—had also been on his Christmas wish list this year. Jack just hadn’t realized it until now.