Boreas Winter walked into the break room and opened the fridge door, enjoying the blast of cold from the refrigerator. The entire damn Workshop was kept too warm for Boreas’ liking. He had to give Santana ‘Santa’ Claus credit where credit was due. The bastard knew how to make an office that was absolutely irritatingly cheerful and full of holiday spirit in every way.

Boreas pushed aside the flavored creamers — white chocolate peppermint, pumpkin spice, even Irish eggnog. He found what he was looking for, a bottle of something cold, caffeinated, and bitter.

Boreas poured himself a cup of cold brew coffee, black, flavorless. He sipped it. It wasn’t quite cold enough for his tastes. He rummaged through the freezer and grabbed half a dozen cubes of ice.

“Much better,” muttered Boreas.

“What was that?” said a voice.

Boreas turned. A woman was leaning against the door to the break room.

“Nothing,” said Boreas, moving to walk past the woman with his mug of iced cold brew.

“Not so fast,” said the woman, putting a hand on Boreas’ chest. “The Jolly Fellow wants to see you.”

“You know, when you guys call Santana Claus ‘The Jolly Fellow,’ it makes you sound like you’re all part of a crime family,” said Boreas.

“Look, I’m just the messenger,” said the woman. “He wants to see you in the conference room on the top floor.”

“Alright,” said Boreas, walking down the hall.

“Ahem,” said the woman. “He wants to see you in the conference room now.”

“Ugh, fine,” said Boreas. “Avery, you’re the one woman who can get away with ordering around Krampus…so I know better than to defy a woman who can sass a demon into submission.”

“March, buster,” said Avery. “Santana hates being kept waiting.”

“And I hate being told what to do, so I suppose everyone’s going to have one real shit day,” said Boreas.

“Come on Boreas – get in the Christmas spirit,” said Avery. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that the true meaning of Christmas is just having fun?”

“I must’ve missed the memo,” grumbled Boreas.

Avery walked Boreas to the elevator that nobody used unless they were summoned by The Jolly Fellow himself — a red and white elevator guarded by a Christmas elf wearing a carbon fiber black Santa hat and pointy elf shoes.

The elf in black looked over Boreas and then looked to Avery. Avery nodded. The elf in black touched his ear and whispered something.

“Alright,” said the bodyguard elf. “He’s ready to see you now.”

The red and white elevator doors opened. Boreas followed Avery into the elevator. The elevator moved up to the top floor, opening up into a familiar office, decorated to look like a log cabin at Christmas time.

Boreas followed Avery into the conference room near Santana’s office.

“Surprise!” shouted a series of voices. Boreas looked around. He spotted Santana Claus in a red velvet robe, standing in the front of the crowd. Next to Santana was his new wife, Befana. Behind Santana was his adopted daughter, Pandora, and near her, Boreas’ own adopted son — Jack Frost. Jack was holding a large cake on a tray. Near the two young adults, he spotted Krampus, who Avery walked up to. Krampus wrapped his arm around Avery’s waist and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

“What is all this?” asked Boreas, looking around the room. “I thought you needed to see me about something. This isn’t a meeting. This is an intervention.

“I do,” said Santana. “You remember the bet we made, don’t you?”

“What bet?” growled Boreas.

“Last year, at Thanksgiving, you made a deal,” said Krampus.

“What deal?” asked Boreas.

“You said that if I found a mate last year, you’d find one this year,” said Santana. “We shook on it.”

“You two did,” said Jack.

“Damn it, boy — you’re supposed to be on my side,” grumbled Boreas.

“I am,” said Jack, feigning innocent. “You wouldn’t want your own son to be dishonest, now, would you?”

“I must’ve been drunk on ice wine,” said Boreas. “You know that drink makes me say things I don’t mean.”

“I didn’t serve that at Thanksgiving, although you did have a few beers — not enough to get you wasted, said Avery.

“So, Boreas…where’s your mate?” asked Santana. “Thanksgiving was a couple weeks back.”

“Santana, don’t be cruel,” scolded Befana.

“I…haven’t exactly started my mate search yet,” said Boreas.

“That’s what I expected,” said Santana with a smirk. He reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. He passed it to Boreas.

Boreas ripped the envelope open. Inside, there was a brochure. The brochure had pictures of pristine beaches – both white sand and black sand – and people playing beach volleyball and sunning themselves by the pool and snuggling under the shade of palm trees.

It looked horrific.

“What’s this?” asked Boreas. “Some kind of practical joke?”

“That’s where you’ll be hanging out until Christmas Day,” said Santana.

“But you need me at The North Pole, to help with The Ride,” said Boreas. “I have to give you information about the weather, help organize the ice elementals so they can pull your sled —”

“This year, your only job is to find a mate,” said Santana. “Consider it an early Christmas gift from all of us.”

“You’d really fuck up The Ride just to make me frolic around on some beach?” asked Boreas, flipping through the brochure. “You might not care about Christmas, but I care about my duty. I have to ensure that the winter weather goes as cosmically planned. Every snowflake in every blizzard has its place, and I have to be there to oversee it.”

“What makes you so sure you’re the only man who can do the job?” asked Befana.

“What do you mean?” asked Boreas. “I’m Boreas ‘Old Man’ Winter, the leader of the winter elementals, of most ice elementals, of many water and wind elementals. I must stir the storm.”

“You know…two people can do a job,” said Befana. “Many hands make light work.” She rubbed Santana’s back.

“What are you saying?” asked Boreas. “You expect me to find a replacement, this close to the solstice?”

“No — because we’ve found one for you,” said Krampus.

“Who?” asked Boreas. “Who could possibly take over for me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” asked Befana. “You’ve trained him well over the years. He’s ready.”

“No,” whispered Boreas. “It’s too soon.”

“Father…I can do this,” said Jack, putting the cake down. He reached out and put his hand on Boreas’ shoulder.

“You can’t,” said Boreas.

“You don’t think I’m capable?” asked Jack.

“I know you are, but…if something happened to you, Jack, I could never forgive myself,” said Boreas. “You’re my only family.”

“I won’t be doing it on my own,” said Jack. “You may be my only family…but whether or not you want to admit it, we’ve got friends.” Jack gestured around the room.

“Let me guess — I don’t really have a choice in the matter, do I?” asked Boreas.

“Not a snowman’s chance in Hell,” said Krampus. “To be fair, snowmen are known to commit the sin of pride.”

“Point taken,” said Boreas.

“If I have to hogtie you in curly ribbons and drop you off at this resort via sleigh, I’ll do it,” threatened Santana.

“Did you really have to pick a tropical beach resort?” asked Boreas. “I hate the sand.”

“Yeah, because working in Antarctica has helped you meet so many single women,” said Santana. “If you’re around snow, you know you’ll micromanage things with the elementals. That means you can’t vacation in Finland, Norway, Russia, Canada, The North Pole, or even The Wreath.”

“It’s a super nice resort,” said Befana. “I went there with some of my girlfriends once. We had a great time! It’s an all-inclusive resort, so everything is paid for. You just have to flash your pass if there’s an issue, but, it’s a luxury resort, so the staff commits everyone’s name and face to memory. You probably won’t need the pass.”

“Honey, the reasons the bartender probably remembered you was because you were the only woman ordering Italian spritzes instead of glasses of ‘Sex on the Beach,’” said Santana.

“What about Iceland?” asked Boreas. “What? It wasn’t on the list!”

“No, and don’t try and trick me by asking to get sent to Greenland,” said Santana. “I’m Santa fuckin’ Claus — I know my geography, Boreas.”

“Look — I’ll go on this vacation, to this stupid resort, but I’m not going to spend all of the season there,” said Boreas. “How about just weekends?”

“Or, find a mate sooner rather than later, and you can come home sooner,” sassed Befana.

“Deal,” said Boreas. “I’ll find a mate within the week. Don’t get too comfortable with your position, Jack, because I’m coming back with a vengeance…and with a mate.”

Santana had managed to get Boreas to eat a piece of cake and sent him on his way. He sent everyone back to work once the farewell party was over. He cleaned up the mess with the help of Befana.

“Do you think he’ll —” started Santana.

“Yes,” said Befana.

“Did you just use witchcraft to read my mind?” asked Santana.

“You wish,” said Befana. “It was just super obvious what you were going to ask about. He’ll meet someone there.”

“You’re sure about that?” asked Santana.

“The only witchcraft I’ve used is girl power,” said Befana, before continuing on in an overly dramatic voice. “It’s a force…that some say…may be even stronger than Christmas magic. Remember I told you that I’d visited that resort before? And remember how you know I love going to nice, warm, beachy areas around the world?”

“Oh, no,” said Santana, crossing his arms. “Befana. What did you do? Is someone waiting there to hex him and turn him into a frog?”

“A magician never reveals her secrets,” said Befana. “That applies doubly to a Christmas witch!”

“Not even to her husband?” asked Santana.

“I just…might’ve seeded the audience,” said Befana.

“Meaning?” asked Santana.

“I may or may not have called one of my single friends and given her a pass to the resort,” squeaked Befana. “Of course — this is purely conjecture. Absolutely theoretical.”

“Befana!” hissed Santana. “You mean you already know who he’s going to end up with?”

“No. Anything can happen,” said Befana. “Maybe they’ll get along, maybe not, but…either way, don’t expect to see him back for a while.”

“You are turning him into a frog, aren’t you?” asked Santana. “I told you, we can go down to upstate New York and go gigging frogs like we’re in a country song.”

“I think that Boreas needs to chill out — and to do that, he also needs to thaw out under the sun,” said Befana. “I know. You hate the mixed metaphors, but, whatever. In about a week my friend’ll arrive at the resort, and, well, maybe some red-hot fiery sparks will fly.”