Good Elf Gone Wrong: A Holiday Romantic Comedy
Good Elf Gone Wrong: Chapter 17

“Gracie, tell me what happened,” I demanded, cupping her tear-stained face in my hands.

“Nothing. I—” she stammered.

“Did someone hurt you? Was it James?”

Maybe it was me.

It wasn’t lost on me how hurt Gracie had seemed when her sister had her hands all over me.

She needs to just get over it. This was what she hired me to do.

Yet here she was crying on a bench.

I should have just ignored her, gone back to the field office to strategize after my meeting with one of my property managers, like I’d intended, but I couldn’t just leave her. Everything in me had been screaming to go to her.

If Gracie was actually my girlfriend, I would have kissed the tears off of her face. But seeing as how she’d jerked away from me earlier, I was surprised she was even allowing me to stroke her face.

“Nothing happened,” Gracie sobbed.

“Gracie—”

“It’s stupid.” She sniffled then picked up Pugnog. “You’re going to think I’m stupid.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“I wanted this special yarn,” she finally admitted, “and they ran out. See? It’s dumb. You think I’m childish.”

“You’re allowed to like things,” I told her carefully. “Can you buy some different yarn? What are you making?”

“I don’t need you to solve my problems,” she said, blowing her nose.

“To be fair, you did literally hire me to do that, so …”

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s a special Christmas-themed yarn. I’m just complaining. I’ll get over it.”

“You don’t have to pretend like things don’t bother you with me,” I told her. “I’m not your family.”

“They’re not like that,” she said quickly. “They mean well. They’re just stressed.”

“Uh-huh.”

Gracie fiddled with her mittens. I wondered if she’d made them herself. Probably.

“I don’t know anything about knitting,” I said, sitting down beside her on the bench, “but isn’t it a little late to start making Christmas presents?”

“It’s just a dog sweater. It won’t take that long.”

I looked down at Pugnog, who was wearing yet another Christmas sweater, this one different from the one he’d worn yesterday.

“Not for him. My cousin has a new foster Chihuahua, and I don’t want him to feel left out.”

“Your family really goes all out for Christmas, huh?” I said.

“It’s the happiest time of the year.”

“And that’s why you’re crying on a bench outside of a yarn store,” I said to her.

“I’m under a lot of stress. Wedding planning is stressful,” she protested.

“Especially when it’s someone else’s that you’re not getting paid for,” I added.

Grace crossed her arms and watched the cars, many with Christmas trees attached to their roofs, drive past.

“I see you’re making progress though,” she said. “The CIA should hire you to be a spy. Just flash that tramp stamp around, and people will be falling all over themselves to give you sensitive information.”

I snorted a laugh.

“I always complete the mission.”

I tried not to think about her laptop.

“I hope this mission isn’t taking you away from your family,” she said after another moment of watching cars. “Helping me, I mean.”

“Nah,” I assured her. “I don’t do Christmas.”

“Like, you’re Jewish?”

“Like I told you, I can’t stand the holiday.”

“But surely you must do something for the holidays.”

“You mean aside from getting shit-faced drunk on Christmas Eve and getting in fights with my brothers?”

I kept my tone flippant, but Christmas Eve before last, Anderson and I had gotten into a drop-down, drag-out fight and spent Christmas in the hospital drinking Pedialyte through a straw. Our little sister, Elsa, had sworn after that she was never spending Christmas with us again.

“How can you not like Christmas?” she argued. “The music, the decorations, the lights, the snow that makes the town look like a movie set. There’s special holiday food and Santa and carolers. There has to be some part of Christmas you enjoy.”

“Absolutely nothing,” I told her. “I just try to get through the holiday as quickly as possible. Nevertheless, it keeps starting earlier and earlier every year.”

“Christmas begins right after Halloween.”

“It literally does not.” I crossed my arms.

“Yeah, it does. That’s why they made The Nightmare Before Christmas.”

“That’s not—”

She was smiling.

“Stop fucking with me.” I tugged one of the curls creeping out from under her red wool hat.

“I’m going to help you find the true meaning of Christmas,” Gracie said, standing up and dusting the falling snow off her skirt.

She grabbed my hand.

“There’s a pop-up café that has snowman croissants,” she said as she tugged me down the sidewalk. “And the best spiced nutmeg latte you’ve ever had. That reminds me, don’t let me forget to buy macadamia nuts at the store, and if you can muster up a manifestation of a Christmas miracle, I could use one to make this vegan eggnog.”

“Vegan eggnog?”

“Oh, sorry,” Gracie said shyly, turning back to me, her feet sliding slightly on the icy sidewalk. “Of course you don’t have to, if you have other things to do. This isn’t a family event or anything, so I guess there’s no reason for you to hang out with me.”

After working ninety hours a week for the last several months, I had no desire to sit in a dark room scrolling through the illegal shit people did online when they thought no one was looking. All I wanted to do was bask in her enthusiasm and warmth, even it if was directed at Christmas.

“My shift got canceled,” I lied.

“Oh yeah?” she asked, her mittened hand still in my gloved one. “Where do you work?”

“The country club.”

“Fancy!” She giggled. “I bet you’re a hit with all the neglected wives and girlfriends.”

“Something like that.”

“This is my favorite store,” she said as we stopped in front of a display window filled with miniature trains chugging through a forest landscape toward a small village decorated for Christmas. Gracie leaned forward, immersed in the tiny world.

“A toy store?” I said mildly.

“Let’s go in. Can we?”

Everything in my life, any menial job, any hobbies, was all a careful calculus of where I would be able to pull information on people for my clients. I didn’t do things “just for fun.”

Yet I was window-shopping with Gracie like I was a normal person out with his girlfriend. It felt like it had been years since I’d ever done something so mundanely human.

Except you aren’t, are you? It’s all another trick.

“Sure.”

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” she teased as I allowed her to tug me inside. “It’s Christmas. Find your inner child.”

Pugnog was eyeing a basket of teddy bears under a Christmas tree festooned with ornaments. I scooped the dog up before he could eat anything.

Gracie was totally absorbed in the miniature scenes of domesticity displayed around the store.

“I always feel like a giant when I come in here,” she whispered to me excitedly. “None of my family likes this store. They complain it’s too expensive, and why does a miniature coffee pot cost more than an actual one.”

She sighed and put it back.

“You don’t want it?” I asked. Part of me just wanted to buy it for her, even though it might look suspicious for a down-on-his-luck bad boy to be shelling out serious cash for a tiny coffee pot.

“I don’t really have the room,” she said.

I smirked. “Really?”

She giggled.

“In my dream home, I was supposed to have a room just for miniatures. If I’d gotten married … Well, James and I were supposed to buy a big Victorian house.”

“Guess that’s never happening.”

“Oh, he bought it. Just not for me.” She trailed her fingers along a miniature piano.

“Screw James,” I told her. “You don’t need a man to own a house. It’s the twenty-first century.”

“It just seems silly for one person to have all that house.” She sighed. “Besides I can’t afford it. I’ve been trying to save up my money, but New York City is expensive, and you really need two incomes to buy a house, even in this town. Anyway, I can get my miniature fixes other ways. Every year, I go to Chicago for a miniatures conference. Did you know you can buy miniature working nacho machines?”

“What?”

“I’ll have to take you sometime,” she said, picking up a miniature knitting basket with balls of yarn.

“What do you think?” she asked, holding it up on the palm of her hand. “Look. The knitting needles work. If you had tiny hands, you could knit a tiny sweater.”

“Is that going with the mouse in the kitchen who’s stewing in resentment at her ungrateful children, or the mouse lying in bed in the attic sleeping off all that Christmas brandy?” I asked, referencing the elaborate dollhouse in Gracie’s bedroom.

“Neither,” Gracie said, sticking her tongue out. “You actually secretly like miniatures. You’re making up whole stories for the people that live in the miniature house,” she said, poking me lightly in the abs. “This is for my cousin. She’s interested in miniatures.”

“You’re not making her a scarf or a hat?”

“I made beer koozies,” she said, sounding slightly guilty, “but it’s fun to give kids toys on Christmas. And pets,” she added.

Pugnog’s tongue flopped out of his mouth.

“Oh, look,” Gracie cooed at a tiny painting of a pug in a tuxedo. “I can’t not buy that.” She put the miniature carefully in the small basket. “I just love this store. Did you see this lamp? It even lights up.”

“That doesn’t seem very Victorian,” I said, inspecting the miniature lamp that had a more contemporary aesthetic.

“I know, but maybe one day I’ll have a modernist dollhouse, and then I’ll need this lamp.”

A rug, a tiny credenza, and a tiny teddy bear with movable arms also went into her basket.

“I’m buying local,” she said defensively.

“I didn’t say anything.”

I shifted Pugnog to my other arm as we slowly made our way to the cashier’s counter, where an ancient man greeted her like a long-lost daughter and rang up her purchase on an ancient cash register with physical painted buttons.

I wondered if there was a way I could convince Gracie to take me to her family’s office as we headed back out into the cold. Unlike on the Gulch side of Maplewood Falls, here the shops were bustling, the sidewalks clean, and the people didn’t clutch their purses close to their chests.

Not that the Gulch was as bad as it had been when I’d been a kid. But still. There weren’t shops dedicated to high-end dog treats or cupcakes.

“This is Pugnog’s favorite shop,” Gracie pleaded as we walked past a small pet boutique decorated to look like a 1920s Paris café.

The dog was greeted like a celebrity when I opened the door for Gracie and the pug. Several middle-aged women rushed over to him, cooing excitedly while I stood there looking around at all the over-the-top dog accessories.

Gracie let Pugnog off his leash, and he ran around the store sniffing other dogs, stubby curled tail wagging.

“Is this him?” one of the women asked Gracie in a stage whisper.

“He can hear you, you know,” her friend hissed back.

“I used to date a man from the other side of town,” one of the woman said, eyeing me up and down.

I raised my eyebrow.

She sighed. “He had a motorcycle and got in bar fights. My father hated him.”

“Did you run off with him anyways?” Gracie asked her.

“Oh, no. My father paid him $1,000 to never speak to me, and I married a banker. I was sad, of course, but it was for the best. Men like that are fun when you’re young, not so great when you’re older,” she said with a laugh and elbowed me, like it was a joke that I should be in on.

Why do you care? I asked myself as the bitter bile rose up.

Because …

Because …

Because that wasn’t who I was. Sure, I rode a motorcycle and got in bar fights, but technically, I could trace my family tree back to the Mayflower. My family had been one of the elite names in New England, along with the Rockefellers, the Van de Bergs, and the Rhodes.

All of that wealth and influence had been squandered in the last century.

My family had built the old resort area along the canal that used to be one of the hot spots in Victorian New England. That was before the hot springs had dried up and the highway had been routed through. The family’s crumbling summer mansion had been partitioned for apartments in the ’80s. When it burned down, it was the final effigy to what was once a great family.

These women, though, all they saw was some kid from poverty who had nothing to offer a girl like Gracie.

You don’t, I reminded myself forcefully. Remember? Gracie is a means to an end. So what if her family thinks you’re trash. That’s the whole point.

The piece of me that I thought I had killed off was wounded.

Fuck you.

Some part of me wanted Gracie to defend me, to say that of course I would be a good husband, was someone she’d want to build her fantasy life with and live with in a historic Victorian house with a room dedicated to miniatures.

Instead she just laughed. “It is taking a walk on the wild side.”

Bitch.

“You certainly are doing your best to domesticate him,” one of the woman chortled.

“He’s being a trooper.” Gracie patted my arm.

“She’ll make it up to you later,” one of the women assured me.

Yeah. She would as soon as I got my hands on that laptop.

“I need some stocking stuffers for the dogs,” she said excitedly, handing me a basket and immediately filling it with dog treats. “I was going to bake some,” she said as she stuck an oversized rawhide bone shaped like a candy cane with a red stripe into the basket. “But my sister wants pistachio cookies for her wedding.”

“Why is the maid of honor cosplaying as the caterer?” I asked as she perused the selection of dog outfits.

“I’m not the maid of honor.”

“Wait. What?”

Gracie gave me another guilty look.

“I’m just a bridesmaid. Well, an understudy bridesmaid, in case one of my sister’s friends can’t make it on Christmas.”

I was suddenly sick of the whole thing. This was why I’d been trying to transition into more of a behind-the-scenes role. For some reason, my line of work never included spending time with mentally stable people.

“Do you see anything for guinea pigs?” Gracie asked me as she meandered through the store, filling up the basket.

“How many pets do you have?” I finally asked, unable to contain it any longer.

“Pugnog has thirty dog cousins and twenty-two cat cousins, not to mention my cousin Ari has a guinea pig that just became a mother of five.”

“And they all need gifts,” I said dryly.

“Of course! It’s Christmas,” she said determinedly.

A guinea pig outfit that made a rodent look like a reindeer was put in the overflowing basket.

“It’s good to spend money in the community.”

She and the woman at the cash register chatted about dog grooming as Gracie checked out.

You are getting paid to be here, I chanted to myself.

Except that was false. I was getting paid to snoop on Gracie’s laptop or at the EnerCheck office.

I glanced at my watch when we stepped back out on the sidewalk, Pugnog hyped from being in a store just for him.

It was probably too much to hope that Gracie would suggest we head over to the office.

I rolled my shoulders.

“You can leave if you want,” Gracie said in a rush. “You don’t have to hang out with me while I shop.”

I worked my jaw. If I left, she’d go to the office, and it would be just my luck to miss the opportunity.

“It’s fine. Besides, the more pressure the townspeople put on your parents about you dating someone unsavory, the better.”

Gracie winced.

“I don’t think you’re unsavory. Just ignore what those women were saying. They can be judgmental to people they don’t understand. They don’t know you.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, Sugarplum,” I drawled. “I’m not really your boyfriend, remember?”

“No, but you are a good basket carrier,” she said with a small smile and headed to yet another store.

“What happened to getting coffee and a snack?” I asked, trying not to sound desperate as I followed her in to the high-end home goods store.

Grace giggled behind her hand.

“I promise I’ll give you a really tasty, yummy snack. You’ll love the bakery down the street,” she promised as ornaments, candles, and bags of potpourri went into the large basket I was carrying.

“I should have brought my rucksack.”

I looked down at the pug. His tongue flopped out of his inset jaw.

Gracie had him tucked under her arm since I had been relegated to pack mule. For someone who claimed she wasn’t planning on buying anything today, this woman could shop.

She led me through the store to the back wall where the store was selling novelty oversized porcelain drink dispensers with Christmas scenes on them.

“What in god’s name do you need that for?” I snarled at her.

She gave me that wide-eyed look.

“I told you Kelly’s wedding welcome party is holiday themed, and we’re having a variety of eggnogs. This one is for the vegan eggnog.”

“No wonder you can’t buy a house.”

“Okay boomer,” she scoffed. “You live in a tent.”

I gave her an odd look. “Actually, I live in a semi-nice apartment building.”

“Oh.” She seemed taken aback.

Yet another reason why you’re an idiot for starting to feel anything for her.

“Unexpected for a boy from the wrong side of the tracks, huh,” I said, acid in my voice.

“I, well … I just … I guess I wasn’t thinking,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

She turned around abruptly to stare at the drink dispensers.

“This one is the only one big enough, but do you think vegans will be offended that there are animals eating mincemeat pie on it?”

“I’m not a vegan, and I’m offended by this whole shit show.” I flipped over the price tag. “They want how much for this?”

“This is for family, and it’s Christmas.”

“That’s your justification for everything,” I said, scooting her out of the way so I could pick up the unwieldy beverage dispenser.

She hovered next to me as I carried it up to the checkout counter.

“Oh, isn’t this snowman sweet?” Gracie squealed, holding up a smiling handmade snowman mug.

“No comment.”

“You can’t run your poor boyfriend ragged,” the woman at the checkout counter said to her as she rang up the excessive amount of candles. I mean seriously, how many candles did one person need in their life?

“You push a man to the edge, and he’ll walk off the job.”

Gracie squeezed my arm and beamed up at me.

“I’m going to get him a cupcake,” Gracie said earnestly.

“You need to give him a steak and a blow job,” the cashier said as she typed in the price of the beverage dispenser with a stylus.

“I like the sound of that.” I grinned.

Gracie chewed on her lip.

“Guess you know what to put in his stocking.” The cashier winked at her, and Gracie handed over her credit card.

“Oh my gosh,” she said, when we were back on the sidewalk. “I forgot I’m supposed to go over to the venue.”

If I was going to be committed to spending the day with her, I did not want to spend it decorating for her sister’s wedding.

I couldn’t understand the contradiction of Gracie O’Brien. How could she have the wherewithal to give me and my men the runaround while simultaneously be unable to say no to providing free wedding planning, decorating, and catering to the sister that had cheated on her with her fiancé the day before her own wedding?

“You promised me a cupcake.”

“I thought it was upgraded to steak and a blow job,” she said and stuck her tongue out at me.

“If that will get you to commit to this fake relationship, I’ll even make sure I shave for you,” I promised her, adjusting my grip on the oversized beverage dispenser.

Gracie looked at me in horror. “What do you mean, shave?” she blurted out. “Do you mean it’s normally covered in hair like a sea cucumber?”

“What the hell?” I stopped short.

Pugnog crashed into the back of my legs. Gracie’s eyes were big and round in her head.

“Holy shit,” I said as the only logical conclusion dawned on me.

“It was just a joke,” Gracie said in a rush.

I narrowed my eyes.

“When your grandmother suggested you and I make out, you looked like you were about to puke. And you act like a scared bunny rabbit anytime I touch you.”

“No, I don’t.” Gracie reddened.

“You’re not a virgin, are you?” I demanded.

“Virginity is a social construct,” she said weakly.

“Fuck,” I swore.

My job had just gotten a thousand times harder.

Sᴇarch the FindNovel.net website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.