Holiday Madness: A Boyfriend Thief Christmas Story Read Free

kitchen area where my other tormented coworkers were
trying to look busy.
    “Where’s Reiser?” Mr.
Throckmorton asked, his hands on his hips.
    I shrugged. I hadn’t seen Blake
all day. “I don’t know.”
    “He was supposed to be here
fifteen minutes ago.” Mr. Throckmorton pulled a dingy handkerchief
from his pocket and mopped at his sweaty brow. “That boy is pushing
my limits. First the whole ketchup fiasco and now he’s late.”
    I didn’t think that stepping on
a packet of ketchup on the floor and accidentally squirting a
customer in the leg really counted as a “fiasco,” but Mr.
Throckmorton had had his eye on Elliott ever since the incident. At
least it took some of the pressure off me, Mr. Throckmorton’s
former least favorite employee.
    “Your boyfriend is getting
everything ready for this hop thing, right?” Mr. Throckmorton
asked, eyeing me with skepticism etched across his face.
    “Yes, sir,” I answered. “I
think he has it all just about done.”
    The Hot Dog Holiday Wonderland
Hop would be taking place in less than twenty-four hours, on
Christmas Eve. We’d open early just for the event, and Willowbrook
Helping Hands would come by when we closed at five to pick up all
the cans. I frowned as I looked at the small stack of corn and peas
under the Christmas tree. Hopefully Elliott’s dancing could
convince everyone to donate.
    “He better,” Mr. Throckmorton
said, running a hand through his hair again. “I’m counting on the
two of you to pull this off and get some business back in here
before I go broke.”
    How did I manage to get the
blame for something my insane boyfriend had come up with?
    Mr. Throckmorton disappeared
into the back again while I tried to find ways to pass the time at
the counter. I swept the floor. Then I organized the packets of
ketchup and mustard so that they all faced up in the baskets. I
stacked the drink lids so they were neat and even. The stack of
small sized lids was a little shorter than the others, so I went to
the back and counted out seven lids to make them all the same
height.
    If Zac were there, he’d give me
a look and say, “Avery, you’re being obsessive-compulsive again.”
It was one of the ways we worked together. He reminded me to not be
so uptight and I reminded him to focus.
    Although, when he set his mind
on something, he had way more focus than anyone I knew. In just two
days, he had gotten almost everything together for the Hot Dog
Holiday Wonderland Hop. No one else would have been able to throw
this thing together at the last minute.
    Maybe I was
still just a tiny bit jealous that Mr. Throckmorton loved Zac’s idea so much.
But I was a supportive, enthusiastic girlfriend. I could stand in
the shadows for one night while Zac got all the glory. It was for a
good cause.
    Just as I felt my eyelids
growing heavy and wondered if I could actually take a nap while
standing up, Mr. Throckmorton burst through the kitchen door again.
His face was red and sweating even more profusely.
    “That boy!” he roared, running
a hand through his hair and making it stick up even more. “He can’t
stay out of trouble for five seconds! He knows how important this
is, and he has to go and break his leg!”
    My eyes widened. “What? Who
broke their leg?”
    “Reiser.”
    “Blake broke his leg?” I
gasped. “How?”
    Mr. Throckmorton sucked in a
deep breath, then let it out, his nostrils whistling. “Well, maybe
not broken. He says he slipped on a patch of ice while walking out
his front door and twisted his ankle. He’s at the emergency room
now, waiting for it to be looked at.” My boss paced back and forth,
mopping at his forehead with the dingy rag again. “He can’t dance
now, not with a twisted ankle.”
    My stomach had already begun
that sinking to my toes sensation before Mr. Throckmorton’s gaze
even fell on me.
    He pointed a thick finger.
“You’ll do it.”
    No. No. No.
No. No.
    I shook my head. “How about
Mark? Or