The Elf and the Ice Princess Read Free

marriage.
    That had been the
most joyous Thanksgiving of Carrie’s life. Another month passed of renewed
hope, of planning, renovating their home—now Erica’s house—painting the baby’s
room…
    Christmas
Eve, the bleeding had started. By Christmas, they knew they’d lost the baby. By
New Year’s Day, Lincoln was gone, too, broken down by this final defeat after
three years of unfulfilled expectation.
    Carrie
slapped the frame shut and tossed it roughly back into the desk. A shaky breath
escaped as the silver thudded dully against her files.
    Well then,
Lincoln Bryant, one tough-ass reporter was coming home.

    The mall was
packed with zombie shoppers humming to holiday music as they elbowed their way
through last-minute gift-hunting. No matter what the song proclaimed, this was
the most
horrible
time of the year in any commercial center. Carrie had been to
five stores already in her quest for an affordable dress that would make Erica
look like the unimaginative, status-grubbing whore that she was.
    She’d met Erica
before the divorce; that was not pettiness speaking.
    But she hadn’t
found
it
yet. At least not one she could pay for without going into debt for
the sake of her pride. A rare buzz of regret that she hadn’t accepted any of
Lincoln’s fortune dashed through her.
    It had been
hard to turn down, her logic circuits pushing for her to take as much as she
could get. He’d been the one to walk, after all. But it was
his
money, from
family and from his software empire. Her freelance writing career, while
personally fulfilling, had brought in an income they’d made much good-natured
hilarity over. After the split, Lincoln had begged her to take a cushy
settlement, which, of course, had only made her dig in her heels. The ability
to throw cash at every problem had made Lincoln the way he was. Carrie had been
independent before him and had known she could be again without him. There was
no way she’d soothe his conscience by taking his money.
    Of course, having
a few hundred extra bucks lying around did have its perks. Like now, when every
dress that came near the mark was well out of reach.
    Carrie sat on a
bench near a plastic pine tree and slipped her feet out of winter-white boots
with soles worn too thin for marathon shopping. Where to go next?
    A wail pierced
the air as a harried mother dragged her unwilling son toward the line creeping
to Santa. Carrie huffed an angry breath. Some people might carry on like her
holiday attitude was crazy, but it wasn’t just about her own bad memories. Here
was another example of how awful it really was, with this woman manhandling her
panicked child into a Santa extravaganza—“It’s all right. We can photoshop out
the tears and redness later!”—as she tried to live up to everyone’s
expectations of cookie-cutter seasonal bliss. Carrie would bet that woman
didn’t feel any happier than the wailing kid. She felt frantic and stressed and
secretly would be thrilled when the hullabaloo was over and life returned to
normal. Carrie was just one of the few people willing to admit it out loud.
    She regretfully
began sticking her shoes back on—the dress quest must be vanquished,
despite the awful crowd—and noticed the boy had quit crying. Looking up, she
found the calm was due not to the usual candy or toy bribes but to an elf
animatedly telling a story.
    She froze,
right foot only half in her boot. Not just any elf—the one who owed her a
sweater. That peppermint stain was
not
coming out.
    Even in the same
goofy green and red getup, Brett looked more dignified than he had last night.
Probably due to not being schnockered. His story made the child laugh. The mom
tried to use the distraction to drag the kid into the queue, but he started
screaming again. It was a different sound, though, like he was in pain. How
hard was she squeezing his arm?
    Brett held a restraining
hand out toward her without losing his merry grin. She ignored him, instead
getting in the