Under The Alpha’s Mistletoe

You know that saying “luck is the residue of design”? Yeah… well, if that’s true, then I was designed completely wrong. Either the universe misplaced my blueprint or someone out there mixed up my life manual with a dumpster fire, because nothing ever… ever… works out for me. Hi. I’m Marlise Winter. And I’m the unluckiest girl alive. Ever since I was fourteen, my life has been one long streak of bad jokes with no punchline. Not love. Not career. Not relationships, opportunities, dreams, or even my morning coffee. Absolutely nothing. You know the famous Tennessee Williams quote that says, “Luck is believing you’re lucky.” Bullshit. That man lied. Because trust me, I’ve believed, I’ve manifested, I’ve vision-boarded…I’ve done the whole spiritual TED Talk of positive thinking… and luck still treats me like I stole something from it in a past life. And the funniest part? My name… Marlise… means beloved in abundance. Yeah, right. If anything, I got… abundantly broke, abundantly heartbroken, and abundantly stuck with a dying old bakery that is two rent checks away from collapsing like my last relationship. That’s my life. A cosmic joke wrapped in a holiday bow. And yet, here I am, December twenty-fourth, standing behind the counter of my tiny bakery, surrounded by gingerbread men that look like they’ve been through a snowstorm … which, honestly, they kind of have, and wondering if this year’s holiday miracle is going to be another cosmic joke. The day started like any other a broken espresso machine, flour covering half the floor, and a snowstorm outside that somehow found a way to seep in through the cracked windows. My “grand holiday plan” for saving the bakery? Probably doomed. And then came the customer. He looked… different. Not like the usual people clutching shopping bags, or the stressed last-minute shoppers running in for sugar cookies and eggnog. He was tall, his coat dusted with snow, hair damp and sticking to his forehead. But what really caught my attention wasn’t the way he looked.. homeless and lost. “I… I don’t have any money,” he said quietly, his eyes kind but apologetic. “Is it okay if I can get one of your… uh… peppermint scones?” I blinked. Typical bad luck.. my first thought was that he was going to cause trouble or rob me. But he didn’t look like trouble. “It’s fine,” I said, forcing a smile. “You can have it.” He looked surprised, almost grateful, and smiled back. “Thank you. Really. I… I’d like to repay the debt somehow.” “No need,” I said, shaking my head. I was used to people walking out without paying. This wasn’t a big deal. “Insist, let me please ” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “Okay” I wasn’t really interested “If there’s anything you want for Christmas… what would it be?” He asked I laughed, a little bitterly. “Oh, come on. I’ve had bad luck my whole life. If I could fix it, I’d start with my luck. Or, you know… get my bakery off the brink of bankruptcy. Maybe not trip over every sidewalk crack in town. That kind of thing.” He chuckled… a low, warm sound that made the bakery feel a little less cold. For a second i felt warm inside. Never heard a laughter so full of warmth. “Bad luck, huh?” he said, smiling at me. And then, just like that, he turned and left. I watched him go, shaking my head. Typical. Another weird little moment that went nowhere. I went back to my flour-covered counter and sighed. Christmas Eve. Snow outside. My life still a mess. And apparently, my luck… still exactly as terrible as ever. The door jingled as the next customer walked in, and naturally, the bell got stuck halfway, rattling like a dying wind chime. I bent down, yanking at it, and nearly smacked my head on the counter in the process. Flour puffed up around me, settling in my hair and on my coat. Fantastic. “Uh… hi,” said a little girl holding her mother’s hand, eyes wide at the disaster zone of a bakery I called home. She pointed at a tray of gingerbread cookies that looked like they’d been through a war. “Do… do these come with frosting?” I tried to smile. “Sure. Some of it is edible.” The mom laughed politely, glancing at the messy counter, the cracked tiles, and the “For Sale” sign that I’d added last week in a fit of desperation. “It’s charming,” she said. “Really… authentic.” Authentic. That’s a nice word for ‘chaos.’ I iced a cookie, dropped half the sugar on the floor, and nearly fell over a stray chair leg. I muttered a curse under my breath. The snow outside hit harder, pounding against the windows like the universe was trying to remind me: this is what your life looks like, Marlise. Deal with it. I didn’t notice the tiny jingling sound at first—my usual customer, a clumsy mailman with a bag full of letters for Santa-themed mailboxes, crashed into the counter with a thud. My carefully stacked cupcakes wobbled dangerously. I lunged, knocking over the tip jar in the process. Pennies scattered across the floor. “Here we go again,” I muttered, scooping them up before anyone slipped and sued me. And that’s when it happened. A cup of hot cocoa, steam curling into my face, decided to jump from the counter and spill over my apron. I yelped, jerking backward… straight into the display of snow-dusted pastries. Cookies, tarts, and chocolate-dipped everything slid off the shelves like they were on a ski slope. A small child shrieked in delight. I groaned. Somewhere behind me, a voice called: “Are you okay?” I turned, brushing flour from my hair, expecting the mailman, the girl, someone… anyone. But no one was there. Just a gust of cold air that smelled faintly of peppermint and pine. I shook my head. Typical. I looked down at my hands, sticky with chocolate and sugar, and muttered, “Yep. Just another Christmas Eve in the life of Marlise Winter: chaos incarnate.” The phone rang. I jumped, nearly dropping the tray of half-frosted cupcakes I was trying to salvage. It was my landlord—probably calling to remind me that rent was due and I was, again, late. “Hello?” I said, bracing myself. “Miss Winter,” he said, voice clipped, “I hope you’ve got a miracle hiding somewhere, because I won’t be extending your lease this time. Rent is due tomorrow, or…” He didn’t finish the threat. He didn’t need to. I already knew. I hung up and sank into the nearest chair. My life, at that moment, was a perfect storm of bad luck: broken espresso machine, bakery on the brink, snowstorm outside, spilled cocoa, and now, looming eviction. I leaned my head against the table and groaned. “Why me?” I whispered to the empty bakery. “Why is my life like this?” And that’s when the door jingled again. I glanced up, expecting another customer, another small disaster, another complaint. But this one… was different. He was tall, clean, calm—like he’d stepped out of a magazine rather than a winter storm. Dark hair slicked back, coat dusted with snow, eyes… I can’t even describe the eyes. They were sharp, but not cold. Curious, but not judgmental. He walked up to the counter. “Hi,” he said. “I’d like… a loaf of your cinnamon bread, please.” I rang it up. Then paused. Something about him made me hesitate. I didn’t know what, exactly. But before I could speak, he said: “I… don’t have any money.” I blinked. Typical. I shrugged. “That’s okay. You can have it. Consider it a Christmas gift.” He looked at me, surprised. “Really?” “Really,” I said. “No need to pay me back.” He smiled. It wasn’t smug. It wasn’t creepy. It was… warm. “I’d like to repay the debt,” he said. “Not necessary,” I replied, brushing flour off my hands. “No, insist,” he said. “If there’s anything you want for Christmas… anything at all… what would it be?” I laughed, bitter and breathless. “Oh, that’s easy. Fix my luck. Or maybe just make it stop hating me for five minutes. That’s it. Simple, right?” He chuckled, a low, quiet sound that made the bakery feel a little warmer somehow. “Bad luck, huh?” “Yeah,” I said, smiling despite myself. “Abundance of bad luck. That’s my specialty.” He nodded slowly. Then, just like that, he turned and walked out the door, leaving the bell jingling behind him and a faint trace of peppermint in the air. I stared after him, shaking my head. Of course. Another weird, magical, perfectly timed moment in my life that went nowhere. I went back to my counter, flour in my hair, chocolate on my hands, and thought, Yep. Christmas Eve. Snowstorm outside. Bakery falling apart. And my luck? Still exactly as terrible as ever. Little did I know, that strange, fleeting smile and the glimmer of something unexplainable in his eyes was the calm before a storm. A storm that was about to turn my entire world upside down…