CHAPTER 4 — Fired on Christmas Eve
646 Words
Arielle stood in the back room of Crafty Wonderland, clutching a broken box of glass ornaments like they were evidence of a crime. Which, technically, they were—because the moment she’d walked in that morning, the entire stack had tipped off the display table and shattered at her feet.
The manager, Ms. Darlene Pierce, pinched the bridge of her nose so hard her glasses nearly snapped.
“Arielle… why is it always you?”
Arielle swallowed. The scent of cinnamon glue and peppermint spray filled the air, mocking her. “I swear I didn’t touch anything. I just walked past and—”
“And it exploded?” Ms. Darlene finished for her, unimpressed. “Just like the glitter-gun last week? And the ribbon shredder the week before? And the Santa mannequin that lost its head?”
“That one wasn’t my fault,” Arielle muttered. “The screws were loose.”
“The screws,” Darlene said flatly, “were fine.”
Arielle’s cheeks flushed. She didn’t know how to explain the truth: things did break around her. Machines jammed, decorations fell, wires sparked, lights blew out with dramatic pops. It wasn’t clumsiness—it was something worse. Something she couldn’t name.
“Look,” she tried again, “I’ll pay for the ornaments. Just take it out of my next check—”
Darlene sighed, and Arielle’s heart twisted even before the next words formed.
“There won’t be a next check.”
The room went still.
Arielle blinked. “W-what do you mean?”
“We’re letting you go,” Darlene said gently, like she was trying to soften a blow that still landed like a punch. “It’s Christmas Eve, we’re packed, and we can’t afford more… accidents.”
The word stabbed like a shard of the ornaments at their feet.
Accidents.
Misfortune.
Cursed.
Unreliable.
Labels she’d been collecting like unwanted badges all her life.
“But I really need this job,” Arielle whispered. Her voice cracked, embarrassing her further. “Rent is due next week.”
“I’m sorry,” Darlene said, meaning it—but not enough to change anything. “Turn in your apron.”
Arielle’s hands shook as she unclipped the red apron with the embroidered snowman. The moment it left her fingers, it ripped on a nail sticking from the counter.
Of course it did.
Darlene winced. “See what I mean?”
Arielle didn’t trust her voice anymore. She slipped out of the back room, past the shelves of decorations she had carefully arranged last night, past the cashier who gave her a sympathetic half-smile, past families shopping for last-minute gifts.
Outside, the cold hit her face like a slap.
Snowflakes drifted around her, soft and innocent, while her world silently fell apart.
She walked down the sidewalk in a daze, boots crunching through fresh snow, throat tight with humiliation.
Fired.
On Christmas Eve.
Even for her, that was a new record.
Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry. Not here. Not where cheerful carolers passed by, not where happy couples held hands, not under strings of lights that seemed to flicker whenever she walked beneath them—as if reacting to her presence.
She rounded the corner—and froze.
Because there he was.
Noah Frost, leaning against the wooden railing outside his bookstore café, brushing snow off a stack of books like it was the most natural thing in the world.
His eyes lifted. Their gazes met.
And the strangest thing happened.
The lights above him flickered once… then steadied.
For the first time in her entire life, holiday lights didn’t glitch when she approached.
Arielle’s breath hitched.
She didn’t know it yet.
But the moment Noah’s eyes softened in recognition…
her luck shifted.
Just a little.
Just enough.
The magic Santa left her hadn’t bloomed yet.
But it had stirred.
- Writer
