“Ms. Lila Hansley.”

So not his wife.

A glance at his open planner lying on his desk told him exactly who she was and why he shouldn’t be surprised. It’d been jotted down there for the past week.

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Becca. I’ll be right out.” Well, as soon as he composed himself and looked like the professional he was.

The damn mayor of Sleighville.

His office was the largest on the floor. Not that he had demanded any such thing when he took office. It had always been that way. The building was built in the early 1900s, many positions shuffling around the building. At one time, over fifty years ago, the head judge had occupied the room. The whole floor had been designated for the judges and lawyers, until one mayor had decided they didn’t like being cooped up in a tiny room on the first floor as if insignificant. The two departments swapped floors and it’d been like that ever since.

It was an honor to hold the position, and it wasn’t one he took lightly either.

He checked himself in the mirror, even though he knew not even a strand of hair would be out of place. A nasty habit he’d developed because every time he was around Denise, she nitpicked every part of him. Your tie is crooked. Your hair is flat. Your shirt needs to be tucked in better. Why is there a scuff mark on your shoe? To avoid those remarks, he always double-checked—hell, triple and quadruple checked—his appearance.

He couldn’t even remember when the snide remarks started in the marriage. But he knew he would’ve never married her if she’d displayed that dark part of her before they tied the knot.

Just as he took his job seriously, his marriage was no different. He might be the unhappiest he’d ever been in life, but he’d never ask for a divorce.

She took the option out of his hands, demanding one.

He let out a small breath before walking out of his office with the friendly mayoral smile he wore around town.

“Ms. Hansley. Welcome to Sleighville. I hope your travels were pleasant.” He walked up to the woman seated in one of the chairs against the wall and held out his hand.

She stood and shook hands. Though she wore a smile, he swore it was as fake as his own.

“Roads were a bit rough, but I made it in one piece so I can’t complain.”

She rubbed her hand on her thigh. He couldn’t be sure if it was a nervous gesture or her trying to rub his germs off. Was his hand sweaty? Was the turmoil he’d been suffering in his office sticking with him? He could normally shake that off with a flick of his wrist.

“Let’s chat in my office. Becca, if it’s not too much trouble, could you get us some hot chocolate?”

“Of course.”

“Oh, it’s not necessary.”

Becca and Ms. Hansley stared at each other after speaking at the same time. Becca wasn’t one to lose a battle, if a person wanted to consider the simple request one. But she knew how important this meeting was. How vital it was to their little town for everything to work out.

“After such a long, dreary drive, hot chocolate is the perfect thing for you. No one does it better than Sleighville.” Becca widened her cheery smile with a hint of determination and walked away before Ms. Hansley could argue.

As a general rule, he didn’t ask Becca to run and get him any kind of drink. As his secretary, she had a tremendous amount of work to do, and adding on a task he was quite capable of handling on his own wasn’t fair—not in his eyes. But he wasn’t sure if he was up to the task. His nerves still hadn’t settled after reading the document he had—for the billionth time. The last thing he wanted to do was spill hot chocolate all over himself and their guest.

He gestured toward the chair in front of his desk, then rounded it and sat down, scooping up the papers and shoving them into the top drawer. He’d worry about all those troubles later.

“My apologies, Ms. Hansley. I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Bryce Stuart, the mayor of Sleighville.”

Which, of course, she knew. That had been her destination from the beginning. But as a professional, it should’ve been the first thing he had done. Introduce himself.

“You can call me Lila.”

He leaned back in his chair, though not too loose as to imply he didn’t have good posture or anything, but he wanted her to feel at ease. If using their first names also helped, then he was all for it. Not that he was big on people calling him Mr. Mayor or anything. He tended to be a pretty informal guy. He wanted to feel approachable and liked.

“I insist you call me Bryce. I want everything to go smoothly between us.”

She smiled, yet said nothing else.

Another fake smile, if he had to guess.

He shouldn’t be surprised by her lack of enthusiasm. The task before her would be enormous. Not many wanted to take it on. He didn’t even want to deal with it.

The past summer had not been kind to their small town. Finding out one of its trusted members was a disgusting pervert had been hard to swallow. A man who had been involved in things like the Fourth of July festival, the Labor Day parade, and Thanksgiving events. Not to mention all the festivities when the actual Christmas holiday rolled around.

As a town that celebrated Christmas every day of the year, it had to keep up its appearance and feel welcoming and safe.

Mark Wilson had had access to all the places in town for rent, considering his sister was the realtor who dealt with it all. With that privilege, he’d turned it into a nightmare. He’d installed cameras in all the properties, spying on people, ruining their privacy. Making them feel wholly violated.

Since he’d been caught, the newspapers hadn’t been kind. The media tore their town apart and painted it as the worst place to visit.

It killed them the last few months. Even in December, two months ago, when the real Christmas arrived, tourism had plummeted to the point most places struggled to stay open. For a town that lived off the festive holiday, it was unacceptable. Bryce had been forced to hire a public relations company to turn their image around. To get people to love Sleighville again.

Here sat the answer to all his problems—well, the town’s problems—right in front of him. Lila Hansley would be their savior.

Hopefully.

It had taken contacting five PR companies before one accepted the job. Since he started with the best first, he hoped he hadn’t gotten the rotten of the pile.

The woman herself was put together. She sat poised with a determined look on her face. The weather wasn’t great, and for February, not a surprise. He didn’t expect all women to wear skirts or anything, even if that was a fashion statement his wife thought was a must. Lila wore black slacks with a white blouse and a sharp-looking blazer over it. Black, sensible high heels. Nothing too pointy and difficult to walk in, but not plain either. Another thing Denise would’ve snickered at. She thought all women should wear shoes that killed their feet—even themselves—or why bother leaving the house.

Her blonde hair was down, not pulled into a fancy chignon Denise loved to wear. Soft waves that he wasn’t sure if they were natural or if she put the effort into it and curled it. When Juliet, his sister, had a special event or a date, she curled her hair, otherwise she liked to throw it in a messy ponytail and out of her face.

And why was he focusing on the woman’s hair? He had more important things to attend to.

“What did you think of the town as you drove in?”

First impressions were everything. Some tourists became regular visitors when they happened to drive through without realizing it was a town that celebrated Christmas year-round.

“Well—” She paused when Becca strolled back into the office.

“Hot, steaming cup of hot chocolate. I promise you, the best you’ve ever had.”

Becca set a cup in front of him and the other near Lila. She departed before Lila had a chance to pick it up and take a sip. She wasn’t one to hover. At least, she picked and chose when to do so. Becca knew now was not the time to get into Lila’s face. That was his job.

He grabbed his mug, a white cup with Santa and his eight reindeer wrapped around the ceramic piece. Lila’s had a bunch of elves dancing.

“Cheers. Here’s to Christmas.”

He held out his mug, hoping his cheeriness was just right. His smile just as perfect. The inflection in his tone showing none of the tension he’d been drowning in earlier.

Copyright © 2024 Amanda Siegrist.

***

To keep reading, click on your favorite retailer below.