She’d come to my house, worn my clothing, lit candles, and what?
Rolled around in my bed?
This was some weird shit, even for Violet.
I sighed. I’d expected her to cancel this morning. Hell, even up until about an hour ago, I’d assumed she was fucking with me.
But then when she’d texted that she’d meet me here, I guess I got on board with the plan.
It was a disaster in the making, and we both knew it.
This was for the best.
My phone buzzed, and I saw an incoming call from Caroline.
I was already irritated, and I couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather not talk to at the moment.
“Hey,” I hissed.
“I haven’t talked to you in a year, and that’s how you greet me?” she asked, her voice sugary sweet.
This woman could put on a show with the best of them.
“What’s up, Caroline?” I ran a hand down the back of my neck as I dropped to sit on the edge of my bed.
“Well, I just got back from the South of France. Wyatt proposed while we were there,” she said.
Wyatt was her longtime boyfriend, and I was actually shocked they hadn’t tied the knot yet. She claimed he knew about Harper, but he just didn’t want anything to do with her.
So, as far as I was concerned, Wyatt could go fuck himself.
We didn’t want anything to do with him either.
“Good for you.”
“We were gone for a couple weeks, and I think we can both use some space.” She chuckled, like we were fucking girlfriends discussing the things that irritated us about our boyfriends. She’d called the wrong dude if this was why she was reaching out.
I glanced at the nightstand, noting the top drawer wasn’t closed all the way. I pulled it open and knew immediately that the little deviant woman who’d been taunting me with her hot little body had been up to something. It looked like she’d rifled through my drawer looking for something.
My God, had she attempted to rob me?
And that’s when my eye caught on the red cap.
Clementine Claus Huxley.
The motherfucking Elf on a Shelf from hell.
I’d survived another Christmas of make-believe and magic for my little girl, even if it had nearly been the death of me.
This motherfucker had hung from our ceiling fans, set up camp on the toilet seat, even skied down a long piece of toilet paper that I’d attached to the ceiling. Hell, I’d done home renovations that were less complicated than deciding where this elf would be stationed when Harper woke up every morning. I’d been on websites that some of the moms from school had recommended to me, because Harper loved to find Clementine the minute she woke up, from the first day of December until the last.
So maybe I had a backup Elf on a Shelf, because I’d gotten her stuck in a goddamn balloon on Christmas Eve. She was supposed to look like she was in some sort of snow globe, but it looked more like a newborn alien resurrection.
So I’d used my backup elf and shoved this failed attempt in my nightstand.
Because my daughter wasn’t a snoop, unlike Violet Beaumont.
“Hello? Earth to Charlie.”
