The Power of Peppermint

By L.D. Blakeley

The most wonderful time of the year?
When Jamison Pritchett is roped into replacing the mall photographer at Santa’s Village two weeks before Christmas, he’s certain he’ll be spending the holidays recovering from a nervous breakdown. A throng of sugar-frenzied kids might be enough to send this uptight photographer back into the darkroom permanently. Inappropriate thoughts about his far-too-attractive—and far-too-young—assistant aren’t helping fight that urge to hide, either.
For Noah Hawkins, adulting is a snap. Too bad relationships aren’t. With his business temporarily closed for repairs, he’s happy to help his sister out of a jam, even if the costume he’s given to wear borders on obscene. Constantly being mistaken for a teenager is no treat either, especially when he discovers his temporary new co-worker is sexy as hell and 15 years his senior.
Can Noah convince Jamison that age is just a number? Or will Jamison resist the gift Santa seems to be handing him on a peppermint-scented platter?

• Language: English
• Publisher: LDB Books
• Release date: Aug 29, 2019

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Jamison Pritchett needed his head examined. He’d obviously suffered a momentary lapse in judgment. His jaw clenched tighter than usual and his shoulders bunched as he opened the wide glass door and stepped inside. Dodging frantic shoppers, their arms laden down with far more than seemed necessary, he realized just how much he wished he could change his mind, rewind and say no thank you, please.

Pausing to hike his camera bag up into a more secure position over his shoulder, he narrowly avoided colliding head-on with a harried woman as she led a trail of three small children toward her ultimate destination. The realization that they were all headed in the same direction forced him to heave a heavy sigh as he continued on his way toward the centre of the mall… the Seventh Circle of Hell…

Santa’s Village.

Somehow, through no shortage of refusals on his part, he found himself staring down a week-long stint as the official photographer at the Brookshire Centre’s Santa’s Village. And he was not pleased.

Being in the mall—any mall—was something he tried like hell to avoid at the best of times. But the week before Christmas? That was something that worked his very last nerve. What was it about wide-scale retail and the holiday season that made otherwise reasonable people lose their senses?

It wasn’t like he was the second coming of Ebenezer Scrooge or anything. At least not yet. He liked Christmas just fine. He simply hated how manic and rude people became around the holidays, especially when it came to parting with their hard-earned dollars to procure the perfect gift. He was certain that mania was as least partially to blame for the screaming temper tantrums and toddler meltdowns that seemed to occur every half hour like clockwork. He also suspected there were one or two of the little darlings with 666 tattooed just under their hairlines, were anyone brave enough to look.

And it appeared that many of said spawn were already queued up to have their photo taken with Santa, known better to everyone in the mall as Mac. Hail Santa.

Jamison heaved a sigh and began unpacking his equipment. The crowd seemed to be growing exponentially. And it didn’t look like the assistant his business partner swore would be there was anywhere to be seen. Thankfully, Abi had come through on her promise to set up light stands and umbrellas for him after the mall had closed the night before, leaving him only the camera set up to get things rolling.

As he made a few finishing adjustments to his tripod, Jamison’s phone rang. Because why wouldn’t it?

Hey Abi, he sighed, glancing at the call display as he answered. No actually, he’s not.

He took another glance around to see if his second shooter-cum-assistant had finally shown. Other than the line of shoppers and their kids, the only other one in Santa’s Workshop was a teenager who was handing out candy canes to some of the more vocal children near the front of the line. Apparently he could count on Abi, but not the step-brother she'd vouched for.

The only ones here are me and some kid in a goofy elf suit. Oh, and three dozen screaming kids. I thought you said your brother was reliable.

Turning his back to the throng he listened to her rattle on about having made Noah breakfast herself and sending him on his way an hour ago, and was he sure Noah wasn’t the kid he’d just described?

He lowered his voice slightly before replying. I know you said your brother was younger than you, but this kid a high school senior at most. All I know is I’m up to my eyeballs in little kids, so hopefully he can work a Christmas miracle and settle them all down.

As he said goodbye and pocketed his phone, he noticed something strange. The caterwauling from the crowd had all but stopped. Amazing. With only a few exceptions, the children were all sucking away happily on candy canes, their mouths too full to utter much sound. The ones too small for hard candy were mesmerized by an impromptu puppet show featuring a plushie dinosaur and a… talking glove?

His assistant may not have surfaced, but he seemed to have the most industrious of elves at his disposal.

Mac—nay, Santa—was seated comfortably on his red and gold throne. With the kids no longer a shrieking mass, Jamison figured now was as good a time as any to get the show on the road.

Are you guys all ready to visit with Santa? the perky elf asked, garnering a round of applause from the rapt crowd. Okay, then I’m gonna need you all to do something for me. You know that Santa is magical, right? A chorus of chipmunk-voiced yeses rang out. Well I bet you didn’t know that Santa can only have his picture taken with good little boys and girls who use their inside voices and say please and thank you. The camera just won’t work. Bells on his hat jangled as he shook his head, his face a mask of absolute seriousness as he winked at Jamison.

What is this kid up to?

Now I know you all want your very own picture with Santa, so I’m gonna need you to be really quiet and wait your turns like good little boys and girls.

A chorus of chipmunk-voiced okays rang out, followed immediately by the murmurs and whispers of several dozen children on their best behaviour.

This kid is a godsend.

As far as he was concerned, Abi’s brother never needed to show up. He had a teenager in tights who was a goddamn miracle worker.

And as he squared