The Mrs. Clause

By S.J. Reisner

It's going to take a Christmas miracle for Abby to escape the Mrs. Clause.

I'm Abby Preston and I'm in need of a few elves.

At thirty-four, I'm trying to start my own business, fend off my parents' attempt at matchmaking, and avoid a relentless old flame who thinks we can pick up where we left off after he cheated on me. All the while, the clause in my grandfather's will, that I need to be married or at least engaged by my thirty-fifth Christmas to claim my inheritance, looms over me. That money could really help my new business.

Just when my ex is starting to look like an option again, Gary has to walk into my life and make things complicated. He's funny, attentive, attractive, and generous, and so poor that my family would never accept him. So, of course, I fall for him immediately. When he asks me to help him out by being his Mrs. Claus at a local children's hospital where he plays Santa Claus every year, of course I say yes. But my thirty-fifth Christmas is only twenty days away, my ex, Luke, is the jealous type, my parents love to meddle, and I'm pretty sure my inheritance is toast.

Only some of Santa's magic can fix my life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: 5 Prince Publishing
• Release date: May 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9781631123320

Book preview

One

I’m thinking yoga with dogs, I said thoughtfully, twirling my straw between my fingers.

Steph stifled a laugh. You’re kidding. Right?

I shook my head. Why not? You’ve seen those YouTube videos where people do yoga with their dogs. The dogs will stretch along with them.

But I could tell my best friend wasn’t convinced. She lifted a manicured eyebrow. Maybe just stick with the hot yoga or Hatha yoga, or whatever to start. If you do the dog thing, you should schedule it in a park.

I let out a wistful sigh and propped my chin in my hand. Yeah, well, no money, no studio.

I’m sure you can find a bank that would give you a loan, just don’t mention the dog thing, she said, raking her hands through her black mess of hair. Steph’s hair always looked a mess. It was long and fine, and a bit flyaway.

No collateral, no loan, I said with a frown. Unless you think my beat-up Volkswagen is worth anything?

She laughed. What, two hundred bucks? That might get you eight yoga mats. Then her expression turned grim. Don’t look now. Jerk at two o’clock.

A reflexive groan slipped out of my mouth, but before I could say anything, my ex-boyfriend, Luke, pulled up a chair.

Hey ladies, he said, flashing us one of his patented spurious smiles. His teeth were so straight, they almost looked fake. But I suppose that’s how one’s teeth looked when your father was a dentist. Abs, he said, nodding to me.

I don’t know why you can’t call me Abby like everyone else. I plopped the straw back into my diet soda and gave it an angry stir.

Why so hostile? I know we’re not dating anymore, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends. He shrugged then turned his attention to Steph. How goes it, Stephie?

Ugh. Don’t call me that. Why do you have to turn everyone’s name into the worst possible version of it? It’s annoying. She glanced at me in disbelief, then grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair, pulling it on so quickly that I thought she was going to bolt.

Luke, do you mind? This was a private conversation, and you weren’t invited. I gave him the sternest glare I could muster, but it was no use. Luke generally ignored social cues, which was one of the many reasons he was my ex.

I just came in for a coffee and saw you both sitting here, he said defensively. You’re both cranky today. Why?

I just shook my head.

Look, sorry for the intrusion. He held up his hands in defense and stood from the chair See you around, he said. Then he went to the counter and ordered coffee.

Maybe we should go, Steph said, grabbing her bag from the back of her chair.

Yeah, I mumbled. I put on my coat as fast as I could manage, threw my bag over my shoulder, and we both practically sprinted from the cafe. We headed up Main Street to 4th, and hooked a right, not stopping until an empty retail space caught my eye. I paused and peered into the window, examining the empty shop beyond.

Steph pulled out a notebook and a pen and began writing something down.

Taking notes? I asked.

We’re going back to the spa, and I’m calling the number. We’re going to find out how much they want for a month, then we’re going to sit down and make you a business plan, she said.

I couldn’t help but smile. Leave it to Steph to be practical. We could be partners, I said. You post my classes at the spa and refer your clients, and I’ll refer my students to your spa.

Steph chuckled. You know I’d invest in a heartbeat if I had the money. But right now, the spa carries its own weight, pays everyone’s wages, including mine, and that’s about it, she said, a tinge of sadness in her voice. Then she got that thoughtful look in her eyes again, and I immediately knew what she was going to say.

Nope. Stop right there. It’s ridiculous! I stomped off ahead of her toward the spa another two blocks down.

There’s still time, she said.

I laughed in disbelief. You’re kidding, right?

My friend, Loni, runs that speed-dating service. I mean, you don’t have to love him. Just marry him. A lot of lonely, older men would be down for that sort of thing. I mean, the will didn’t say it couldn’t be a marriage of convenience. She lengthened her stride to catch up with me. I’m just saying where there’s a will, there’s a way. Get married. Get your inheritance.

I came to a dead stop and whirled around to face her. It’s sexist and antiquated, and I’m not marrying any random guy just to get some cash to start my studio.

She lowered her head in defeat. Fine. It was just an idea.

A stupid one, I mumbled, then let out a dramatic sigh. My grandfather had been an old-fashioned man. One who thought women needed to be married in order to have any worth. Toward the end of his life, he’d grown impatient with me slipping into my early thirties without a ring on my finger. So, as one last dig, he’d left me a substantial amount of money, according to the attorney, but with one caveat. In order to collect it, I had to be married, or engaged to be married, by my thirty-fifth Christmas. That Christmas was this year. In less than two months.

Your grandfather just didn’t want you to be alone, and I don’t blame him. Being single in your thirties sucks, she said, trying to be reasonable. We both should know. We’ve had practice.

But you have Jason, I said. So, really, you don’t know. How long have you two been together now?

Five years, but…

No buts. You’ve been in a relationship five years. My longest relationship was with Luke, and why I stayed for eight months is anyone’s guess. I shook my head again. Let’s just drop it. There has to be an easier solution to finding the money for the studio.

We began walking toward the spa again. Maybe you could find a few other yoga instructors and go in on it together, she suggested, her voice filled with hope.

Maybe, I said. In the back of my mind, however, I was thinking something else. Perhaps Steph was right. Perhaps Abigail Preston, that’s me, needed to swallow her pride and get engaged so she could get her inheritance. Which was, hopefully, enough money to open a yoga studio. On the other hand, if I didn’t fulfil my grandfather’s wishes in time, the money would go to charity instead.

The closer we got to The Grande Spa, Steph’s business venture, the more the idea forming in the back of my mind solidified. I mean, Luke wasn’t the worst guy I’d ever dated. Irritating, childish, a cheating bastard, and inconsiderate, yes, but faults I knew. Plus, he was practically my stalker. I’d probably have to give him a percentage, but if anyone would agree to marry me just so I could get some start-up money for my business, it was Luke. He was always