The Dream Christmas

Christmas is a time for second chances, or is it? I’m not ready for the ghost of Christmas past to visit me.

“I’ll be back.” Those were Jayden’s famous last words after he kissed me and then ghosted me. For the last year I’ve been sneakier than Santa and have avoided my ex-boyfriend. But now Jayden’s back and volunteering at the ice cream store with me for the holidays.

Jayden wants a second chance at friendship, but how do I give the guy who shrunk my heart to Grinch size another chance? My feelings are as tangled as a ball of Christmas lights, especially when Jayden’s ex-girlfriend and my own insecurities are ready to have an epic snowball fight with me.

Get ready for a sweet romance full of nostalgia and references to everything holly and jolly. Whether you want to rock around the Christmas tree or snuggle up next to a fire, this holiday second chance romance novella will spark all the feels. Join the young adult characters of Dream Prep Academy while they find the joy of the season.

“What kind of people decorate for Christmas on November first?” I ask.

The moment I walk in my mom’s store I’m transported to a Christmas wonderland. Garlands, wreaths, glittery snowflakes, and shiny ornaments deck every nook, cranny, and surface. Mom strings tinsel along the counter separating customers from the work area.

“Happy people, that’s who,” Mom replies. She hums “Jingle Bells” as she unwinds shimmery garland.
Yesterday the ice cream shop was decorated for Halloween and now it’s as if magic whisked away the pumpkins and dropped a glitter bomb in the store. It’s a living snow globe, complete with ice cream.

“Whatever happened to Thanksgiving?” I gaze at the glittery snowflakes hanging from the ceiling above my head. “It’s like the poor middle child who only gets one day.”

“Aww.” Mom’s lips turn down in a frown. It’s a fake frown for my benefit, and I roll my eyes. “I haven’t forgotten my poor little Linnea.”

“Gee, thanks,” I say as I pass Mom and slip behind the counter. “Nice to know someone remembers me.”

Thanksgiving is truly a middle child and I feel for it. I’m the middle child in my family and sandwiched between two boys. My older brother, Walden, is a sophomore in college and my younger brother, Kaden, is a sophomore in high school. I’m a senior and exactly smack in the middle of the boys for age and birthplace. Like a typical middle child, I’m the peacemaker between my brothers.
I deposit my schoolbag in the breakroom, exchange my school uniform for a pink Scoop It Good t-shirt, and return to the front of the store.

“Vicki,” Mom says to the woman working the cash register. “Linnea will take over and you can head home early. I’ll still pay you until four.”

“Thanks,” Vicki says to my mom and then smiles at me.
I return Vicki’s smile and move in front of the register when she steps aside. Vicki has worked for Scoop It Good for over five years and manages the store when Mom isn’t around. Vicki’s a fellow middle child and we get along well.

“I put the creepy elf on the shelf,” Vicki whispers to me. “The shelf with the cartons of sprinkles.”

The elf Vicki mentions isn’t the cute one with the mischievous smile people buy to hide around their house every night and place in various activities. Nope. My mom doesn’t do the tradition with the cute elf, but rather she does it with some evil twin of a horror movie doll. It’s enough to give people nightmares, instead of sugarplums dancing in their heads.

“Thank you.” I pat Vicki’s arm. “That thing creeps me out.”

“Me too,” Vicki says. “I’ll see you next time. Thanks.”

I help at Mom’s ice cream shop a couple days a week from four to six after school. My favorite task is to help create the small batch ice cream flavors, but quite often Mom has me in the front to prepare orders and work the register. I fill in where needed and blend into the background like an arctic fox in a snowstorm. Other times I get stuck in the middle. There’s a viral video of a fox diving headfirst into the snow, and that’s me. I tend to dive headfirst into a mess and get stuck.

“What’s the plan this year?” I ask as Mom tacks the end of the tinsel around the corner of the counter.

“Nostalgia,” Mom replies with a smile reminiscent of Mrs. Claus. They could be related with how much they both love Christmas. Mom has the largest collection of Santa figurines I’ve ever seen. Her nativity scene even includes a Santa giving a gift to the baby Jesus.

“Nostalgia?” I repeat and glance around the shop. A couple sets of customers eat ice cream, but otherwise it’s quiet. Not exactly silent because Christmas music plays over the sound system. “And Christmas music already?”

Mom walks behind me and heads to the ice cream freezer display. “Would you rather I put my favorite nineties mix back on? Or I can sing my ice cream song to you?”

“Please, no,” I say as my eyes widen in horror. Mom picks up a round ice cream scoop. “No, please. There are people here,” I hiss. I can draw attention to myself when needed but prefer not to do embarrassing things. Mom doesn’t care one bit about embarrassing herself or me.

“Scoop it.” Mom swishes her hips side to side and starts her parody version of some Salt-N-Peppa song from when she was younger. “Scoop it good.”

“No.” I cover my face with my hands. I’ve seen this more times than I can count, and it doesn’t ever get prettier. My mom is a pro in the embarrassment department. In addition to being the Queen of Christmas, she’s the Queen of Awkwardness.

“Ah, scoop it,” Mom continues to rap. Her shiny black hair is pulled back in a low ponytail and swishes with her movements. “Scoop it real good.”

“Christmas music it is,” I say with my eyes pinched tight.

Mom stops singing and something clatters in front of me. I open my eyes to find a small bowl with a scoop of ice cream.

“The first winter flavor,” Mom announces proudly. She quirks an eyebrow at me and holds out a spoon. “Taste it and tell me what you think.”

My smile grows as I take the spoon. Tasting ice cream is another favorite task. I wish I could do it for a living. I push the spoon through the ice cream. It’s a light brown color, which makes me guess chocolate, but it could also be another flavor. Mom likes to try and trick me. White ribbons run through the brown color and small white objects are interspersed throughout.

“Fairly simple,” I say and look up at Mom. “Three things?”

“Two with a twist,” Mom says. “Taste it.”

I dig the spoon in and rotate it to get a small amount of ice cream on the tip. I place it in my mouth, pull the spoon out, and let the dairy product roll around on my tongue. Mom’s right. It’s two flavors, but one of the flavors is presented in two ways.

“Milk chocolate,” I say after I swallow. It’s a light chocolate flavor, but very creamy. Mom nods. “And marshmallow.” I rub my lips together. “Toasted marshmallow?”

Mom nods happily. “It’s hot chocolate ice cream and I’m calling it Snow Day. It’s a light chocolate base with swirls of marshmallow cream and little bits of toasted marshmallows to add some extra crunch and flavor. Do you like it?”

I take another bite. “I love it,” I say. “It’s perfect. Top it with hot fudge sauce, whipped cream, sprinkles, and extra crunchy marshmallow bits and it’d be a great sundae.”

“Exactly.” Mom grins at me. We may not think alike on many things, but we’re in tune on ice cream.

“I know why you named it Snow Day,” I say. “It’s like our family tradition when you make hot cocoa for us on snow days.”

My family has a chef who prepares most of our meals, because Mom is busy with ice cream, but she still loves to cook when she gets a chance. Hot cocoa made by Mom on a snow day is a memory I will carry with me for life. It’s a tradition wrapped in warmth and coziness.

“Speaking of traditions,” Mom says as she sticks the ice cream scoop in the container for used ones. “Tell me what you dream of when you hear the word Christmas.”
I take another bite of the ice cream and swallow before answering. “What I dream of?”

“What does Christmas make you think of?” Mom’s face lights up at the talk of Christmas.

“Snow,” I reply. It’s a given with living in Willow Banks, Minnesota. I don’t remember a year where we didn’t have a white Christmas. “The holiday lights display in the park, decorating the tree as a family, Dad’s favorite Christmas movie, your Christmas village, Grandma’s fudge, and picking out gifts for Walden and Kaden.”
“All good ones,” Mom says. “Very nostalgic.”
“Is that your theme for this year?” I ask. “A nostalgic Christmas?”

“Exactly,” Mom says. “I want everyone to experience a good old-fashioned Christmas without all the rush. There will be a whole season full of activities. We’ll have workshops to make ornaments and wreaths, decorate gingerbread houses and cookies, wrap gifts, craft homemade cards and gifts, and some other surprises. I’ll tell you about it after we meet the new volunteer.”

A week ago, I overheard Mom talking to Vicki about a new volunteer at the store for the holidays. I assume it’s some celebrity who lives in Willow Banks. Last year a celebrity volunteered, but hardly helped and spent most of the time posting to social media. Mom wasn’t thrilled about the lack of help, but the store sold a lot of ice cream due to the celebrity’s posts. Mom wasn’t upset when enough money was raised to sponsor an apartment for a young mother who escaped human trafficking.

“Who’s the volunteer?” I ask as the bell over the door rings when it’s opened. I wonder if the volunteer is teen popstar Austin Lucas or model Cody Thompson. They attend Dream Prep Academy with me and need to complete required volunteer hours.

“Just a moment,” Mom says to me. She puts on her happy customer smile, which isn’t much different from her happy Christmas smile, to welcome the nanny and elementary school aged girl who come in once a week for a treat.

“Hello, Molly. Hi, Rey,” Mom says and leans over the counter. “Take your time picking and let me know when you’re ready. We have some new flavors to choose from today.”

I wave at Rey. She wears her uniform from the private elementary school down the street. In a few years she’ll apply to Dream Prep Academy, the sixth through twelfth grade private school I currently attend. The kid will be in a school uniform most of her young life.

“Linnea,” Mom says to get my attention. “Will you please grab a new container of rainbow sprinkles for me?”

“Sure,” I reply.

Molly, the nanny, is a rainbow sprinkle lover. She tries to get Rey, who is basically an eighty-year-old woman in an eight-year-old’s body, to branch out in her ice cream choices, but Rey knows what she likes, and it’s not sprinkles.

“Vanilla, please,” Rey says as I head to the back storage closet.

I’m not surprised. Rey sticks with vanilla ice cream and nothing on it. She doesn’t prefer texture in her ice cream. It’s a good thing Mom always has vanilla available.

I open the door to the storage pantry of nonperishables. The sprinkles are on a shelf at eye level. I reach for a container of rainbow ones when Mom peeks a head around the corner from the front of the store.

“I forgot to tell you,” Mom says, and I turn to look at her. “It’s one of your classmates who is the holiday volunteer. He’s stopping by soon for a few minutes.”

“Who?” I ask as my fingers wrap around the sprinkle container.

“It’s the sweet neighbor boy you once dated,” Mom replies.

I scream, but not for ice cream.