On an Edge of Glass

CHAPTER ONE
    Santa’s Helper
     
     
    There’s nothing like a missed opportunity to ruin a perfectly good cup of coffee.
    It’ s Monday and I’m sitting in a high-back chair, trying unsuccessfully to wrap up an essay that’s due for one of my classes.  I have about, oh, twenty minutes until the deadline, so I’m frantically typing on my laptop, rechecking facts from the textbook balanced on my knee. 
    A line of i mpatient caffeine addicts snakes out the door just behind me, letting in an unsettling gust of cool air.  It ruffles my hair and the pages spread out on the low table in front of me.  I’m attempting to ignore the obnoxious little boy bent over the armrest of my chair, but it’s a tad tricky to concentrate on the conclusion to an academic paper when a kid is holding a plastic gun in your direction. 
    I glance up from my frenzied typing to give him the stink-eye.  I figure there is no way that this blue-eyed, blonde-haired monkey can possibly stand up to my glare when I want to turn it on.  My looks are epic.  Known around five counties and purported to have the power to bring about a doomsday type scenario.   
    But this time it doesn’t work.  The kid actually sti cks his tongue out at me. 
    Such nerve!
    I switch tactics.  Using the most sugary voice I can muster, I lean to my left and turn on a candy-coated smile.  “Sweetie, would you mind not doing that?  I have got to get this paper emailed to my professor ASAP.  Okay?”
    I magine my surprise when he grins gleefully, exposing bare pink gums from where he’s missing teeth.  “Yes, I mind!  You’re dead lady,” he declares loudly with his small chest puffed out in front of him.  In addition to the gun, he’s now holding up some sort of silver flashing device that screams cheapo Happy Meal toy.
    My lower jaw drops.  I look up to the kid’s mother for help, but she’s engrossed in the business of relaying the amazingly interesting details of her latest hair appointment to whoever is on the other end of her phone call.   
    At this p oint, it should be noted that I’m not so hot with children.  I’m the only child of two only children, and my intellectually superior parents’ idea of a play date was to take me with them to an art gallery opening where we could mingle with the other popular up and coming attorneys and discuss at length, the benefits of the macro diet.  My mother read me How to Win Friends and Influence People as a bedtime story when I was three.  Seriously. 
    I force my eyes down to the keys of my laptop, refusing to give the little pest the satisfaction of any more of my attention.  The lady at the front of the line with the ridiculously complicated order will get her drink soon.  Subsequently, everyone will move forward a few steps and this kid will be gone from my life forever. I’ll be able to finish my paper in peace and in time. 
    And , let’s face it, I’ll probably get an A on it, and Dr. Barden is going to recommend me for that summer internship.  Along with the knockout LSAT scores I’m going to get, I’ll be shoo-in for acceptance to Columbia Law.  Everything is going to fall into place according to the master plan.
    But then the plastic gun is actually in my hair.  As in: scraping against my scalp .  God, I’m going to rip that thing out of his sticky little fingers and throw it right into the trash can!  I twist in my chair, intending to threaten just that, when a low voice infused with the slightest hint of a southern drawl sifts into the space between us. 
    “Look kid, I happen to be an undercover agent for the North Pole , and if you don’t stop harassing this young woman then I will have no choice but to turn your name and information in to Santa himself.  You can forget about getting the things you want for Christmas this year.”
    The kid ’s eyes widen and we both look up—a long way up—at the speaker.  Tall, dark, and handsome would all be pretty accurate descriptions of my savior.  He meets my eyes head-on and flashes a quick smile that makes my heart dip unexpectedly.  When he turns his attention back to the boy, I let my eyes wander over the side of his face, taking in the scruffy jawline and narrow nose.  A warm heat spreads under the skin of my cheeks and my stomach begins to twist itself into a knot. 
    “But if you keep your hands to yourself from now on, we’ll pretend like this never happened and Santa and Mrs. Claus will never be the