Read Online Jenny Lopez Saves Christmas by Lindsey Kelk - Free Book Online
Authors: Lindsey Kelk
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about â my job, my vajayjay or my life?
I shot Sadie a quick text to let her know I was on my way and powered off down the road. The sun had almost set and I couldnât think of anywhere else that was quite so beautiful on Christmas Eve. The lakes were beautiful in the twilight, everything sparkled, and when I looked up at the sky, sure enough the stars were brightly shining. Overcome with a sudden shot of Christmas spirit, I turned on the radio and cranked it up all the way. Maybe I didnât wish it could be Christmas
every
day, but once every other month or so might be okay. Just through the winter. We had the food now, and Erin would call, Iâd send off the presentation, weâd figure out the lights and the heating and then weâd trim the tree and make some cocoa and then Angie and James would arrive and maybe we could even open a present at midnight. Fuck it, maybe Iâd open two. It was Christmas, after all.
So of course, just as I turned into a sharp bend, that was the exact moment I noticed a blinking light that had been hiding behind the centre of the steering wheel.
âHow long have you been flashing?â I asked out loud.
And in response the car slowed down to a steady, sad stop.
A while, the light said without saying a word. Iâve been flashing for a while.
Chapter Seven
âWhat kind of asshole runs out of gas on Christmas eve?â I yelled, slamming my forearms against the steering wheel again and again. âWhat kind of asshole runs out of the house without checking her gas when sheâs just driven for six goddamn hours?â
This was the problem with being a New Yorker. The obvious things, the things we would laugh at other people for fucking up, just didnât occur to us. Oh, your washing machine broke down? Adorable! We donât have those. And please do tell me more about the raccoons that go through your trash; I only worry about crack whores and drunks going through mine. With a complete and utter sense of defeat, I opened my Uber app. What a surprise, no cars around. And only five per cent battery left. Sadie had been right â we were definitely going to die out here. At least she would enjoy the dignity of dying in a five-million-dollar luxury home. I was going out in a rented saloon full of overpriced organic food and dressed as a cross between a cheap stripper and a sasquatch.
Looking at the blinking fuel gauge again, I resisted the urge to literally kick myself. I never drove a car in the city and so I never thought to check it before I set out. I ignored the idea that this was some sort of karmic retribution for snarking to myself about the delivery driver and instead tried to commit to a can-do attitude. Tried so hard. I was Jenny Lopez, damn it â a little snow couldnât stop me. It was Christmas Eve and I was damned if I was going to fall at the last hurdle or what I hoped to sweet baby Jesus was the last hurdle â I was freaking exhausted. I figured I couldnât be that far from home â I was certain Iâd taken the sharp bend super close to the house on the way out. Maybe I could walk. It really didnât seem all
that
cold, and according to the tag when I bought it, my coat was approved for camping out in the arctic. Even if my under-ensemble was not.
âI donât want to leave the food in the car,â I muttered to myself, watching my words appear as vapour in front of me. Okay, maybe it was a little chilly. For the first time in my life, I was worried about those raccoons. Squinting into the distance, I could definitely see a house. It wasnât for sure our house, but it was big enough and it was on the edge of the lake and there were no lights to be seen so I felt pretty hopeful.
âMaybe I could just take the turkey,â I bartered with the boxes, staring at the feast in the trunk. âIt wonât defrost on the way. And all we really need is the turkey.â
Manhandling a frozen
I shot Sadie a quick text to let her know I was on my way and powered off down the road. The sun had almost set and I couldnât think of anywhere else that was quite so beautiful on Christmas Eve. The lakes were beautiful in the twilight, everything sparkled, and when I looked up at the sky, sure enough the stars were brightly shining. Overcome with a sudden shot of Christmas spirit, I turned on the radio and cranked it up all the way. Maybe I didnât wish it could be Christmas
every
day, but once every other month or so might be okay. Just through the winter. We had the food now, and Erin would call, Iâd send off the presentation, weâd figure out the lights and the heating and then weâd trim the tree and make some cocoa and then Angie and James would arrive and maybe we could even open a present at midnight. Fuck it, maybe Iâd open two. It was Christmas, after all.
So of course, just as I turned into a sharp bend, that was the exact moment I noticed a blinking light that had been hiding behind the centre of the steering wheel.
âHow long have you been flashing?â I asked out loud.
And in response the car slowed down to a steady, sad stop.
A while, the light said without saying a word. Iâve been flashing for a while.
Chapter Seven
âWhat kind of asshole runs out of gas on Christmas eve?â I yelled, slamming my forearms against the steering wheel again and again. âWhat kind of asshole runs out of the house without checking her gas when sheâs just driven for six goddamn hours?â
This was the problem with being a New Yorker. The obvious things, the things we would laugh at other people for fucking up, just didnât occur to us. Oh, your washing machine broke down? Adorable! We donât have those. And please do tell me more about the raccoons that go through your trash; I only worry about crack whores and drunks going through mine. With a complete and utter sense of defeat, I opened my Uber app. What a surprise, no cars around. And only five per cent battery left. Sadie had been right â we were definitely going to die out here. At least she would enjoy the dignity of dying in a five-million-dollar luxury home. I was going out in a rented saloon full of overpriced organic food and dressed as a cross between a cheap stripper and a sasquatch.
Looking at the blinking fuel gauge again, I resisted the urge to literally kick myself. I never drove a car in the city and so I never thought to check it before I set out. I ignored the idea that this was some sort of karmic retribution for snarking to myself about the delivery driver and instead tried to commit to a can-do attitude. Tried so hard. I was Jenny Lopez, damn it â a little snow couldnât stop me. It was Christmas Eve and I was damned if I was going to fall at the last hurdle or what I hoped to sweet baby Jesus was the last hurdle â I was freaking exhausted. I figured I couldnât be that far from home â I was certain Iâd taken the sharp bend super close to the house on the way out. Maybe I could walk. It really didnât seem all
that
cold, and according to the tag when I bought it, my coat was approved for camping out in the arctic. Even if my under-ensemble was not.
âI donât want to leave the food in the car,â I muttered to myself, watching my words appear as vapour in front of me. Okay, maybe it was a little chilly. For the first time in my life, I was worried about those raccoons. Squinting into the distance, I could definitely see a house. It wasnât for sure our house, but it was big enough and it was on the edge of the lake and there were no lights to be seen so I felt pretty hopeful.
âMaybe I could just take the turkey,â I bartered with the boxes, staring at the feast in the trunk. âIt wonât defrost on the way. And all we really need is the turkey.â
Manhandling a frozen
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