Total pages in book: 9
Estimated words: 8110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 41(@200wpm)___ 32(@250wpm)___ 27(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 8110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 41(@200wpm)___ 32(@250wpm)___ 27(@300wpm)
Clara works at an antique shop. Through a series of magical events she finds herself in the presence of a ten foot tall nutcracker who is instantly obsessed with her.
Warning: You read the title. You’re either in or out. This is a place that supports women’s rights… but most especially women’s wrongs.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
CLARA
It’s cold and rainy, yet there is still snow everywhere outside. It’s Christmas Eve, so I assumed the weather was going to be awful, but this is rude. It’s bad enough I’m working, but is it too much to ask for sunshine? I sigh as I rest my chin on my hand and stare into the darkening street outside.
When I applied to work at an antique store, I thought I would be meeting with high-end clients and discovering precious treasures. In reality, I’m stuck sorting through unwanted crap that family members dump on us after someone dies. It’s far less glamorous than I envisioned, but at least it pays the bills. Well, most of them. I won’t think about the mountain of student debt I’ve yet to pay off or the credit card debt that’s constantly maxed out no matter how little I use it.
My mood has well and truly matched the weather today with all these doom and gloom thoughts. Probably because tomorrow is Christmas, and I know I’ll be spending it alone in my tiny apartment with a bowl of ramen. As boring as it is here, at least I have something to do. At home, I’ll stare at my walls and wish for a life that I don’t have. One filled with a Christmas feast, a husband who adores me, and presents under the tree.
The bell over the door chimes, and it makes me come back to reality.
“Hello? Is anyone here?” a woman’s voice calls from the front of the store. I straighten in time to see her carrying a giant box in her arms.
“Oh goodness, let me help you,” I say as I go around the glass case we use as a counter and take the box from the small woman.
“Thank you. That was more difficult than I thought it was going to be.” The woman is petite with dark hair and has a light-up Christmas sweater that says Jolly Ass Mama.
“No problem. That’s what I’m here for.” I smile back at her before I nod to the box. “Are you looking to donate or sell?”
“Hmm, maybe sell?” She checks her watch and then nods to the box. “This stuff belonged to my great aunt. She passed away earlier this year, and I found it when I was getting out Christmas decorations.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” My heart squeezes. I can’t imagine what that feels like because as far as I know, I don’t have any family. I was raised in an orphanage, so I don’t have any way of knowing for sure. I grew up surrounded by people, yet I don’t have anyone I’m close to.
“Thank you, but it was expected. She was a hundred and five, after all.” When my eyes widen, her smile is mischievous. “She was never married and didn’t have any children. That’s probably what kept her so young all those years.”
The laugh that bubbles out of me is unexpected. “I’m sorry.” I snap my hand over my mouth to cover it, but she waves me off.
“Nonsense. Men are stressful, and children are ungrateful. Why do you think I’m here instead of at home with a house full of people?”
“I can see what you mean.” I’ve longed for a family my whole life, but I guess if the family I had was awful, I wouldn’t want to be around them either.
She shrugs like it’s the nature of life. “It’s fine; I used this as an excuse to get a break. I gave away or sold most of her stuff already, but somehow this box was put with our Christmas stuff. You’re the only place open today, so here I am.”
“Here you are.” I try not to think about being the only one working on Christmas Eve, but it’s not like I don’t need the money. “Unfortunately, the owner is off this week. He’s the only one that can appraise an item or offer to buy it.”
“Oh, well, that makes it easy then.” She looks at the box and then checks her watch. “As much as I don’t want to get back, I’ve got a ham in the oven, so I guess I’m donating.”
“Are you sure? He’ll be back in next week, and I’m sure he’d be happy to—”
“I’m sure,” she says and pats the lid of the box. “It’s all yours.”
“Would you like a receipt?”
“Nope, I’m good. Have a merry Christmas,” she calls over her shoulder, and before I know it, the bell over the door is ringing, and the woman is gone.
“Merry Christmas,” I say to myself and the empty store.
Walter, the store owner, doesn’t like for me to go through anything before he does. I think he thinks I’m going to find something valuable and steal it. The policy is that anything donated has to go to the back where he can appraise its value. Once it’s been marked for sale, I can use my ten percent off employee discount to purchase it. In all the years I’ve worked here, that’s happened exactly zero times. If someone brings in anything of value, Walter keeps it for himself or pawns it. Most of the time it’s total junk, and we have to trash it.