Think of Frosty and elves and big fat, fluffy snowflakes. Think of something cheery and brilliant! The exuberant voice inside her head made Vixen White cringe. She didn’t feel the least bit cheery, brilliant or exuberant. She stared at the blank page in front of her, willing her mind to come up with anything for her latest book. She desperately needed inspiration and thought she’d find it—the way she had many, many moons ago—at Sugar Plums. The bakery sat on the south side of the town square, along Prancer Street and opposite Always Christmas department store where her grandfather had played Santa in his year-round village. Always Christmas, my foot. She reached for her iced tea. She should be sipping hot cocoa or a hot toddy while enjoying her pastries and racking her brain. But, no. It was much too toasty for a hot anything, even in the evenings, which was so bizarre this time of year. Global warming seemed to have specifically targeted the once-festive town of North Pole and hung on with a vengeance.
