Page 1 of Suddenly Mine
Chapter 1
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MERRY
Merry Sinclair’s backside had frozen to the window as she slept. Again. Not her skin, thankfully — nobody needed frost burn on their delicate bits — but the brushed cotton pyjamas that had failed to keep her warm while she slept. She wriggled enough to unstick them and tried not to wince at the dampness as they sprang back on her butt.
Her room was so small she had no choice but to push her bed against the glass or the door would get wedged on its way open. But every winter was the same and their landlord had refused to do anything about it because, quote, “your apartment is rent-controlled and I’m practically paying you to live there.”
She tried to summon the will to reach for her phone. Not because she was eager to face the day, but because there was a very real chance she’d slept through her alarm. When she finally peeled her arm from the duvet and found her phone face down and dead, it confirmed her suspicions. Her breath misted visiblyas she sat up, and she muttered a short, heartfelt curse into the biting air.
The worst part wasn’t even the cold or the lack of sleep. It was that she was about to be late to a job she didn’t even want, for a shift she hadn’t exactly agreed to. December hours at Carroll’s Department Store were like being drafted into Christmas bootcamp — nobody asked if you were available, they just slapped your name on the rota in red pen and dared you to complain. Merry couldn’t afford to complain.
She scrambled out of bed, bare feet hitting the ice-cold floor. Her slippers had vanished, probably into her roommate’s room along with half of her wardrobe. Showering at supersonic speed, she pulled on jeans and a jumper and stomped across the freezing apartment, each breath a visible puff. A lesser woman might have cried. Merry just muttered an impressive string of expletives under her breath as she made for the kitchen. Coffee would save her.
She flicked on the ancient kettle — her coffee machine had broken a few weeks back — and grabbed her favourite chipped mug from the shelf. It was the one with the fadedI heart NYprinted on it, the only souvenir she’d ever allowed herself when she first moved to the city, when she was still naive enough to believe in new beginnings and happy-ever-afters. She opened the fridge door and stopped. It was bare. No milk, no orange juice, no butter. Just a half-empty jar of pickle relish and what looked suspiciously like a middle school science experiment growing on the cheese.
Merry closed her eyes, breathed and reached into the bread bin instead. She’d stashed an emergency two-pack of almond croissants in there yesterday, a little payday treat to make the mornings marginally less bleak. But that, too, was empty. Just a crumpled brown paper bag dusted with almond flakes was left squashed in the corner.
She was still staring at it in silent devastation when her roommate, Clare, called out from down the narrow hall.
“Morning, Mer. Hey, could you grab some groceries on your way home? I’m slammed with work today. Absolute nightmare.”
Merry turned slowly, the rage starting as a gentle simmer somewhere behind her eyes. Groceries, right, because obviously she had all the time, money, and willpower in the world to navigate the bodega at 7 p.m., mid-December, after a long day on her feet. Before she could answer with a resounding no, Clare’s bedroom door cracked open a few inches. A halo of soft golden fairy lights framed her perfectly tousled blonde hair and impossibly perky face.
“I’m out of oat milk,” Clare added. “And, like, actual food. Love you.”
She blew Merry a kiss and disappeared back inside, the door clicking shut. And it wasn’t long before what could only be described as enthusiastic, definitely non-PG moaning emanated from her room. Merry stood frozen in the kitchen, mug dangling limply from her fingers. She stared at the empty fridge and the brown paper croissant bag, then, placing the mug down very gently on the counter, she turned on her heel and stomped towards the door, pulling her pom-pom beanie low over her face. If she didn’t leave right now, there was a very real chance she’d be arrested for throwing a pickle jar at Clare’s head.
By the time Merry made it outside, her hair had frozen slightly at the ends where she hadn’t dried it. The wind slapped her cheeks and pinched her nose and the constant drizzle wormed its way through her duffle coat. The subway was delayed, and when it finally arrived it was packed tighter than a Christmas turkey in foil. She squeezed herself in beside a man with three shopping bags and mouth-breathed the whole way there because the journey smelled like feet. Every jolt of the trainpressed her closer to the window until she emerged on to Fifth Avenue with a crick in her neck.
The avenue was a riot of lights, the city dressed to the nines for Christmas. Shop windows exploded with colour and glamour. Merry breathed out a long cloud of steam and felt her shoulders hitch. God, she hated Christmas.
She tilted her face up into the sleet, her cheeks prickling from the cold and her nose already numb. Somewhere across the street, a department store window burst into life, a giant mechanical Santa ho-ho-hoing and waving his mittened hands. On cue, Bing Crosby floated out from hidden speakers, crooning about white Christmases and mistletoe.
Merry sighed, stuffed her gloveless hands deeper into her pockets and trudged on towards Carroll’s, which stood across the street like a glittering monolith to Christmas cheer. Carroll’s was one of the most famous department stores in the world. And it was most famous for beingtheplace to shop during the holidays. People streamed in from Fifth Avenue from morning until night, from Halloween to New Year’s, marvelling at the giant Douglas fir that stood in the wide atrium, decked with over ten thousand fairy lights and a bedazzling golden star. It really was a sight to behold.
Now, though, the sight of it was almost enough to bring her to tears.
Her boots skidded slightly on the wet pavement as she pushed through Carroll’s grand revolving doors and into the blast of warm, cinnamon-scented air. Instantly, Merry felt her bones start to thaw and her hair begin to frizz in the heat. She shook herself like a dog, straightened her coat and glanced around furtively. If she could just sneak to the staff elevators without being spotted, maybe she could clock in without adding another black mark to her already dismal record.
She edged her way along the marble-tiled floor, sticking close to the towering nutcracker soldiers and animatronic polar bears that guarded the atrium’s tree. She was almost there when a voice cracked across the shop like a whip.
“Merry Sinclair.”
Merry flinched and turned slowly to see Mrs Cradley standing there, clipboard clutched in her skeletal hands, eyes narrowed behind her gold-rimmed glasses. Merry mustered a smile, the kind she used when dealing with difficult customers or bad dates.
“Good morning, Mrs Cradley. Isn’t it a lovely—?”
Mrs Cradley cut her off with a look sharp enough to etch glass. She stalked forward, her heels tapping furiously against the marble, and gave Merry a long, slow once-over that made her feel about three inches tall.
She could feel her bedraggled hair and damp duffle coat and drooping pom-pom hat. It wasn’t a great look, even by Merry’s modest standards.
At last, Mrs Cradley sniffed and tilted her chin up, as if the very sight of Merry offended her delicate sensibilities. “Carroll’s,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain, “expects more.”
“Sorry,” Merry muttered, shuffling to the elevators, but Mrs Cradley was already sweeping past her, barking orders at a nearby staff member about fingerprints on the display cases.