Free His For Christmas by Fiona Shin

Delilah. Stealing from ones employers, the nerve! Why I’ve a mind to pluck every hair from your head!”
    Ivy, having seen a great deal more than a screaming woman accused of thievery, slipped past the struggling trio and waited at the front desk.
    It was not long until Mrs. Miller situated herself behind the desk, smoothing back loose strands of hair from her pale face. “Will you be wanting a room, ma’am?”
    She nodded and Mrs. Miller pulled out a small leather book, all the while muttering under her breath. “Damn fool woman. Don’t know what I’m going to do, full house and not a single person who can cook a blasted egg without burning it to a crisp…”
    A job! Ivy tried not to seem too desperate, although it might very well have shown in her eyes as she cleared her throat. “I couldn’t help but notice…”
    Mrs. Miller snorted. “I’m sure folks from miles away would’ve noticed that particular, distasteful incident. I do apologize, ma’am.”
    Ivy cleared her throat again. “Well, I am newly arrived from Branford, where I worked…as a maid for some time. I am quite a capable cook and am in search of employment in town.”
    “You?” The older woman’s eyes sharpened as she looked Ivy up and down. “You’re not with child, are you?”
    Ivy felt her heart dip. She hadn’t even thought about that! Surely…not. Best not to think about that now. “N…no. Of course not! I…I am a widow. My name is Ivy Stevens.”
    “A widow?” Mrs. Miller let out a huff. “Not with that blush on your face.”
    Ivy didn’t know how to remove said blush from her face when it was wholly involuntarily.
    “Be that as it may,” continued the proprietor of Miller’s Boardinghouse without missing a breath. “I am indeed looking for a cook. Can you fry an egg without burning the edges?”
    Ivy nodded, almost too hopeful to breath. “I can.”
    “Very well.” Mrs. Miller nodded, all the while looking at Ivy with eyes that seemed to go through her very soul. “Wages are nine dollars a week, every other Sunday off. Room and board are included in the wages.”
    “Thank you,” said Ivy, hoping very much she wouldn’t collapse weeping to her knees. “That sounds quite agreeable.”
    The proprietress slammed the leather book shut with a satisfied air. “Can you start now?”
    And that had been that.
    How are you doing, Mrs. Stevens?
    Ivy broke the yolks and flipped the eggs over, trying her best not to remember Elliot. She very nearly succeeded. “I am very indebted to you, Mrs. Miller.”
    Mrs. Miller raised a brow. “Pshaw. Were it not for you, we’d have a house full of rioting boarders. Who knows how much money we would’ve lost. The Lord has been known to work in strange ways.”
    They shared a smile, rare for the proprietress, and Mrs. Miller was called away by the call of a boarder, leaving Ivy to her eggs, the toast lying on the griddle and nothing but her thoughts.
    She was lucky. So very lucky.
    Why then was she crying?
    A few tears sizzled on the skillet and she swiped at her eyes with the edge of an apron. “Ivy Stevens, don’t you dare cry. You’re doing fine. Everything will be just fine.”
    The toast was beginning to turn golden brown and she grabbed a plate from the overhead shelf.
    “Mrs. Stevens?”
    Ivy turned, a ready smile pasted on her lips, hoping the tear tracks had dried sufficiently. It wouldn’t do for her employer to see her crying like a maudlin fool. “Yes, Mrs. Miller?”
    Mrs. Miller stood at the doorway, a strange expression on her pinched face.
    And behind her was a tall figure, a wild expression on his beautiful face.
    Elliot.
    The plate slipped from her nerveless fingers and smashed to a thousand pieces on the wooden floor.
    Mrs. Miller stepped forward and Elliot slipped into the kitchen, just that much closer to her.
    There was a lump in her throat and Ivy tried to swallow it down. “Elliot.”
    “Mrs. Stevens…” began Mrs. Miller in a quiet voice. “I have