Juniper Carver stormed into her editor’s office, her heels clicking against the linoleum like tiny gavel strikes. “Max, tell me you’re joking,” she said, dropping a stapled memo onto his cluttered desk. “Snowflakes and Soulmates? Seriously?”

Max Stevens, a middle-aged man with a coffee-stained tie and the air of someone who’d been in the newspaper business long enough to lose the sparkle of idealism, didn’t even look up. He clicked his pen twice, underlining something on a manuscript. “Nice to see you, too. How’s the holiday season treating you?”

“Don’t deflect,” Juniper snapped, crossing her arms. “I want to write about real things. City issues. Politics. Not fluff pieces about awkward holiday dating.”

Max finally glanced up, his thick-rimmed glasses magnifying the tired humor in his eyes. “Real things don’t pay the bills, Juniper. You know what does? A single mom in her forties clicking on an article about blind dates and holiday hijinks while sipping her hot cocoa. Besides, this is a surefire hit. The holidays are all about romance and hope and—"

"Commercialized cheer," Juniper interrupted, crossing her arms. "I write lifestyle fluff, sure, but this? Speed-dating twelve guys and writing about it like some kind of rom-com guinea pig? That’s where I draw the line."

Max pushed his chair back. "You’re drawing a line now? After the 'Yoga for Dogs' piece last month?"

"That was different. Dogs are cute."

"And so are people when they’re trying to find love."

She groaned, rubbing her temples. She could already feel the holiday headaches beginning. “Can’t you assign this to someone else?” Juniper pleaded. “I just finished that feature on the mayor’s housing initiative. Doesn’t that give me some clout?”

Max raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning mischievous. "Because everyone else in this office is either married, engaged, or in a very Instagrammable relationship."

Juniper blinked. "What?"

"You heard me," Max said, crossing putting his hands behind his head and leaning back like he'd already won the argument. "Even the interns are paired off. That leaves you as the one shining beacon of singlehood."

"Wow," Juniper muttered. "Way to rub it in."

"It’s not a bad thing. It just makes you uniquely qualified. You get to represent the tragically un-cuffed masses. Besides, you’re good at the human-interest stuff,” Max said with a shrug. “The mayor article was fine, but your ‘Top Ten Dog Parks’ piece? Blew up. That’s what people want to read, Carver.”

Juniper deflated slightly. “This isn’t human interest; it’s a joke. What am I supposed to write? ‘Date One: Sweaters and Small Talk’?”

“You’ll figure it out,” Max said, returning to his papers. “You always do. Plus, you’ve got backup on this one.”

Juniper frowned. “Backup?”

A soft knock sounded at the door. Max grinned. “Speak of the devil.”

The door creaked open, and in walked an woman with cropped blonde hair, a camera slung casually over her shoulder, and—Juniper couldn’t believe it—a scarf adorned with tiny candy canes. Her smile was wide and effortless, as if she hadn’t just walked into the lion’s den.

“Hey, I’m Eve Collins,” she said, extending a hand. “Looks like we’re working together.”

Juniper stared at the offered hand like it might bite. “You’re my backup?”

“Photographer,” Eve corrected, her smile unwavering. “Max said you’d need someone to capture the magic of the dates.”

Juniper turned to Max. “Magic? Really?”

“She’s got a good eye,” Max said, already engrossed in his manuscript again. “And an even better knack for getting people to relax. You two will make a great team.”

“I don’t need a team,” Juniper muttered under her breath, though Eve clearly heard. The photographer didn’t seem fazed.

“Well, lucky for you, I work solo,” Eve said cheerfully. “You’ll barely notice I’m there. Unless, of course, you need some holiday cheer. Then I’m your gal.”

Juniper rubbed her temples. “This can’t be happening.”

“Oh, it’s happening,” Max said, grinning now. “And you two better get moving. The kickoff speed dating mixer’s tonight. You’ll want to be there early.”

“Tonight?” Juniper’s voice pitched higher than she’d like. “You couldn’t give me more than a few hours’ notice?”

“News waits for no one,” Max said, waving them off. “Go make magic, ladies.”

Juniper sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. Eve glanced at her, an almost imperceptible glint of amusement in her eyes. “This’ll be fun,” she said lightly.

“Yeah,” Juniper deadpanned, brushing past her. “A real Christmas miracle.”

Juniper trudged out of Max’s office, her heels continuing to clack on the floor with an audible frustration she didn’t bother hiding. Eve followed, her footsteps light and almost bouncy in comparison. It wasn’t a surprise; everything about Eve screamed “effervescent,” from her sparkling eyes to the soft hum of some Christmas tune Juniper couldn’t quite place.

“So,” Eve said, quickening her pace to match Juniper’s. “Tell me, on a scale of one to ‘Bah, humbug,’ how much do you hate Christmas?”

Juniper stopped short, spinning around to face Eve. “Excuse me?”

Eve tilted her head, clearly unbothered. “Well, you’re not exactly radiating holiday cheer. I just wanted to know what I’m working with.”

“I don’t hate Christmas,” Juniper replied sharply, though her tone suggested otherwise. “I just don’t…buy into the whole jingling, sparkling, merry-and-bright shtick.”

Eve raised an eyebrow, an amused smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Noted. So, no singing carols with me tonight, huh?”

“Absolutely not.”

Eve laughed, a warm sound that seemed to bounce off the sterile office walls. “Got it. You’re the Scrooge; I’ll be the festive ghost dragging you through this assignment.”

Juniper rolled her eyes. “Look, Ms. Christmas—”

“Eve,” she corrected, her smile widening. “But I like the nickname. Go on.”

“Eve,” Juniper said through gritted teeth. “I don’t need anyone dragging me anywhere. I’ve been handling assignments like this on my own for years.”

“Sure,” Eve said breezily, adjusting the strap of her camera. “But Max said this one’s special, so here I am. Besides, it’s always better to have someone in your corner.”

Juniper opened her mouth to argue but found herself caught off guard by the sincerity in Eve’s voice. She couldn’t tell if Eve was genuinely this optimistic or if it was some kind of act, but either way, it threw her off balance.

“What’s so special about this one?” Juniper muttered, resuming her brisk walk down the hallway.

Eve matched her stride effortlessly. “Apparently, it’s a big holiday feature. Lots of reader engagement, lots of pressure to make it good. You’re writing the words; I’m catching the moments. Together, we’ll make magic.”

Juniper snorted. “Magic. Right.”

Eve didn’t seem deterred. “Look, I get it. It’s not exactly hard-hitting journalism. But fluff pieces have their place too, you know? Sometimes people just want to smile.”

Juniper shot her a sideways glance. “Are you always this cheerful?”

Eve grinned. “Only around people who need it most.”

Juniper felt a flicker of something—was it amusement? Annoyance? She couldn’t tell. All she knew was that Eve’s relentless positivity was both grating and oddly disarming.

“Well, don’t expect me to smile,” Juniper said, pushing open the door to the break room. “I’m here to get this over with and move on.”

Eve leaned against the counter, watching Juniper rummage through the coffee supplies. “Fair enough. But you should know, I’m really good at capturing genuine moments. If you’re not careful, you might accidentally have fun.”

Juniper froze mid-scoop, turning slowly to face Eve. “Listen, I don’t need fun. I need this assignment done. The less messy, the better.”

“Messy?” Eve repeated, her brow furrowing. “You’re dating twelve strangers, in public, doing holiday-themed activities. Messy is guaranteed. Embrace it.”

Juniper sighed, filling her mug with hot water and stirring in the instant coffee. “Great. Can’t wait.”

Eve leaned in closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “I’ll let you in on a secret.”

“What?”

“It’s going to be a disaster,” Eve said with mock seriousness. “But disasters make for great stories. And if I’m lucky, great photos.”

Juniper huffed a laugh despite herself, quickly masking it with a sip of coffee. “You’re way too optimistic for your own good.”

“Probably,” Eve agreed, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “But you’ll thank me by the end of this. Maybe even crack a smile.”

“Don’t count on it,” Juniper said, heading for her cubicle.

“Challenge accepted,” Eve called after her, her tone light but determined.

For a moment, Juniper considered spinning around to argue, but she thought better of it. Eve was just a photographer, after all. A photographer with a slightly annoying tendency to be cheerful, but still. They’d spend the next few weeks tolerating each other, and then Juniper would be free to move on to her next, more serious assignment. No need to get worked up about it.

Right?

“I can hear you thinking all the way over here,” came Eve’s voice.

Juniper turned, finding her new companion perched on the edge of her desk, camera dangling casually around her neck. How Eve had gotten there without Juniper noticing was anyone’s guess.

“Are you still following me? Shouldn’t you be off somewhere photographing snowflakes or something?” Juniper asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Eve smirked. “I’m pacing myself. We’ve got a big night ahead.”

Juniper groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“Come on, it’s not that bad,” Eve said. “Speed dating’s low commitment. Just a few minutes per guy, a little small talk, and boom—you’re done.”

“You’re forgetting about the part where I have to turn those interactions into an article,” Juniper said. “I can’t exactly write a Pulitzer-winning piece about Tim the sweater guy.”

“Then make it funny,” Eve suggested. “Readers love humor.”

Juniper raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying I’m funny?”

Eve grinned. “I think you could be. If you tried.”

Juniper couldn’t help the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth—a reaction she immediately squashed. Eve was annoying, sure, but there was a charm about her that felt...dangerous. It was the kind of energy that could make people lower their guard without realizing it.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Juniper said.

“Too late,” Eve said. “So, what’s the game plan for tonight? How are we tackling this thing?”

“Game plan?” Juniper repeated.

“Yeah,” Eve said, leaning forward with mock seriousness. “You’re the star; I’m the backup dancer. We need a strategy.”

“There is no strategy,” Juniper said flatly. “I sit at a table. The men rotate. I ask a few questions, pretend I care, and pray it’s over quickly. The end.”

“Hmm,” Eve said, tapping her chin. “You might want to workshop that. Doesn’t scream engaging content.”

Juniper sighed. “Look, Eve. This is already humiliating enough. I don’t need a strategy. I just need to survive.”

Eve studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Survival mode it is. But if you start drowning, I’m here to throw you a lifeline.”

“I won’t be drowning,” Juniper said, though she didn’t sound entirely convinced.

Eve tilted her head, that glint of humor flashing in her eyes again. “We’ll see.”

Juniper tried to respond but found herself at a loss for words. Eve’s confidence was disarming, as if she knew something Juniper didn’t. It was unnerving. And yet, it was strangely...reassuring.

She shook the thought away. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

Eve clapped her hands together. “That’s the spirit! You know, you’re kind of adorable when you’re begrudging.”

Juniper shot her a withering look, but Eve’s wide grin didn’t falter.

“Meet me at the community center,” Eve said, heading for the door. “Don’t forget your Christmas cheer!”

“Not happening,” Juniper muttered as Eve disappeared down the hall.

Left alone, Juniper turned back to her computer, staring at the blank document open on the screen. She typed a tentative headline: Snowflakes and Soulmates: Season of Regret.

It was a start.

❄ ❆ ❅ · · ~------~ · · ❅ ❆ ❄

Juniper tugged at the hem of her sweater, silently cursing her editor for what felt like the hundredth time that day. She stood just inside the doors of the community center, which had been transformed into a holiday wonderland, complete with twinkling lights, garlands, and a towering Christmas tree in the corner. She winced at the saccharine sight.

“Let me guess,” Eve said, appearing at her side. “You’re in love with the décor.”

Juniper shot her a sidelong glare. “I’ve seen less festive mall Santas.”

Eve laughed, her voice light and musical. “Oh, come on. It’s charming! Look at that tree. That’s some high-level tinsel work.”

“I’m sure it’ll be in Tinsel Enthusiast Monthly,” Juniper muttered, though her lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile.

Eve nudged her. “Hey, there it is. A little holiday cheer sneaking through.”

“Keep dreaming,” Juniper replied, crossing her arms.

The room buzzed with chatter as participants milled about, many clutching hot cocoa or cups of eggnog from the refreshment table. A man dressed as Santa Claus strolled through the crowd, handing out candy canes and wishing everyone a merry Christmas. Juniper tried not to roll her eyes.

“This is going to be amazing,” Eve said, raising her camera and snapping a few shots of the room. “You’ve got so much material here.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Juniper said, surveying the crowd. Her potential suitors ranged from the overeager guy adjusting his light-up Rudolph tie to the quiet type sipping cocoa in the corner. “I hope these dates know what they’re getting into.”

“Maybe you should ask them that during the speed rounds,” Eve said. “Icebreaker question: ‘On a scale of one to holly jolly, how into this are you?’”

Juniper smirked despite herself. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good. Now get out there, superstar,” Eve said, giving her a little shove toward the tables set up in a semicircle.

Juniper reluctantly made her way over and took a seat at her designated spot. A small card on the table read: Juniper Collins – Journalist. Beneath it, in festive cursive, was the phrase: Looking for the magic of the season.

She groaned. “Really, Max?”

The event coordinator—a bubbly woman wearing an elf hat and ears—clapped her hands for attention. “Welcome, everyone, to the Snowflakes and Soulmates kickoff mixer!” she chirped. “You’ll have five minutes with each person to get to know them. When you hear the bell, it’s time to switch tables. Ready? Set? Mingle!”

There had to be 20 or so men here. Five times twenty? Juniper groaned and rubbed her temples. It was going to be a long night.

The first man plopped down in front of her, all smiles and an aggressively patterned sweater. “Hey there, I’m Todd. Nice to meet you!”

“Hi, Todd,” Juniper said, trying to muster enthusiasm.

“So,” Todd began, leaning in conspiratorially. “What’s your favorite Christmas movie?”

Juniper blinked. “Uh…none of them?”

Todd looked as though she’d just insulted his entire family. “None? Not even Elf? Or It’s a Wonderful Life?”

“They’re fine, I guess,” Juniper said, realizing she’d have to tread carefully if she didn’t want to alienate every person in the room.

Todd launched into an impassioned monologue about the underrated brilliance of Jingle All the Way, complete with hand gestures and reenactments. Juniper nodded politely, her mind wandering until the bell mercifully rang.

The next man was quieter, his gaze darting around the room as he introduced himself as Kevin. He nervously pushed his glasses up his nose and offered a weak smile.

“So, Kevin,” Juniper said, attempting to keep things light. “What brings you to this event?”

“My sister signed me up,” Kevin admitted. “She says I need to put myself out there more.”

Juniper nodded, appreciating his honesty. “Fair enough. What do you do?”

“I’m an accountant,” Kevin said. “It’s, uh, not very exciting.”

“Hey, someone has to keep the numbers in check,” Juniper replied, surprising herself with the hint of encouragement in her tone.

As the bell rang again, she noticed Eve lingering near the refreshment table, snapping candid shots of the participants. Every so often, their eyes would meet, and Eve would flash a knowing smile that made Juniper’s stomach do an unexpected flip.

By the time she reached her fifth date—a man named Dale who insisted on calling her “Junie”—Juniper was ready to flee the building. She endured his story about his prized Christmas village collection with a fixed smile, glancing toward Eve for a lifeline.

Eve mimed taking a photo, mouthing, “You’ve got this.”

Juniper barely managed to keep from laughing. When the bell rang, she almost sprinted from the table, heading straight for Eve.

“Well?” Eve asked, raising an eyebrow.

Juniper let out a long sigh. “It’s even worse than I imagined.”

Eve grinned. “Perfect. That’s exactly what readers want.”

“Misery?”

“Relatable misery,” Eve clarified. “You’re doing great. Just keep going.”

Juniper groaned but couldn’t help noticing how much less daunting the night seemed with Eve nearby.

She got back to her table right as the next man sat down.

“Hi,” he said, offering a warm smile. “I’m Peter. Big fan of Christmas or just here for the snacks?”

Juniper chuckled, already feeling more at ease after talking with Eve. “Definitely here for the snacks. You?”

“A little bit of both,” Peter said, his smile widening. “Though, full disclosure, I have an unfair advantage. My family owns a bakery, so I brought cookies to share.”

He reached into his bag and pulled out a small tin, sliding it across the table. Juniper blinked, glancing down at the assortment of festive treats.

“You bribing me already, Peter?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Only if it works,” he replied, his tone light. “Consider it a gesture of goodwill.”

Juniper hesitated before picking up a star-shaped cookie dusted with powdered sugar. She took a bite, her eyes widening slightly. “Okay, this is incredible. You might actually be a genius.”

Peter laughed softly, but before their conversation could continue, the bell rang.

“Time’s up!” the event organizer called from the front of the room. “Please move to your next table!”

Juniper offered Peter a smile as he stood up. “Thanks for the cookie, Peter. I’ll keep you in mind.”

“Good luck,” he said with a grin as he moved to the next table.

Her next date sat down, crossing his arms with a skeptical look on his face. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his sharp suit a little too perfectly tailored for the cozy holiday theme.

“Juniper,” she said, offering her hand.

“Alex,” he replied curtly, shaking it quickly before leaning back.

The conversation was stilted from the start, Alex answering her questions with clipped, one-word responses.

“So, Alex, what brings you to a holiday speed-dating event?” Juniper asked, forcing a polite smile.

“My assistant signed me up,” he said flatly.

Juniper blinked. “Your assistant?”

“Yes,” he said, glancing at his watch. “She said I needed to ‘connect with people.’”

“Well,” Juniper said, leaning back. “I hope it’s working for you.”

Alex raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into the faintest of smirks. “It’s been...enlightening.”

The bell rang, saving Juniper from having to find a way to continue the conversation.

“Good luck with your assistant’s next assignment,” she said.

“Same to you,” Alex replied, his tone unreadable.

Juniper looked over at Eve just in time to see her mouth, “Wow.”

The rest of the evening was a blur of awkward introductions and forced small talk, with a few genuinely pleasant moments scattered like ornaments on an unevenly decorated tree. By the time the final bell rang, Juniper’s list of potential dates felt more like a survival guide than a ranking of romantic prospects.

The organizer stepped to the front of the room, her glittering red blazer catching the twinkling lights strung across the stage. She held a clipboard in one hand and a microphone in the other.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began, her cheerful tone cutting through the chatter. “Thank you all for joining us tonight at our Snowflakes and Soulmates Speed-Dating Spectacular! I hope you’ve all had a wonderful time meeting some fabulous potential matches.”

A smattering of applause rippled through the room.

“Now,” she continued, “it’s time to narrow things down! In front of you, you’ll find a list of the names of everyone you’ve met tonight. Please take the next ten minutes to rank your top choices—one through twelve. Once you’ve completed your list, hand it to one of our lovely volunteers at the back of the room. This will help us match you with your twelve favorite people for our upcoming dates!”

Juniper glanced at the sheet of paper in front of her, her stomach flipping slightly. She scanned the names, the conversations from the night replaying in her mind. Some were easy to cross off (Sorry, Alex), but others made her hesitate.

Peter’s name caught her eye, and she smiled faintly, thinking of the powdered sugar star. She circled his name, feeling a tiny flicker of excitement for the first time that evening.

By the time the event wrapped up, Juniper felt like she’d aged five years. The chatter of the crowd, the jingling Christmas music, and the cloying scent of peppermint from the refreshment table had worked together to create a perfect storm of holiday overkill. She slumped into a chair by the exit, rubbing her temples.

Eve strolled over, camera slung casually across her chest. “You survived,” she said brightly, holding out a cup of cocoa.

“Barely.” Juniper accepted the cup, though she wasn’t sure if it was out of gratitude or sheer exhaustion.

“So,” Eve prompted, sitting across from her. “What’s the verdict? Future husband in there somewhere?”

Juniper snorted into her drink. “Not likely. Unless I missed the part where dating is supposed to feel like a dental cleaning.”

Eve laughed, the sound warm and unrestrained. “Come on, it wasn’t all bad. Kevin seemed sweet. And Todd had...a lot of enthusiasm.”

“That’s one word for it,” Juniper muttered. “Do you know how long he talked about Jingle All the Way? Four minutes and thirty-two seconds. I timed it.”

“Dedication,” Eve said, her grin widening. “That’ll make a great anecdote for your article.”

Juniper groaned. “Don’t remind me. Max is going to want a first draft by tomorrow morning.”

“You’ve got plenty to work with,” Eve said. “And if you need help remembering the highlights, I’ve got photos.”

Juniper raised an eyebrow. “Please tell me you didn’t take pictures of Todd’s sweater.”

Eve’s grin turned mischievous. “Oh, I absolutely did. Front and back.”

Juniper couldn’t help it—she laughed, a short but genuine sound that caught her by surprise. It felt...nice, like a weight she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying had momentarily lifted.

Eve’s expression softened. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Juniper shook her head, her smile fading as quickly as it had appeared. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Don’t worry, I thrive on fleeting luxuries,” Eve said lightly, standing up. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Juniper. Don’t stay up too late agonizing over your article.”

“I’ll try,” Juniper said, though she had a feeling sleep wouldn’t come easily.

As Eve walked away, Juniper watched her go, a flicker of something unidentifiable stirring in her chest. Shaking it off, she pulled out her phone and opened a new note.

She typed out a few headlines, before finally settling on Dear Santa, I’d Like a Refund on My Love Life.

Her thumb hovered over the delete button before she sighed and set the phone down. Maybe Eve was right. Maybe the disasters could make for a great story—if she could muster the energy to write it.

Max’s text buzzed onto her screen as if on cue: Hope you’re having fun!

Juniper scowled at her phone, typing back a curt reply: Define “fun.”

She stared at the blinking cursor for a moment before deleting the message entirely. There was no point in complaining. This was her life now—a parade of awkward dates and relentless Christmas cheer, with Eve’s camera catching every humiliating moment.

Juniper leaned back in her chair, sipping the now-lukewarm cocoa. “Merry freaking Christmas,” she muttered under her breath, watching the crowd disperse.

She’d made it through night one. Only twelve more to go.

Next Chapter: Chapter 2: First Date Fiasco