Bonus Scene #1: The Hot Glue Incident

Before Viv McKenzie’s flight was canceled, before she met Austin Taylor, and before she crash-landed in the Badlands, she was having an equally disastrous December at Evergreen Press. This scene was cut from the final version of Crashing All the Way, but gives you a glimpse of exactly who Viv is before the chaos begins.

22 Days Before Christmas

I am a creator of cherished memories, embracing the holiday spirit and cultivating moments of love, laughter, and connection.

Also.

Hot glue guns and hair don’t mix.

“Hold still!” Jill snapped.

“It’s hard to hold still when you’re yanking on my head!” I shrieked.

“I wouldn’t be yanking on your head if it wasn’t attached to this hot glue gun!”

“It’s not like I meant for this to happen. Ouch!”

“It’s really stuck,” Jill said, yanking a part of my scalp loose. “Why were you using the hot glue gun in the first place?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” The conference room table held the broken remnants of a failed gingerbread-housing build. The foundation crumbled, leaving behind broken cookie walls and the scatterings of gumdrops, peppermints, and enough sprinkles to recreate the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

“Aren’t you supposed to use frosting?” Jill asked.

“It wasn’t drying fast enough,” I said. “And I have a lot of things to check off on my Christmas bucket list. I needed to speed the process up.”

“I’m going to need scissors.”

“What? No,” I protested. “You can’t cut my hair.”

“Girl, we don’t have any options. You’re going to have to walk with me to my desk.”

“No way. This can’t be happening.”

Jill yanked the cord from the outlet. “Walk with me.” She held a gun to my head. My only choice was to obey.

Jill guided me to her cubicle. “Now, which drawer did those scissors end up in?”

While she rummaged through her desk, my eyes landed on the list of printed holiday mantras. They’d arrived in an office email weeks before Halloween candy appeared in stores. Jill, like most of us, kept the list in view of her workstation. Though I’d already committed the mantras to memory, I read them silently, like a prayer. I wouldn’t allow the stress of the season to devour the magic.

I am open to the abundance of blessings that December brings, welcoming the gifts of love, prosperity, and well-being into my life.

I am a creator of cherished memories, embracing the holiday spirit and cultivating moments of love, laughter, and connection.

December is a month of kindness, and I extend compassion to myself and others, creating a harmonious and uplifting atmosphere.

In the magical ambiance of December, I am a source of joy and light, spreading warmth and positivity.

I release the expectations of a perfect Christmas and focus on what truly matters.

“Found them,” Jill said, holding up the black-handled shears with triumph.

“Please be careful,” I pleaded.

“I’m basically an expert at this stuff,” she said. “I ran a beauty salon for my Barbie dolls for years.”

“Not helping.”

I closed my eyes as she came at me with the blades. My eardrums amplified the scissor snips. I swear I could hear each clump of hair falling to its death.

“There, it’s not that bad,” she said a few moments later.

I extricated my phone from the back pocket of my pants and switched the camera to selfie mode. “Not that bad?” My stick-straight hair, which hung in a heavy mass halfway down my back, could usually serve as a level for hanging paintings on a wall. Now, a jagged two-inch section was notably absent on the right side.

“Haven’t you always wanted curtain bangs?” Jill asked.

“Absolutely not.”

“For what it’s worth, I think they’d look great. Those big brown eyes of yours would really pop.”

“No bangs. I still suffer from PTBBSD.”

Jill pointed the scissors at me. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is,” I insisted. “Post-Traumatic Bad Bangs Stress Disorder.”

“Oh please.” Jill rolled her eyes. “There isn’t a woman alive who hasn’t regretted bangs at some point in her life. You aren’t so special.”

I stomped off to my cubicle, leaving a trail of black hair behind me.

Thirty minutes later, I sat in an office chair we’d rolled into the women’s bathroom, while Harmony dampened my hair with water and used a fine-tooth comb to part sections. I’d called every hairdresser in the city — though I drew the line at Sports Cuts — only to prove Jill and Harmony correct. No one had openings until January.

“Sit nice and straight,” Harmony admonished me. “Otherwise these bangs will end up wonky.”

“I extend compassion to myself and others,” I said through gritted teeth.

“That’s the spirit,” Jill said.

Harmony pulled a section of hair from the left side of my face and aligned it against the angle of my right cheekbone. “You know you’re supposed to use frosting to put together gingerbread houses, right?”

“That’s exactly what I said,” Jill quipped.

“The frosting wasn’t drying fast enough, and the foundation crumbled.”

“We’re all very thankful you went into publishing rather than structural engineering,” Harmony said, cutting away even more hair.

“I’m not sure I understand your Christmas bucket list,” Jill said. “Is it really worth it if you only succeed in stressing yourself out?”

Harmony sectioned off another chunk of hair on my right side and pulled it taut. “Jill’s right. Rushing through a to-do list is pretty much the opposite of the holiday spirit.”

“These are traditions,” I said, cringing as another clump of hair fell to the bathroom floor. I closed my eyes. Better not to watch this process. “These are all the things I would have done with my family if I still lived back home.”

“So it’s a family tradition to be completely stressed out and overwhelmed with a million unnecessary tasks taking up every moment of the season?” Jill didn’t wait for my reply. “Wait! It looks so good!”

“I know. I told you I was good at this,” Harmony said.

“Open your eyes already.” Jill squeezed my shoulder.

“I’m scared.” I bit my lower lip and peeked. “Oh wow.” My eyes did look bigger, framed by wisps of dark fringe which curved around my face in a fan of lengthening pieces. The bangs added a little sass to my usual polished facade.

“What do you think?” Harmony asked.

“I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but I actually like them.”

The reflections of my coworkers beamed back at me from the bathroom mirror.