Santa Has a Six-Pack (The Santa Duet #1)

Chapter 1

Penny

“A World’s Fittest Santa Contest? Please tell me you’re joking.” I shove a row of candy-cane-patterned bra and panties sets farther down the rack while instrumental Christmas music plays from overhead speakers.

It’s after-hours at Herald’s Department Store in New York City.

My boss Dottie and I are in the lingerie section unloading this year’s holiday inventory.

Thanksgiving isn’t for a few more weeks, but as anyone in retail knows, the minute the ghosts and goblins go away, it’s time to bust out the elves and the snowmen.

Whether I like it or not.

Dottie tears open a box filled with more Christmas-themed underwear.

“I’m not joking, sweetheart. This order’s coming straight from the top.

Since that pillow-town bike became all the rage, our sporting goods numbers have been in the crapper.

The higher-ups think this contest will get us news coverage and boost exercise equipment sales this gift-giving season. ”

“I’m pretty sure it’s pronounced pella-tahn, not pillow-town, Dot.” I correct her as gently as possible. “Also, an exercise bike is a lousy Christmas gift if you ask me.”

“Good thing I didn’t ask you, huh?” Dottie jokes and hangs a series of red and green thongs in the space I just created. “Anyway, it’s no use arguing the matter. The contest is confirmed. The Tokyo, London, and Milan stores are doing it too.”

“But you’re the New York store manager!” I say. “Can’t you just tell them we’re going to sit this one out?”

“Penny.” She tilts her head to the side and gives me a full dose of the no-nonsense energy I’ve come to love and hate from her in equal measure. “How long have you been working here?”

“Almost ten years,” I grumble into the cardboard box we’re unpacking.

“Right. So you know full well that the New York store never ‘sits out’ of anything at Christmastime. Come on, honey. It’ll be fun!”

I pull another bundle of ladies’ underwear out of the box and freeze as the weight of what I just said hits me.

Next month will be my tenth Christmas at Herald’s Department Store.

I’ve spent a whole decade—nearly a third of my entire existence—working here.

How did I let this happen?

Dottie’s voice is echoey, like it’s at the end of a long tunnel. “Kiddo! Yoo-hoo! Did someone press pause on you?”

She’s asking why I’m physically frozen, my hand halfway to the rack. But the truth is that my entire life has been on pause for the past ten years.

Professionally, personally, emotionally… I’m just stuck.

I haven’t told Dottie—or any of my friends or family—but I know exactly what I want to do with my life.

I keep telling myself it’s a lack of money that holds me back from pursuing it.

I’m starting to think that’s just an excuse, though, and even if I had a million dollars, I’d still be too plain scared to make it happen.

“Ooh! Those are cute!” Dottie startles me out of my stupor. She turns over the boy-short underwear, revealing the words “Ho-Ho-Ho” emblazoned on the butt. “I wonder if they have these in my size.”

She racks the shorts and proceeds to root through the box in search of an extra-large.

I sink onto a shiny white display block and listen to the faint buzzing sound from the nighttime maintenance crew buffing the floors.

“Look, Dot,” I say. “I get that Herald’s is on a mission to out-Christmas itself every year, but a ‘World’s Fittest Santa’ contest is a ridiculous idea! What are we going to do? Hold a casting call for sexy Santa Clauses so that horny customers can sit on their laps?”

“Yes!” she squeals. “That’s exactly what we’re doing!”

I groan. “Oh my God. I was kidding!”

Dottie thrusts her phone at me. A festive green flyer lights up the screen. In the middle is an image of a man’s arm. He’s pushing up a classic red-and-white Santa sleeve to reveal a bulging—and very veiny—bicep.

I take a deep breath and read the sparkly gold text out loud. “‘Santa Claus is coming to town. And this year, he’s not only bringing presents. He’s bringing his abs too!’” I stare at Dottie in disbelief. “We can’t be serious with this.”

She claps her hands with glee. “Keep reading, keep reading!”

I stand and continue to read, this time with faux perkiness.

“Calling all fitness enthusiasts! Want to spread some Christmas cheer in NYC this year? Well then, bring dat Santa ass over here! Herald’s is holding auditions for—” I give up and hand the phone back to Dottie.

“‘Bring dat Santa ass over here?!’ Who approved this copy? Surely, Keira hasn’t seen this. ”

Dottie scans the image again. “It’s a rough first draft from Tim in marketing.” She rolls her eyes. “You know how Tim in marketing can be. Don’t worry, Keira is doing a second pass tomorrow. She’ll class it up for us and make it great.”

Keira is my best friend and the head of our special events marketing team at Herald’s. Generally, she’s the epitome of class, but I’m not sure even she can turn this nightmare around.

I return to racking undergarments, a bit more forcefully this time, anger rising in me before I have the chance to stop it. “I REFUSE TO BE PART OF THIS, DOT! I REFUSE TO FAT SHAME SANTA!”

Did I just yell in my place of employment?

By the shocked look on Dottie’s face and the sudden silence in the air, it’s clear that I did.

My cheeks heat.

Leo, a lovely older man on the Herald’s maintenance staff, pops out from the accessories section, his eyes wide. “You okay, ladies?”

Dottie gives him a shy wave. “Yes, we’re okay. Thank you, Leo.”

Leo smiles sweetly back at her, restarts his floor buffer, and returns to work.

“Penny baby, what the hell?” Dottie says softly.

“You’re still in love,” I singsong, trying to get the attention off my issues and onto hers.

Namely, her years-long not-so-secret crush on Leo.

“As you always say, ‘life is short,’ right? When are you going to do something about this?” I gesture to Leo, who immediately looks away like he wasn’t staring longingly at Dottie.

Dottie rips into a plastic bag bursting with festive knee-socks. “I am not in love. Love died fifteen years ago, when Arthur did.”

“Arthur’s still alive,” I say.

“Don’t remind me,” she grumbles.

Arthur, Dottie’s ex, left her for a younger woman as soon as their kids were out of the nest. What a guy.

“And don’t change the subject on me!” Dottie continues. “No one is ‘fat shaming’ anyone.”

We start arranging a small Christmas tree sock display, like we’ve done a million times. Because, well, we have.

I clear my throat, a long-overdue speech brewing. “Historically, Santa has been fat and jolly, right?”

“Right…”

“But now, our skinny-obsessed culture is telling even Santa Claus that he needs to lose weight?” I feel my voice pitching up, but I can’t get myself to tone it down.

“People need to accept that not everyone is meant to live in a small body! Also, Santa works his ass off! He goes up and down chimneys all night carrying a shit ton of presents! How much more exercise can we expect from the man?”

I complete the first row of the sock tree.

Dottie begins the second.

“To be fair,” she says, “That’s only one night a year. All signs point to Santa living a pretty sedentary lifestyle the other three-hundred-and-sixty-four.”

My stomach drops. “What is going to happen with Tony and Herb? They’ve been here more seasons than I have! Now they’re kicked to the curb simply because they don’t have a snatched ass?”

“Remind me what snatched means?” Dot’s brow furrows as she completes the final row of our sock tree.

“You know…” I make duck faces and pose. “Snatched. It’s the word everyone uses these days to mean fit. Or hot and chiseled or whatever.”

She shakes her head in wonder. “In my day, the word ‘snatch’ was used to describe a lady’s nether region.”

“Please don’t say nether region again.”

“Can’t promise that, hon. It’s too much fun watching you squirm.” She places a glittery star on the top of the tree. “Rest assured that Tony and Herb are still working as our primary Santas. They will always be valued members of the Herald’s Christmas team.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” I exhale.

“Whoever wins this contest is a special hire for this season only,” she says. “We’ll have a big unveiling for him during the Thanksgiving Day Parade, then he’ll mostly do fitness demonstrations in the sporting goods department for us, plus a few lap-sitting events for our VIP vendors and shoppers.”

“Lap-sitting events?” I scoff.

“Yes, lap-sitting events.”

“Fire me, Dottie,” I groan. “Fire me right now.”

“Never, Penny baby. You know I couldn’t get on without you! And don’t you even think about quitting on me.”

If only she knew.

I think about quitting every. Single. Day. I just can’t bring myself to do it. Dottie is the mother I never had. I mean, technically, I have a mother. But Dottie’s shown me ten times the love and affection I ever received from that woman.

Dottie’s lips purse, and her head tilts to the side. “Honey?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I say something?”

Uh-oh. I know I’m in for it when Dottie wants to say something.

“You always do,” I joke.

“You’re far too young and beautiful to be this wound up all the time. I mean, look at you with your long, luscious hair and brown doe eyes. You’re like a gorgeous little reindeer! You should be frolicking about, not worrying yourself about store policies.”

“Do reindeer have long, luscious hair?” I joke.

She waves a hand. “Oh, you know what I mean.”

I sigh. “I appreciate the compliments, Dot. For the record, though, I’m not so young. I’m thirty-two.”

“You’re young. Believe me.” She places a warm hand on my cheek.

“We need to loosen you up somehow, love. Why don’t you get out there and have some fun?

Find a boyfriend! Go on some dates!” Her eyes glimmer in the harsh overhead light.

“Oh, dating in New York City at Christmastime is magic! Carriage rides in Central Park, hot chocolate at Serendipity, ice-skating at Rockefeller Center…”

We tear open one final box, this one filled with red-and-white striped tights.

“No, thank you. I do not need a man to buy me overpriced hot chocolate or take me skating on an overhyped tiny ice rink while hundreds of tourists fall flat on their faces, and—mark my words—the days are numbered on those horse-drawn carriages. Activists have been trying to enact a citywide ban on them for years. But also—” I pick a rogue hanger off the floor and point it at her.

“Didn’t you just say that ‘love is dead’? ”

“For me, yes. But not for you.” Dottie hangs the last package of tights on our display.

“Dot? Believe me when I say, I could not desire anything less.”

She sighs. “Fine, fine. You kids today.” She looks around at all the progress we’ve made. “What do you say? Shall we pack it in for the night?”

“Yes, please.”

We gather our broken-down cardboard boxes and start heading toward the backroom.

“If this contest truly needs to happen,” I say as we place the boxes into a waiting dumpster, “can you promise me one thing?”

“What’s that, love?”

“That we’ll keep things somewhat classy and treat the contestants with respect?

Back when I was a dancer, I hated that feeling of being just a number, you know?

The casting directors literally slapped numbers on our chests at auditions.

It was gross. Promise me we won’t do that, and we’ll actually get to know the human beings who are trying to work with us? ”

“Promise yourself.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re in charge of the auditions.” Dottie’s eyes sparkle with mischief.

“Like hell I am!” I shout.

“Hear me out, honey, hear me out.” She places a hand on my shoulder.

“I had a meeting with the higher-ups yesterday. We all agree that with your performance background, you are the perfect person to lead the charge. Plus, I think it will be good for you.” She pauses and gives me a knowing look. “Don’t you miss it?”

“Dancing?” My voice goes softer than I intend it to.

“Yeah.” She places a hand on my shoulder. “Creativity in general. Being part of crafting a performance. It’s so much of who you are.”

“Who I used to be,” I correct.

“Alright. So you’re not interested in your Christmas bonus tripling this year as a thank-you?” she says casually.

“Excuse me, what? They’re going to triple it?” I squeak.

Herald’s is already very generous with their employees at Christmastime—it’s one of many reasons it’s so hard to leave—but tripling my bonus is unheard of.

Dottie winks. “I may have put in an extra good word for you in honor of your ten years of service.”

“Wow. That’s—Dottie, you’re so—That’s amazing!” I hug her. “Oh my gosh, nothing good ever happens to me at Christmastime!”

“Well, not with an attitude like that!” she jokes.

Maybe Dottie’s onto something.

Maybe it’s my attitude about Christmas that always makes this time of year so miserable.

Maybe I can turn things around, and good things can happen to me.

“I’m in!” I shout, suddenly so excited I could burst.

“Yay! This is going to be so much fun, sweetie! You’ll see.”

We enter the back room and find Leo putting away the floor buffer. Dottie immediately blushes and turns away from him, ready to ignore him like she usually does.

But then, she stops and looks me dead in the eyes.

“What?” I whisper.

“You were right with what you said before. Life is short,” she whispers back. She squeezes her eyes shut and then says with her full voice, “Fuck it. Leo?”

Leo turns to face us, a spray bottle in his hand. “Yes, Dorothea?”

Dottie’s knees weaken adorably when he calls her by her full name.

She takes a deep breath and blurts, “Would you like to get some hot chocolate with me this holiday season?”

Leo’s face breaks into a brilliant smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “It would be my honor, miss. A true honor.” He gives her a subtle bow and heads to the main floor, an additional pep in his step.

“Did you hear that?” Dottie hisses and grabs my arm. “Did you see that?”

“I did! That was amazing, Dot! Good for you!”

She beams as she slips on her coat and grabs her purse. I do the same.

“I have a good feeling about this holiday season, Penny girl. For both of us. ‘Tis the season for romance, right?”

I smile, not wanting to dampen her happy moment.

She puts her arm around me as we head toward the exit. “Who knows? Maybe this Santa contest of ours will bring a snatched young man into your life.”

“Ha!” I pat her on the back. “I wouldn’t count on that, Dot. The last thing I want—or need—

is some shallow, fitness fanatic dude-bro in my life.”

“Never say never, sweetheart. Life might just surprise you yet.”