Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Clark
My fake beard’s been yanked so many times, I don’t know how much longer it’ll last. And I’m wearing sweatpants because some kid peed on my Santa pants.
Once upon a time, I skated around a rink to cheers from adoring fans. Now I’m being peed on by a sticky-fingered toddler.
“I brought you some cider,” my elf assistant, otherwise known as Janet, says, handing me a mug.
I take a long, grateful sip before the next kid climbs into my lap. It’s a little girl who wants a Labubu—whatever the hell that is.
Then comes a boy who wants a video game.
They want bikes, skates, smartwatches. They all promise they’ve been good, done their chores, and listened to their parents. I nod, chuckle, and summon up my best “ho-ho-ho,” even though my beard’s itchy and my left foot’s gone numb from fur-trimmed boots two sizes too small.
The line’s down to the last few kids when Janet returns with another snack. She’s been bribing me with food since I agreed to fill in for her father-in-law.
Janet leans close, nodding toward the line. “Another single lady.”
“Another one?” I groan. “Did this happen to Mike?”
Janet snorts. “What do you think? Word got out Santa’s a hottie this year.”
The woman in line has her back to us. My gaze trails down her long braid to the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips. Legs for days. And those fancy high-heeled boots add at least three more inches to her already tall frame.
Wait.
I’d know that heart-shaped ass anywhere. The last time I saw it, it was walking away from me at the basketball game.
The kid on my lap tugs my beard hard enough to nearly rip it off. “Is this a real beard?”
He’s got a fistful of my actual beard now. “Yes, Tommy.”
His eyes go wide. “How did you know my name?”
“Santa knows everything.”
His lip trembles. Another one bites the dust. That makes four kids I’ve made cry today. I’m officially the worst Santa Starlight Bay’s ever had.
“It’s okay, kid.” I pat his back. “You’ve been good. What do you want—a train set? A bike?”
But my gaze keeps drifting to the woman. To Jess. The curve of her cheek, the pout of her lower lip.
I never thought I’d see her again.
Tommy finishes his wish list, and I wave him off with my best jolly smile. But my heart’s hammering too hard to fake it for the next kid. Jess still hasn’t noticed me. Her gaze skims right over me like I’m just another mall Santa.
“Wait,” Janet breathes. “Is that her? From your Kiss Cam?”
Does everyone in this town know about the kiss with Jess? When I don’t answer fast enough, Janet jabs me in the shoulder.
“Yes,” I hiss. “It’s her.”
“Now’s your chance, Clark. Don’t blow it.”
Before I can stop her, Janet moves behind Jess and hangs the closed sign. I know exactly what she’s doing when she starts turning away disappointed kids with promises Santa will be back tomorrow.
My nerves ratchet tighter with every step Jess takes toward me. What is she doing here? Did she come to Starlight Bay to find me? Why hadn’t she called?
And then—she’s here. She settles on my thigh and sighs. “You probably think I’m nuts.”
She smells like cinnamon and honey. So sweet it makes me dizzy. I remember the taste of her, and my body reacts.
Damn these sweatpants.
I shift in my sleigh, praying it looks like a jolly adjustment. “Ho-ho-ho.”
“It’s not like you’re the real Santa,” she says, leaning close so only I can hear.
I grunt. Her eyes narrow.
No spark of recognition. No teasing smile. Just polite curiosity before she launches into her confession.
“I met someone,” she says softly, almost to herself. “He could’ve been my soul mate. But he wasn’t.”
The words hit me square in the chest.
“Why not?” I blurt before I can stop myself.
Her head jerks back, eyes wide. Then I see it—recognition, sharp and sudden, like a struck match. Her lips part.
“Mr. Mistletoe?” she whispers.
I tug the beard down. “Better known as Clark.”
“So you’re not Santa?” she blurts—way too loud. A couple of kids whip their heads toward us, suspicious.
I lower my voice, leaning close enough to breathe her in. “Out of all the Santas in town, you had to sit on mine.”
She narrows her eyes. “Was that a Casablanca reference?”
I wince. “You’ve seen it?”
She laughs. “Hasn’t everyone?”
“You’d be surprised. Not everybody’s into old movies.”
Her hand presses against my chest like she’s checking if I’m real—or just feeling me up. My hand finds her hip in response, fingers curling.
“It’s really you,” she murmurs, sliding her hand higher to my shoulder. Definitely feeling me up.
I don’t mind. Not even a little. “Why didn’t you call?”
“I did,” she says. “You gave me a fake number.”
I’m so hung up on the fact that she called that it takes me a second to process the rest. “Wait—what?”
She shifts like she’s going to stand, but I hold her there. “I called,” she says. “A woman answered.”
“You didn’t call me. Must’ve been the wrong number.”
“That’s what I said.”
She wiggles again, and I let her go—because, dear God, that wiggling is doing things to me no Santa should feel.
“Jess,” I say, hopping down from the sleigh. “I swear on Rudolph’s nose, I didn’t mean to give you the wrong number. Maybe you misheard me over all that noise at the arena.”
She studies me for a long beat, then her expression softens. “Maybe. It was pretty loud in there.”
“And you were already halfway out the door trying to escape me.”
“Maybe,” she admits with a small laugh. “You seemed too good to be true.”
“I swear, I’m not too good. I’m a lousy Santa—I made a kid cry earlier.”
A voice crackles over the loudspeaker. “It’s time for Skating with Santa! Everyone head to the rink, where Santa will join you for this Starlight Bay tradition!”
“That’s me,” I mutter. “Skating Santa.”
The kids in the Christmas Cabin cheer and bolt for the door. I groan. The last thing I want right now is to skate in front of half the town—especially with Jess here.
“What are you doing in Starlight Bay?” I ask, even though I know it’s too much to hope she came for me.
“The Mistletoe Market,” she says. “I’m taking over my grandmother’s booth this year.”
A memory flickers. “Candles, right?”
Her smile tells me I’ve scored points. But I want more than points.
“I was waiting for you to call,” I say quietly. “I thought you forgot about me.”
Her gaze catches mine, heat pulsing between us. “No. I didn’t forget.”
“Maybe I can get your number this time?” I pat my pockets, then remember—my phone’s in the truck with my jeans. “You got a pen and paper?”
She digs in her purse, finds a pen but no paper. “Give me your hand.”
Her fingers wrap around my wrist. She turns my palm up and scrawls her number in neat, looping digits.
She caps the pen with a satisfied smile. “You’d better call.”
I want to keep talking to her, but the kids are already shouting for Santa.
“Want to skate with Santa?” I ask, desperate to hold onto her just a little longer.
She laughs. “I shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“I tend to be a little clumsy.”
“You can’t be that bad.” I grin. “Reminds me of a time a little girl skated right into Santa and plowed him over.”
Her eyes go wide. “Really?”
I laugh at the memory. “The town’s still talking about it, decades later.”
She groans softly. “How embarrassing.”
We walk outside together, but I’m not ready to say goodbye. “I still remember the way her scarf got tangled around her skates.”
Jess stops abruptly beneath the arch leading to the rink, a cluster of evergreens and twinkle lights overhead.
She points up, grinning. “Seems like mistletoe has a way of finding us.”
I look up. There it is—a sprig of mistletoe, perfectly centered above our heads.
“Maybe,” I murmur, “it’s trying to tell us something.”
Her eyes flick to mine—uncertain, but not pulling away. The same look she wore the night I first kissed her. My pulse pounds. My hand twitches at my side, aching to touch her again.
I lean in, close enough that her breath brushes my lips. She doesn’t move back.
“Santa!” a high-pitched voice shrieks.
We jolt apart like guilty teenagers. A trio of kids barrels toward us, clutching skate rentals.
“We’re supposed to line up to skate with you!” one shouts, tugging my sleeve.
Jess presses her lips together, fighting a smile. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes shining.
I lean in just enough to brush my lips against her cheek. “Goodbye. For now.”
“For now,” she whispers.
“Santa?” the kids call again.
I step back with a sigh. “That’s me.”
Jess bites her lip on a laugh, gives me one last look, then turns and walks away. I watch her go, every curve burned into my brain—until a kid grabs my arm and drags me toward the rink.