Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hoping his daughter followed through on her promise, Sven refilled his insulated mug with coffee and added two creamers before moving down to the stack of lunches. He tucked a box under his arm, picked up his drink, and stalked to the seat across from Janice Barber in her Mrs. Claus outfit.
She didn’t look up when he sat, evidently entranced by the package of sliced apples. The wrapper crinkled in her grasp—fingers that were decidedly not those of an eighty-something-year-old woman.
Mrs. Barber hadn’t missed Claus for a Cause since she’d been given the role at least thirty years ago, so having a replacement was a big deal.
He tried and failed to get a look at her stand-in’s face to see who had replaced his sixth grade English teacher this year. The imposter wore a snowy white wig, something her predecessor had never needed. A pair of gold-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of her nose and the ruffly collar of her dress came up to her chin.
She swapped the apples for another package about the same size, but she didn’t open it.
She has to look up sometime.
Stifling his curiosity, he lifted both flaps on the top of the box and pulled out his sandwich. As he loosened the wrapper, his lunch companion finally shifted enough for him to catch a glimpse of a rosy cheek. The color seemed unnatural, like she’d used some sort of makeup to create the pink glow that matched her down-turned lips. Considering how she was ignoring him, the chances of her being one of the previous schemers were slim. They’d all flaunted their bodies and flirted within an inch of their lives, in hopes of bagging the bachelor who they thought liked to play hard to get.
Not interested is more like it.
The woman he wanted was making him work for it—with no guaranteed prize at the end.
He bit his sandwich, chewing a little more vigorously than necessary. Christy hadn’t answered her phone this morning when he’d called to make arrangements for her car to be towed and repaired. However, no transportation meant she couldn’t leave town yet.
I need more time.
To do what?
He had no secret weapon to convince her to stay. Asking her had gotten him nowhere. Promising to fight for her hadn’t done any good. Telling her he loved her—in writing—had sent her fleeing into the dark.
Mrs. Claus scraped her chair away from the table as she returned most of her wrap, the package of apples, and the mini bag of pretzels to the box. Without a word, she turned her back to him and scurried out of the room, her candy-cane print dress swishing around her ankles. Murmurs from the hallway suggested she’d spoken to his daughter during her quick exit.
This afternoon’s activities should be loads of fun. The woman can’t even say hello to the guy she’s pretending to be married to.
Ho.
Ho.
Ho.
He finished his meal with eight minutes to spare and set off for the closest restroom to check his beard for crumbs and prepare for a three-hour shift at the center of attention with no break. After an adjustment to his padding and belt and a last check in the mirror, he marched to the gymnasium.
The crowd of kids and adults Brenna had told him to expect waited outside the set of double doors at the far end of the space, their laughter and chatter carrying to the throne-like seat reserved for him. A fake fir tree about twice his height stood behind it, its lights reflecting off the silver bells scattered throughout the branches. Enter Here and Exit Here signs hung from chains on either side of the roped off area, but he was less concerned about crowd control than women on the prowl.
As he sat in the chair, his less-than-talkative other half walked through the same side door he’d used a few paces behind a pair of burly teenagers. Each boy hefted a large basket and blocked most of his view of Mrs. Claus. Only her low-heeled boots that clicked in a steady clip-clop, clip-clop on the polished floor were visible except the lower part of her full skirt.
He braced for the cold shoulder again when her overgrown elves set down their loads near the tree. Wasn’t she supposed to be a nice lady who loved kids, the holiday season, and cookies?
“Thank you so much for helping. Stop by the cider booth later for one on me.” Her sickening sweet voice grated on his nerves.
The taller of the two guys grinned. “Cool. Thanks, Mrs. C.”
His partner nodded. “Yeah, thanks. Let us know if you need more help carrying stuff.”
“I will. Thanks again.” When the boys tromped off toward the same door they’d come in, she straightened the ribbons on the baskets and then faked being busy by straightening the wrapped gifts for each kid who shared a wish list or was brave enough to try.
Completely ignoring me.
Whatever.
Sven scratched at the elastic beneath his hat, ready for this day to be done so he could focus on wooing Christy. She hadn’t returned his call, not that he’d left a voicemail message or thought she would. The emotional overload and his handling of it had obviously scared the hell out of her, but last night’s reunion had been like waking up after dying. Their connection was still there, soul-deep and stronger than ever.
I know she felt it too.
The thundering footsteps and excited voices of a huge herd of kids and parents entering the gym put an end to his ruminating. A line formed, starting at the entrance to his makeshift cage and ending somewhere beyond the double doors. The elf positioned at the chain reached for the clip and raised her eyebrows at him.
He nodded once and the photographer did the same.
Be jolly.
Brenna’s earlier admonition rang through his head when the first little girl handed his ticket to the elf and dragged a harried-looking woman toward him. He’d repaired part of their roof sometime during the spring and she’d invited him to a tea party with her stuffed animal friends.
“Hi, Thanta! I wath exthra good thith year!”
Her enthusiasm and missing top front tooth sparked a twinge of melancholy. He missed that stage, despite how much he’d had to rely on his mom and dad to help him raise his young daughter.
His visitor extended both arms in the universal pick-me-up gesture, prompting him to lift her onto his lap. “I know you were, Iona. You helped your mom and dad with the twins when they were born and made cookies for your grandpa.”
Her eyes widened, likely because he threw in details only an omniscient fictional being would know. “I did!”
“I can’t promise to bring all the presents you want, but you’re welcome to tell me what’s on your Christmas list this year.” He leaned down so she could whisper in his ear.
“Bookth I can read all by mythelf to my little brotherth.” Between her toothlessness and her excitement, she sprayed a few droplets of spit on his neck, but he’d experienced a lot worse when Brenna was a baby. “Pleath and thank you.”
Touched by her sweet demeanor, he sat up and winked at her. “I’ll see what I can do about that. Do you want to have your picture taken with me?”
Her orangey-red curls bounced up and down when she nodded. She smiled in the direction of the camera until the photographer gave her a thumbs-up. Then she flung her arms around him and kissed his cheek. “Merry Chrithmas, Thanta!”
“Merry Christmas, Iona. Be sure to stop and say hi to Mrs. Claus. I think she has a gift for you.” He stood her on the floor and waved her mother across in front of him to follow the girl to the baskets by the exit. Instead of immediately greeting the next kid, he waited for his counterpart to do her thing.
Turning toward Iona, Mrs. Claus greeted her with a welcoming smile and handed her one of the wrapped packages. They exchanged a few words before his fake wife cast a glance toward him, finally allowing him a good look at her face. It was one he knew well, especially those eyes that never quite hid the pain of her childhood.
Christy.
That explained her standoffish behavior during their lunch break.
His heart thudded double-time in his chest for several beats.
She’s here. She didn’t run away. Yet. I just need to get through being the guy in the red suit for a few hours. Then I’ll try to talk to her again.
She whirled away, focusing her attention on the little girl and her mother, but not before he caught the panic that shut him out. After Iona hugged her around the waist, she fussed in the basket, even though it couldn’t possibly need straightening.
She’s going to run as soon as she can.
If she truly didn’t feel the same about him as he did about her, he would let her go. It might rip his heart out of his chest, but he’d already survived nearly two-thirds of his life without her. Fortunately, his gut told him she still loved him too and needed a little more reassurance to tip the balance.
A light tug on his sleeve brought his focus back to his job. “’Scuse me, Santa. It’s my turn, and I have questions.”
The task at hand took precedence at the moment, so he rested his elbows on his knees to give the next visitor his full attention. “I’ll do my best to answer them.”
For the rest of his shift, he tried not to glance at Christy or the line that seemed to go on forever while he listened to wishes and endured the tricky quest for inside information about his workshop, the flying reindeer, and a dozen other topics related to his gig at the North Pole.
He caught his daughter watching him from the other side of the velvet rope several times. Her obvious joy more than made up for dealing with a few greedy kids and some pushy parents.
As the last toddler patted his fake beard and giggled, the photographer snapped a picture and gestured that it was a good one.
Brenna’s laughter rang out in the background noise of people milling around the large booth where they could view and purchase the photos. Hearing that sound made his whole year. After spending most of it healing from her injuries, learning how to live in a world that wasn’t very accommodating, and trying to fit in with friends who now treated her differently, she seemed happy again.
And all of the festival is for her.
His gaze drifted in the direction of the sound, but it stuck on the woman handing out the dozen or so gifts she had left to the elf helpers. A wide smile lit up Christy’s face, reminding him why he’d always been drawn to her—from their first day of kindergarten together to this moment. She went out of her way to share her thoughtfulness, even when she had little to be happy about.
“Hey, Santa! Mrs. Claus!” The photographer waved them toward her. “I need you over here for the official website photo.”
Sven waited for Christy to make the first move and then followed her to the pine-and-ribbon clad trellis. A sprig of green leaves with white berries hung from the top of the arch, tempting him to put it to good use. The Clauses were married, so a chaste kiss under the mistletoe in public would be family friendly.
Technically, he should ask her for permission, but they’d gone beyond a simple lip-lock last night—and it had shaken him awake. If he didn’t do his damnedest to resurrect their relationship, regrets would dog him for the rest of his life.
She stopped, stiff-spined and tense-jawed, at the arbor outside the roped-off area and pivoted toward the woman with the camera. Her hands were clutched in front of her. She might not know for sure that he’d recognized her, but she knew for sure he was playing Santa today.
As soon as he stood beside her, the photographer motioned for them to move toward the center. “You need to squeeze close together inside the arch. Back just a little farther. Angle in a bit, but not quite face to face. Right there. Santa, hold Mrs. Claus’s hands in yours. Now look at each other with that magic Christmas sparkle in your eyes. Smiles. Perfect. Don’t move.”
A familiar electrical current charged through him with the first contact and amped up when she finally looked at him. The surrounding noise faded away and only the two of them existed. Unable to resist, he caressed her cheek and leaned in. A tentative brush of his lips against her softer ones became a gentle caress and then a firm press when she whimpered loud enough for only him to hear. Her lips parted, inviting him inside, and he didn’t hesitate to take their kiss to the next level with a slow stroke of his tongue.
At the clearing of a throat, he reluctantly eased back, taking in the undeniable desire in her stare. The beginnings of fear started to show through the lusty haze, urging him into action. “I love you, Christy. Please stay. Marry me.”