Chapter 4
FOUR
Janie
I definitely don’t get paid enough to do this job. I plop down on one of the kid-sized chairs in my kindergarten class and kick off my boots with a sigh of relief. My classroom always runs the hottest in the building, and after the day I’ve had, I feel like I’ve been running a marathon in heels.
I prop a foot on my knee and remove my sock. “Ow,” I mutter, pressing my thumbs into my aching feet. The massage feels like heaven after wrangling twenty-two kindergartners.
First there was Preston’s meltdown when José accidentally ripped his coloring page. Then Emmalynn had an accident because I was too distracted to notice her doing the “potty dance.” And then Jack threw up right in the middle of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” because he’s allergic to strawberries.
Just another Thursday in kindergarten paradise.
I tug my cardigan off and toss it on my desk, then check my watch. Twenty minutes until rehearsal starts. Despite today’s chaos, the Christmas lights I’ve strung up twinkle softly and the smell of the pine garland I hung after school makes the entire room smell like a Christmas tree.
Every year, the Christmas pageant is the highlight of my calendar—the one night when our tiny school stage transforms into a magical holiday scene and the whole town shows up to watch our kids fumble their lines and sing with the kind of enthusiasm that makes your heart swell.
Even though Mrs. Smith retired after thirty years of directing it, I couldn’t let the tradition die.
And honestly? I need the extra income to pay our bills.
At first I thought we might have to cancel when Mr. Johnson, our usual Santa, fell and had to have hip surgery.
But Principal Callahan found us a prominent local celebrity who’s apparently “very committed to community service.” Probably someone from the town council or maybe that nice dentist who sponsors the Little League team.
Whoever it is, we’ll make it work, even if our “celebrity” is the guy who fixes cars at the local garage. Christmas is my favorite thing in the world, and I won’t let anything—or anyone—ruin it.
A knock sounds at my door just as I’m pulling scripts from my bag. “Come in!” I call, frantically looking around for my boots. Where did I kick them?
“Is this where practice is?”
The voice stops me cold. I know that voice. It’s haunted my dreams ever since that night I sang karaoke with him.
No, no, no. It can’t be.
I turn around slowly, still barefoot and suddenly very aware that I’m standing here in just a tank top and jeans.
Rourke Riley stands in my doorway, all six foot four of him, his eyes grazing over me before they snap back up to my face. His hair falls in dark waves across his forehead, and he looks just as devastating as the night I met him.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, feeling like the floor just dropped out from under my feet.
His eyes flick to mine. “Isn’t this Christmas pageant rehearsal?” For a second, he looks genuinely confused.
“Yes. But how did you know that?” I say.
“Because I’m…” He pauses, and suddenly everything makes sense.
He’s the adult volunteer. Rourke Riley. The local celebrity.
“You’re the volunteer?” I ask. “YOU?”
He stares at me blankly. “Yeah. Don’t look so excited.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I exhale under my breath.
“I take it you didn’t know?” he says, studying me.
“No, Principal Callahan conveniently left that part out,” I say angrily, whirling away from him to search for my shoes. “Sorry if I seem…um, surprised.” I search under my desk, then behind a stack of chairs.
“Well, I’m full of surprises, Janie.”
I straighten. “That’s Ms. Bennett to you,” I remind him. “I can’t have the kids calling me by my first name.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Okay, fine, Ms. Bennett.”
The way he says my name—like the formality is killing him—tells me everything I need to know about how this pageant is going to go.
“Let me lay out the rules for you,” I say, circling around a group of chairs. “I’m the director. So you’ll take orders from me. And you won’t rile up the kids.”
He frowns. “Who said I’ll rile up the kids?”
“I saw how you behaved at the summer reading program.”
“The kids loved me, remember?” He gives me a smile that probably makes most women weak. But not me. I won’t fall for that smile again.
“They loved your balloon animals,” I clarify. “There’s a difference.”
“Semantics.” He shrugs, then glances at my feet, studying them in a way that makes me feel self-conscious. “Let me guess—red toes for Christmas?” The way he says it makes it feel wrong. Inappropriate, somehow.
“What’s wrong with that?” I say.
“Nothing. It just matches your face,” he notes with a smirk.
“Well, this room runs insanely hot in the winter.” Or maybe it’s the effect Rourke is having on me, noticing me in a way I haven’t been looked at in a very long time. I finally see my cardigan and pull it on as Rourke wanders over to the costume rack.
He holds up a child-sized elf costume against his huge frame. “These look a little small for me, don’t you think?” It looks like it would barely cover his left thigh.
“That’s not for you.” I take it from him and slide it back onto the rack just as I spot my boots on the floor.
“Where’s the Santa suit, then?” he asks.
“I’m sorry, but I think there has been a mistake,” I say, sliding my boots back on. “You can’t play Santa.”
He crosses his arms, and for a second, I think he looks almost pleased. “Why not?”
“You don’t look the part. You’re built like…” I wave my hand over his body—his broad shoulders, narrow waist, the way he’s already managed to make my classroom feel smaller. “A Marvel superhero. And you’re about as jolly as a colonoscopy.”
He barks out a laugh. “It doesn’t matter if I fit the part. I just have to convince the kids, right?”
I shake my head. “I can’t have someone who hates Christmas play Santa. He’s the main character. He sets the tone for the whole show.”
“Look,” he says, his voice suddenly more serious.
“I know this was unexpected. But I’m stuck doing this community service regardless of how you feel about it.
So here’s the deal: let me audition for the lead role.
Give me one rehearsal. If you don’t think I’m right for the part, you can fire me and find someone else. ”
I narrow my eyes, surprised by the offer. “You’d actually let me?”
“If I can’t convince you and the kids that I can pull this off, then sure. But you have to give me a chance first. That’s all I’m asking.”
I study him, wondering why he’s giving me an out.
It doesn’t make sense. If he didn’t want to do this in the first place, why did he volunteer?
Having him walk away might solve my problem, but it would also leave me scrambling to find another Santa.
Neither option is convenient, and the last thing I need is more complications.
“Fine,” I say finally. “You get one try. But if you traumatize these kids or ruin their Christmas, you’re out.”
“Thank you, Janie,” he says with a relieved smile.
I look him over. “Why are you thanking me?”
He blinks, then straightens. “I mean, thank you for giving me a chance, Ms. Bennett.”
For a brief second, I could’ve sworn he looked relieved, like he thought he’d found a way out of this.
But before I can think about it too much, a herd of small bodies bursts through the door.
They screech to a halt when they see Rourke standing in the middle of the room, piling into each other like a chain reaction.
Emmalynn, one of my smallest kindergartners, points at Rourke. “Why is there a giant in our classroom?”
“He’s not a giant, Emmalynn,” I say, automatically switching into teacher mode. “He’s trying out for the Christmas pageant.”
“For what part? A giant elf?” she asks, staring up at Rourke with wide eyes.
Rourke looks at me for help. I cross my arms and let him suffer for a bit.
“I think Will Ferrell already took that part,” Rourke finally answers.
“He can’t be an elf anyway,” Jack says next, circling Rourke slowly. “He doesn’t have pointy ears.”
“Well, I think his ears do look kind of weird,” Lily says.
Rourke touches one of his ears self-consciously. “My ears aren’t weird.”
“Do you live at the North Pole?” asks Lily.
“Well, no,” he says, glancing at me.
Lily tilts her head. “He’s better looking than last year’s Santa, the one with the saggy neck.”
Rourke stifles a laugh. “Um…thanks?”
A few other kids wander in, all of them staring at Rourke like he’s an exotic animal from the zoo.
“I think he looks like the man on the front of one of those books Ms. Bennett reads,” Lily says.
My head flicks toward my desk. She can’t mean the romance books I read over lunch break when I don’t have cafeteria duty. I never let the kids see those.
“Lily,” I say with a forced smile. “I think you must have my books confused with someone else’s.”
“Nope. I saw it in your bag this week. You know, the one with the muscly guy kissing a girl? Here, I’ll show you!” She heads for my desk and I start to panic.
Oh my gosh. She did find my book.
I dive across my desk for my bag, barely snagging it before Lily reaches it.
“Ms. Bennett, why is your face red?” Jack asks.
“Yeah, why is Ms. Bennett’s face so red?” Rourke’s grin widens. “Almost as red as those toes.”
“No reason.” I shake my head and toss my bag under my desk.
I clear my throat, trying to get this rehearsal under control since it’s clearly gone off the rails. “Okay, everyone. Let’s all grab a script from the table and start auditions.”
The kids head to the circle of chairs as I look for an adult-sized chair for Rourke. When I turn around, I have to bite back a laugh. Rourke is sitting on one of the tiny chairs the kids use, looking ridiculously oversized, like Buddy the Elf.
I take a seat opposite of him. “Let’s talk about our Christmas pageant auditions.”
Rourke looks at the script, then back at me, frowning. “Who wrote this?”
“The director who retired last year.”
He thumbs through it. “This script is terrible.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“It’s awful. I mean, who would put an elf in Bethlehem? This makes no sense.”
“It doesn’t have to make sense,” I say, my irritation growing. “It’s just a cute Christmas play. All the parents love the tradition, even if the historical accuracy is wrong.”
“Wrong? It’s horrendous,” Rourke continues, oblivious to my death stare. “You’re mixing fiction with history. Bethlehem and Santa. Elves and shepherds. Real kids don’t talk like this: ‘Oh, Mother, that is perfectly wonderful news’? No six-year-old has ever said that sentence.”
I wave my hand in the air. “They’re playing adult roles. It’s fine.”
“And my part as Santa? He’s painfully cliché. If you’re going to force me to play a jolly man who people only see once a year, at least make him funny or, I don’t know, endearing? Not this cardboard cutout who only says ho-ho-ho the entire time.”
“But that’s what Santa says,” I argue. “And also because our last Santa couldn’t remember his lines.”
“Well, maybe your last Santa should’ve retired. Because this script makes me hate Christmas even more than I already do.”
“You hate Christmas?” Lily’s eyes nearly pop out of her head. “I thought that was illegal.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s going to the principal’s office for saying that,” Jack says matter-of-factly.
“Or maybe jail!” Emmalynn adds.
“I think we need to take a step back,” I say, trying desperately to regain control of the situation.
But Rourke’s already got his own agenda, rising from the tiny chair like he’s on his personal anti-Christmas soapbox.
“You know what I think?” Rourke says. “Christmas is a stupid holiday filled with blatant consumerism and Santa stories that aren’t even real.”
All the kids gasp as if Rourke just let out a string of swear words.
Emmalynn’s lip trembles slightly. “What do you mean…Santa’s not real?”
“ENOUGH.” I stand up so fast, my chair nearly tips over. Every child in the room turns to stare at me, their wide eyes shocked at my outburst.
I stare at Rourke. “Do you have ANY idea what you just did?” I say, keeping my voice low enough that the kids can’t hear. “I’m going to have a bunch of angry parents calling me tonight because YOU couldn’t keep your grinchy opinions to yourself for ONE rehearsal.”
He opens his mouth, but I’m not done.
“You know what?” I get in his face now. “You’re right about one thing. You CAN do better. So prove it.” I shove the script at him. “You have exactly one week to rewrite this script into something better. And if you can’t? Well, then you’re stuck saying a bunch of lame ho-ho-hos.”
I turn to the kids, forcing a smile. “Okay, everyone, rehearsal is over early today. Line up at the door and we’ll head to the front of the school where your parents are waiting.”
As the kids scramble to the door, I turn back to Rourke.
“One more thing…” I whisper hotly. “I never agreed to work with an egotistical hockey player who ruins Christmas for everyone. So here’s how this is going to work: you show up next week with a better attitude, or I’m calling Principal Callahan and telling him you’re not a good fit for this project. Got it?”
Instead of waiting for his answer, I gather my things and herd the kids out the door, leaving him standing alone in my classroom, looking like he’s finally realized he might have actually screwed up.