Chapter 18
“Ithink I’m gonna be sick,” I say.
“Act natural,” Eben whispers in my ear.
But it’s too late. The residents know. It’s written all over their faces. They may have joint replacements, hearing aids, and pacemakers, but they were not born yesterday.
“Hi, boys and girls,” Eben says, clearing his throat to deepen his voice. He adds a nervous little wave.
“Oh, cut the crap,” Edna says. “We’re on to you two.”
“Yeah, they came together!” someone shouts.
“They sure did!” Millie fires back, and everyone laughs.
Oh my God, this is my worst nightmare. I was worried about Missy, not the geriatrics. I should have known this crowd would swan-dive straight into the gutter. Eben looks at me, lost for words—ridiculous and ridiculously cute in his wig, beard, and Santa hat, cheeks bright red.
“You know what, screw it,” I say. I yank off Santa’s wig and beard and pull the pillow out of his suit. In two seconds, he’s transformed into Sexy Santa, and the nursing-home ladies swoon. Even Missy peeks out of her office.
Eben is hot on his own, but there’s something about him in the suit without all the bells and whistles that is life-changing. I go for the belt. He leans down and murmurs, “What are you doing?”
“Roll with it,” I grit, opening his coat to reveal an undershirt clinging to rippling pecs and toned abs.
“You really think I’m not going to tap that?” I say, chin-jutting at his perfect torso.
“You go, girl,” a lady thumbs up.
“Santa baby!” another whistles.
“I’d hit it,” a gruff man crows, raising his cane. Everyone stares. “What?”
“Listen, Bob is allowed to be still figuring some things out,” I shrug.
Bob sniffs loudly.
“And so are we,” I say, gesturing between me and Eben.
Eben gives me a smug grin. I want to die, but I chose the path of public thirst, and now I have to own it.
“Go strut your stuff, Mr. Claus,” I say, and swat his ass. He flinches; okay, maybe I pushed the bit too far.
“Sorry,” I mutter, cheeks hot.
His hand seizes my waist, and he murmurs in my ear, low enough only I hear. “You’ll pay for that later.”
His hand deliberately skims my ass before he struts into the community room. The old ladies squeal for their upgraded Stripper Santa. Good thing he’s not bashful—these sex-crazed seniors are not exactly hands-off.
“Hey, ladies—hands to yourselves!” I call, marching in to play bouncer.
We’re nearly at the end of our hour, slouched in chairs, exhausted from entertaining at nine a.m. Half-empty pitchers of skim milk and OJ, trays of grocery-store cookies picked over in front of us.
Missy starts rounding up everyone for a field trip to the YMCA for a water aerobics class.
Edna hangs back, watching us with a glint in her eye.
“Psst,” she says, thumping the button on her wheelchair to inch forward. She points at us with a bony, yet impeccably manicured finger. “If you two ever need some privacy, my room is available.”
We jerk upright, eyes meeting. Eben turns away, covering his mouth to smother a laugh. I bite back my own smile and tip my head at her. “Uh, thank you, Edna. We’re okay, but that’s very kind.”
“For twenty bucks,” she adds with a heckler’s grin.
“Oh, wow,” I say, swallowing laughter. A sales pitch!
“It’s a steal. You can’t even get a motel room for that cheap anymore.”
“You’re right, you can’t,” I say, humoring her.
“And the sheets here? Three hundred thread count,” Edna nods, like it’s really something.
“That’s, like, Hilton-level comfort,” I say. Under the table, Eben grabs my knee, shaking with suppressed laughter.
“That’s right,” she says. Millie shuffles up, clearing her throat.
“Ed, what are you doing? We’ve got a bus to catch,” Millie scolds, tugging weakly at the wheelchair handles.
“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Edna spins her chair around and zooms toward the door.
“We’re gonna miss it,” Millie huffs, hustling to keep up.
“Oh, no!” Edna deadpans. “We’re gonna miss doing pool-noodle pushups in Speedos while teenagers point and laugh.”
As they go, Eben and I fold over in laughter. “Oh my God,” I wheeze, holding my sides.
“Can you imagine?” he asks. His red velvet knee brushes mine as our laughing ebbs. His gaze snags on the hem of my skirt. He looks away fast, pink creeping over his cheekbones. I glance down—my makeshift Santa dress has ridden up, flashing my nylon granny panties.
“Fuck,” I yelp, snapping my knees together and yanking the fur trim down—not that it helps. “You didn’t see that.”
He presses his lips together, fighting a smile.
“I don’t usually wear those,” I blurt. “I—I was in a pinch.”
He lifts both hands. “I’m not judging.”
“You are! You’re trying not to laugh!” I shove his shoulder.
He pinches thumb and forefinger. “Little bit,” he admits, nose wrinkling.
I punch his arm—and notice a woman shuffling toward us, concerned. She’s not much over sixty; I’ve seen her before. Quiet, lovely, keeps to herself. Her eyes are a piercing blue, familiar in a way that prickles my skin.
“Excuse me,” she says softly to Eben. “Do I know you?”
Eben turns, eyes widening. He shoots to his feet. “Ah, you’re going to be late for water aerobics,” he says, guiding her toward the hall with a hand on her shoulder.
“I just feel like I know you from somewhere,” she says, peering up at him.
He glances at me, then back at her. He’s warring with himself. I want to help, but I have no idea what’s going on—until she follows his gaze to me, and I see it: they have the same ice-blue eyes, hers still sharp beneath the haze of forgetting.
The heated conversation with Missy clicks into place.
As understanding hits me, he exhales, almost relieved. He bends to her eye level and takes both her hands.
“Hi, Mom,” he says softly.