Chapter 24
Time blurs, and I don’t know what time we finally fall asleep—only that it’s long after several slow, indulgent rounds of lovemaking, punctuated by lazy snuggles, sleepy chatter, and a midnight snack. It turns out Santa—aka Chef Eben—makes a mean grilled cheese.
We talk for hours. I learn that Eben hasn’t been in a relationship since his mom was diagnosed with early-onset dementia in his early twenties. He’s spent the last decade working and caring for her—no time to date and no real friends to speak of. He’s quiet and shy and a bit of a loner.
I remember those awkward family photos on his wall—the lanky frame, the too-wide smile—and put two-and-two together: he’s a late bloomer—one of those people who grew into their looks later in life.
I skim a finger down his jaw as we lie shoulder to shoulder on my pillows, trying very hard not to drool.
He smiles again, and my heart just… stalls.
Puberty didn’t do him any favors—but adulthood sure as hell did.
I tell him about Deb and Don, about my soul-sucking job that barely covers rent. He tells me Golding Home hires designers all the time and promises to ask his dad if they have any openings. “Your living room alone could be a portfolio piece,” he says.
The way his voice drops when he says it, the way I have to wrap my legs around his to keep from kicking my feet in giddy disbelief—
Yeah. That leads to a few more rounds of naughty list activities.
By the time I curl up on his chest, wrapped in his scent and steady heartbeat, I’ve never felt safer. Or more at home.
When sunlight streams through my window in the early-bird hours of Sunday morning, my eyes flutter open—and there he is. Already wide awake. And already… grinning?
“Morning, Mrs. Claus,” he says, one arm tucked behind his head like a cocky bastard.
I roll over and realize my boobs are fully out. I yank the covers up.
“Hello,” I say, squinting at him. “What’s gotten into you?”
“I think you mean… what’s gotten into you?” he says, waggling his brows as he holds up something naughty.
I gasp and bolt upright, suddenly wide awake.
“You went through my drawers?” I screech, lunging for it. He holds it just out of reach.
“I was just trying to put your Santa hat away—kind of weird that you keep it in your end table by the way—”
“Nightstand,” I snap.
“Whatever,” he shrugs. “Anyway, that’s when I spotted some… very festive toys.”
“I. Will. Kill. You.”
“Aww, but Mrs. Claus…” He grins wickedly, brandishing the vibrator. “If you kill me, who’s gonna fuck you with this Santa hat?”
“I am,” I say, folding my arms. “Obviously.”
“Come on,” he waggles his brows and flicks it on. The hum curls through my belly. “Can I?”
Heat flashes up my neck. I’m sore, a little shy—but still, I can’t resist him. I slide my knees apart and lift the duvet in invitation.
He smirks and disappears under the covers.
A breath later, the buzz skates up my spine. He eases it into me, angled just right. I melt into the pillows as he urges my thighs wider and lowers his mouth, tongue flicking over my clit.
It takes less than a minute for me to come undone.
He flips the toy, revealing the clit stimulator hidden beneath the white trim of Santa’s hat, and moves it to my nipple. His tongue circles the other, and I whimper helplessly. His free hand begins a slow descent between us—
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
We both freeze. Santa’s “hat” drops and vanishes somewhere in the sheets.
“Jesus,” Eben mutters, half sitting up. “Who the hell—”
He’s sliding out of bed, still hard, and grabbing for his Santa pants. “They’re knocking like you owe them money.”
KNOCK. KNOCK.
I scramble for a T-shirt and a pair of leggings from a pile of clean laundry. One glance in the mirror confirms the rat’s nest on top of my head. I’ll deal with that later.
Eben follows me to the door, still yanking up his red velvet pants. It looks a little like I booked a private Santa Claus stripper just for me.
Oh, well. Time to give the mailman a show.
I peek through the peephole—only to see Ally pounding her ever-loving mind out on my door. I mutter a curse and fling it open.
“God, did you join the SWAT team recently, or—”
Ally storms past me—and immediately locks eyes with Eben.
His erection has thankfully deflated, but he’s still shirtless, tousled, and wearing the unmistakable pants of a man who’s had a very festive night.
Ally, somehow, seems too frazzled to register it.
“Oh my God, Melody, I’ve been calling you for hours—I thought you were dead.”
I glance at my phone. Sure enough, in addition to three missed calls from Cassie, there are twelve from Ally.
“Okay, well… I’m not. I’ve just been—busy.”
Ally gives Eben the once-over, eyes trailing from his messy hair down to his bare, muscled chest, finally landing on his red pants. Even though he’s not hard anymore, the outline of him is still… visible.
Her eyebrows shoot up.
Oh God. I’m never going to live this down.
“Sorry, I see that,” she says, flashing a sit-eating grin. “I’m just not used to you being so… preoccupied.”
She takes a few steps in, glances around, and scrunches her nose.
“Did you guys have sex in here?”
“God, no. Ally, shut up.”
“Cause it kind of—”
“Ally!” I cry, heat rushing to my face.
Ally throws up her hands. “Okay, okay, sorry. It’s just that if you did, I was about to throw you a party. Like a first communion, but for someone who hasn’t gotten laid in a thousand years.”
Eben laughs. “Then I guess you’d better add my name to the cake.”
Ally and I both turn to gape at him.
“No way. Hot Santa’s celibate? Say it ain’t so.”
My face flushes, and so does his—probably thinking about all the very non-celibate things we just did all over my apartment.
He shrugs, a little sheepish. “I kind of… keep to myself.”
Ally snorts. “Well, I’m glad you two reclusive freaks found each other.”
She wanders over to the only burned trays of cookies that didn’t make it to the trash and nibbles the lone semi-edible edge of a lemon hockey puck.
God love her—she’ll eat anything that’s even remotely edible and dusted with sugar.
“Other than not-so-secretly fucking and setting these cookies on fire—” She pauses, squinting at the tray. “Wait… are these for the old folks?”
She picks up a blackened lemon puck and whacks it against the side of the counter. It doesn’t even crack. I’m pretty sure it dings the laminate.
“Because if so, you’re about to owe the entire nursing home a new set of dentures.”
“They were supposed to be,” I say sheepishly.
Ally grins. “Oh, you were definitely having sex then—‘cause you haven’t burned a Christmas cookie in, like, seven years.”
Flustered, I snatch the cookie from her and toss it back on the tray. Eben calmly slides it to the far end of the counter—out of her reach and, more importantly, out of my throwing range.
“I’m sorry, did you need something?” I ask, flustered but not actually mad.
Ally stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “The Cherryville Flea Market? Did you forget?”
Eben and I exchange guilty glances—looks that say, 'Yep, we absolutely forgot, but we were busy doing things that involved no clothes and a lot of powdered sugar.'
Ally rolls her eyes. “I see your sexcapades have officially fried your brains.” She claps her hands together, switching into publicist mode.
“Well, chop chop, children. We can’t have those kids whispering their hopes and dreams to strange men in velvet suits without giving the forgotten generation five dollars first.”
We’ve got about half an hour before the flea market opens, so we swing by Eben’s house on the way so he can freshen up (aka put on some underwear).
The second he steps out of the car, Ally lets out a low whistle.
“A butt that won’t quit and a house in the Estates? Girl, put a ring on it.” She tilts her head to one side, eyes gleaming. “Or maybe you already did,” she adds with a wink, making an obscene jerking-off motion.
I reach back from the passenger seat to smack her hand. “Ally!”
She grins—but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
In all my embarrassment over her nearly walking in on us, I fail to notice her puffy, red-rimmed eyes—like she’s been crying.
She catches me playing mental CIA and immediately turns her head, pretending to admire Eben’s mailbox.
“Ally, are you—”
“Are you spending Christmas with him?” she interrupts.
“What?” My brows knit. “What do you mean?”
“Are you and Mr. Claus going to spend the holiday weekend knocking boots or what?”
I blink. “I always spend Christmas with you—”
“I think Teddy and I are going away for the weekend.”
My frown is immediate. “Oh.”
“Yeah, sorry. It was a last-minute decision.”
“Are you guys… okay? Where is he?”
“He’s home with Tids. I think he ate part of a dead squirrel at the dog park and now he’s got raging diarrhea.” She chuckles. “Dumb dog.”
Her voice cracks just slightly on the laugh.
I stare at her for a long beat. There’s something she’s not telling me.
If the roles were reversed, she’d hound me until I cracked. She’d poke and prod and force me to spill the beans.
But I’m not like her. She’ll tell me when she’s ready.
We sit in heavy silence until Eben returns to the truck, smelling like aftershave and sandalwood. He smiles, and I manage a weak smile back. My eyes flick back to Ally, but she’s still facing the window.
I swear I see a tear slip down her cheek—
But the light shifts, and she swipes it away before I can be sure.