Christmas Treats - A Collection of Holiday Rom-coms

by Piper Rayne

  I love Christmas more than is probably reasonable. I have more festive, ugly and light-up sweaters than all of my family and friends combined. I literally have one for every day of December. As soon as Thanksgiving is over, it’s time for tinsel town—that’s what I call my apartment this time of year.

  I enjoy everything Christmas embodies…except the elves. Those sons of a fruitcake can go straight to hell. Being called a little “elf nerd” every day for four years in high school because of my small size and pronunciation of my last name—Effnert—didn’t help me develop any fondness for them. I fully recognize that my hatred of elves is stupid. A childish hatred that any normal person would have grown out of. Yet, here I am, a grown woman starting to get cold sweats just thinking about putting on pointy ears.

  Swallowing the lump of dread in my throat, I nod as I put the final drop of almond extract in my recipe. “Fine. Okay. I’ll do it.” Brendan side-hugs me. “But I swear on every snowflake in the world, as soon as the last child sits on Santa’s lap, I’m out of there.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Good.” Rubbing my sweaty hands over my thighs, I watch as the mixer kneads the dough for my spritz cookies. I’d developed a craving for them over the last week. Not because Luke mentioned loving them, no way.

  Brendan steps up beside me, eyeing the bowl. “Are you making spritz cookies?”

  I know exactly what’s coming. “Yes,” I say as nonchalantly as I can.

  “Aren’t those Luke’s favorite?”

  “Are they?”

  I turn the mixer off, stepping away from my brother and dumping the dough on my board. I can’t look at him. He’ll read me like a book.

  “So things between you and Luke are…” He drags out the sentence, waiting for me to fill in the blank.

  I shrug. “I don’t know? Fine? We’re friends, Brendan.”

  “Even after what he did?”

  “He’s your best friend and close with the family. It’s not like I can avoid him,” I snort, hoping to hell he’s buying what I’m saying.

  He makes a rude noise, flicking a stray chunk of dough at me. I can’t let myself think about Luke too much. I won’t go down that road again, wishing for something that will never happen. I know Luke cares about me and his driving me home was a kindness he did for my brother.

  “Whatever,” Brendan sighs as he hoists himself off my sofa. “I’ll see you at the event. Bring some of those cookies.”

  Following him to the front door, I wave goodbye and flip the lock. Walking back into the kitchen, I pull out my cookie press and slip on the shape cutter that I want. Spritz cookie dough is dryer than regular cookie dough, so I don’t play with it as I make a long sphere. Pushing the dough into the press and attaching the back piece, I slowly begin pushing out small amounts.

  A memory of me making these cookies and Luke running into the kitchen to steal a cooling tray of treats flashes across my mind.

  As if he knows I’m thinking about him, my phone starts Ho Ho Ho-ing, alerting me to a text. I see Luke’s name flash across the screen.

  A warm wave of emotion spreads through my body. Since driving me home last week, Luke has been blowing up my phone. He hasn’t asked me out—as friends, obviously—but he’s been texting me every day. Mundane things like how he remembered how much he hates shoveling snow or how the movie The Santa Clause was a classic. They’re silly messages with no substance but I eagerly anticipate them.

  Plus, no matter what, we were friends.

  I internally roll my eyes at myself. Sure, friends. It’s felt anything but friendly. There’s always an undercurrent of sensuality. His words were kind and humorous, but they also had double meanings.

  I didn’t expect seeing him last week would affect me so dramatically. I truly thought I was over him. My schoolgirl crush dead and buried. Out of sight, out of mind, and all that other crap people say.

  One stupid glance at him though, and every emotion came flooding back.

  My heart couldn’t be that fickle, could it? He’d left. In the dead of night, I remind myself. But it doesn’t matter. The butterflies in my stomach turn into fire-breathing dragons at the memory of him leaning down and kissing my cheek.

  “Oh my God, Belinda. Knock it off,” I mutter to myself, using the finger with the least amount of grease to swipe my phone open. He’s sent me a picture. I almost flip the pan I’m pressing dough onto as I open the attachment. It’s him, pouting with some kind of burnt object in his hands and the caption: Wish you were here.

  My stomach flutters at his words. The bastard really knows how to tempt me. By showing me a devilishly handsome picture of himself and a poor baked good that was killed before its time.

  Fudge bars, I was falling in love with him all over again.

  I am being dramatic. So over-the-top dramatic that I’m even annoyed at myself, but it can’t be helped. Now that I’m here, staring at what I have to wear, reality is hitting me. Hard.

  The costume is horrible. The pointy ears and shoes, horrific. And the worst part of it is that we aren’t dressing up as fun, colorful elves. Nope. The costume is straight out of my Babcia’s curio cabinet of nightmares. Old-fashioned overalls and everything. What the hell have I agreed to?

  Covering my face with my hands, I hide my pout.

  “Just don’t look at the outfit. Put it on blindly and don’t think about it, Bee.”

  I stop breathing. Slowly, my hands glide down my face until I can see Luke through my fingers. This can’t be happening.

  “Why are you here?”

  His quick smile has my stomach flipping. “Isn’t it obvious?” He throws his arms wide and poses. I’m so focused on his gorgeous face and that damn dimple in his chin that I didn’t see his outfit. His very red, and very padded outfit.

  Son of a nutcracker. He’s Santa.

  “Crap.” The word slips out of my mouth as I take him all in. It’s not fair that he looks this good in a Santa suit. The red is a little too harsh for his skin tone and the padding is ridiculous, but it doesn’t hide his strong, muscular form. His thigh muscles strain the fabric of the pants then fall loosely down, and his shoulders are testing the limits of the jacket. Thank goodness that his fake belly is covering his crotch because I am not sure I’m ready to see the size of that package. He is the hottest Santa I’ve ever seen.

  It isn’t just the kids who will go nuts when they see him. I’m pretty sure some of the moms and dads out there will want to sit on his lap too.

  “Bee? You okay?”

  “Y-yes! Yes! Sorry, got lost in my head for a second.” I run a hand down my ponytail nervously. “Umm, did Brendan con you into helping too?”

  “Yup. Said I owed him or some shit since I’m crashing at his place. It’s not like I’m in his way. He works nonstop.”

  “This is true,” I agree. As a firefighter, Brendan works crazy hours for long periods of time. “Where is he, by the way? If I’m doing this he better be here for moral support.”

  “I heard him a while ago, but I haven’t seen him,” Luke says, taking his eyes off me to scan the area. “How the hell did he get you to agree to be an elf? I thought you hated elf culture.”

  “Oh my God, you make me sound like a horrible person and a lunatic. It’s not that I hate all elves. Buddy the elf is okay in my books.”

  “Oh good. I’m glad that a human raised by elves and dressed like one passes your high bar.”

  “Hey! I like Wayne and Larry too.”

  “Who the—”

  “You’ve never watched Prep and Landing?” My voice is way too loud for this conversation. Bringing my hand up to my temple, I shake away my shock. I need to get back on track. “Why are you teasing me about this?” I ask him on a laugh. “You of all people know why I hate elves.”

  “I do. That’s why I asked how Brendan got you to agree to this.”

  “I’m doing it for the kids. He even showed me pictures of some of them from the last event.”

  Luke’s s
mile grows with amusement. And did his eyes twinkle in delight? Damn, his costume is really messing with my hormones.

  “Sounds about right.” He nods, chuckling.

  “Yo! Santa! We need you over here,” a voice calls. Luke’s eyes shift over my shoulder. Giving a dismissive wave, he looks back at me with a shake of his head.

  “Duty calls.”

  A witty quip is on the tip of my tongue, ready to burst free when his hand comes up and brushes down the side of my face, rendering me mute. I stop breathing—something I seem to do a lot of these days with him around. A gentle touch from him causes my body to turn into lava and all rational thought to leave my brain. The backs of his fingers glide down my cheek, lingering on the edge of my jaw before they stop at the base of my neck, turning and giving me a squeeze. He steps closer. So close, my nose would have touched his chest if my head hadn’t been angled upward. With another squeeze, he softly speaks. “Close your eyes.” My lids go heavy, ready to obey his every command. This is it. Could this be it? Is he going to kiss me? “And put on the costume. Don’t think about it.”

  My eyes shoot open. Mother fudging mistletoe. He isn’t seducing me. He’s trying to help me get dressed for the event.

  Once again, I’ve proven that this man can make me a fool. Snorting out a puff of air, I nod, dropping my chin to my chest. “Yeah. Good advice. Thanks.”

  I take a step back, needing to put some space between us. His hand is still clasping my neck, but when I move again, it falls away. His smile dims. “I’ll see you out there, Santa. Go check your list, or whatever.”

  Luke is looking at me strangely. It’s then I realize I’m giving him a crazy grin, trying to overcompensate how weird I’m feeling with forced joy. Turning down the wattage of my smile, I spin around. Grabbing my costume, I march my way to the bathroom. Not looking back.

  Cheese and rice, when was I going to get over this stupid lust crush? I’m a grown woman. Independent and kick-ass. The only obsession I needed was the one I had with sugar. The bathroom door clicks shut behind me as I head into a stall.

  This is good. I can’t see what I’m putting on and I wouldn’t think about it. Nope. I wasn’t going to think about the ridiculous striped leggings I was pulling on, or the tiny overalls, the pointed felt coverings that fit over my flats or the hat that flopped sideways on my head. Not. Thinking. About. It.

  “You are strong. It’s just a stupid costume. You are wearing it.” I say the words out loud, needing the affirmations. A costume is no big deal. “No big deal,” I repeat.

  Squaring my shoulders, I slam out of the stall, only seeing a flash of color in the mirror before running out. I’m proud of myself. I can definitely do this.

  I shake my head, chuckling over how basic I was being about this dislike of elves. Maybe I was over it now. High school was years ago, and no one had called me “elf nerd” as an adult. People grow up, right? I could leave the past behind me and maybe learn to appreciate cute elves. From a distance.

  My mood takes a turn for the better with that newfound outlook. Feeling awesome, almost confident that this afternoon is going to be fun.

  A booming laugh to the side of me has my head turning as I continue to walk to where Santa’s chair is set up. I come to an abrupt halt. A cold shiver works its way up my spine. My hands become instantly clammy. There’s no hope for my heart.

  Because there is Luke, dressed in all his Santa glory, a white fluffy beard and everything…with his arm across the shoulders of Amelia Larkson.

  Protecting Santa

  Belinda

  I tried. I really did. I tried to let it go, to be the bigger person, but there is something about Amelia Larkson that gets under my skin.

  Don’t get me wrong, she is in no way a good person. She’s…decent enough, but a master manipulator. That’s what made her popular in high school. There’s just something about Amelia that makes the whole package a little bit rotten.

  She didn’t date Luke or my brother—thank goodness—but that hasn’t stopped her from trying. Flirting her way into their good books.

  “No way! Is that you, little elf nerd?”

  And there it is.

  I have to force down the bile in my throat as I turn fully toward them and grit my teeth. I’m pretty sure I’m grimacing instead of smiling. She waves me over, patting Luke’s chest. It’s then I see that his arm isn’t on her but reaching for something to the side. Amelia gives me a triumphant smile. I despise her.

  The only saving grace to this whole situation is that she isn’t dressed up. Meaning, she isn’t a part of the event and won’t be hanging off Luke the whole afternoon. Can you imagine if she was Mrs. Claus? If she had been, I would have gladly introduced her to Merry and Joy—aka my fists.

  “You look so adorable, little elf nerd. The elf look was made for you. Obviously.” She says this in a sweet voice, but I hear the underlying tone.

  “Thanks, Amelia. It’s good to see you.” Not.

  “I was just telling Lukey here that I had no idea he was coming home for the holidays and he should’ve called me. We have so much to catch up on.” She giggles at him, rubbing his chest again. Lukey? Oh, I bet he hates that.

  “As I was saying, Amelia, it’s been a busy couple of days, and it doesn’t look like things are slowing down. But it was good to see you.” Having known Luke for most of my life, I can tell right away he’s lying. There’s an edge to his voice. He gently grabs her hand, giving her one of his stunning smiles before placing it nicely at her side.

  Annoyance flashes on her face for a second before she shakes it off. Pushing her blond hair off one shoulder and onto the other, she shrugs at him. “Well, if your schedule opens up, let me know. I’m just a phone call away.” A rude sound escapes me. In a flash, her glare is on me. She flips her hair, again, and then struts off.

  My shoulders hunch over in relief when she’s out of sight. “Yikes. That was rough.”

  “She appeared out of nowhere. Almost scared the fruitcake right out of me.”

  “Santa! What language.” A warm flip goes through my belly as he smiles down at me. Reaching over he pinches the edge of my costume, playing with the frilly material.

  “You’re looking very festive.”

  “Says Santa to his workshop elf.”

  “Got me there,” he agrees, taking a step forward. “Though this outfit isn’t too far off from your usual Christmas wear.”

  “Excuse me? The colors are close, but I would never, ever, wear stripes this way. A man must have created this elf costume because there is no way a woman would ever put such large stripes on leggings. My legs look like candy cane tree trunks!”

  “You look beautiful.” He pauses. “You always look beautiful.” There’s a strange look in his eyes that I can’t read, like he wants to say something more but isn’t sure. Confused by the sudden change, I feel my smile falter. Before I’m able to get out a word, we’re interrupted by a woman with a headset and a clipboard.

  “Is this the elf you wanted to work with?” The woman questions Luke, her tone hurried and stressed.

  “Yes, this is her.”

  “Thank Christ.”

  “He’s the reason for the season,” I say without thinking. Clipboard woman gives me a horrified look, like she’s never seen a talking elf before. Luke makes a choking sound.

  “You both need to get to the North Pole now. The doors are going to open in roughly five minutes.” She looks down at her clipboard. “You,” she says, making direct eye contact with me, even bending a little so we’re eye to eye. “Don’t let the kids bully or push you around. They’re already jacked up on sugar and when you add Santa to the mix, things get dicey. Protect Santa at all cost. There will be other elves running the line and sending kids to you, so you don’t need to worry about that, but keep each visit to under three minutes. Understand?”

  “Christmas depends on you, young elf,” Luke whispers out of the side of his mouth. The woman either ignores him or doesn’t hear him b
ecause she is still making aggressive eye contact with me.

  Is she waiting for a verbal response? “Yes. Okay. I understand.”

  She doesn’t look happy with my answer but that’s no surprise. Straightening up, she adjusts the top button on her black blouse, nods, then walks away.

  Two things occur me as I turn back to Luke. The first is that he requested to work with me. I didn’t want to read too much into that small request. The second is that we’re the main show. Well, Luke is as Santa, but I’m going to be right there in the trenches with him. He’s dragging me into the danger zone knowingly.

  Today would see me ripping children off Santa’s lap, trying to calm crying kids and, in all likelihood, having some undigested food item hurled at me.

  “If I get thrown up on, you’re going to owe me so big,” I tell him with steel to my voice.

  “I’m going to owe you? I’m Santa! It’s more likely I’m going to get thrown up on.”

  “Protect Santa at all cost,” I repeat mockingly, my voice going deep.

  “Alright. Fine.” Luke adjusts his beard from under his chin to back in place over his jaw. I miss his scruff already.

  With wide eyes, I look up at Luke as someone yells “Incoming” through the event space. We make a run for the North Pole—which is really just Santa’s big throne-like chair between two large fake snow piles. I’ve just placed myself at the end of the velvet rope path when the stampede hits. Cheers, laughter and cries of panic fill the room all at once. My heart is in my throat as the sound of tiny running feet gets closer and closer. Taking a deep breath, fixing my floppy hat and plastering on a big smile, I wait for the madness to begin.

  It takes only twelve minutes before the first puke accident happens.

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