by MINK
“You sure you’re okay?” I step toward her.
“Must be going. See you back at home!” With that, she turns and hurries off, her perfect ass making my mouth water.
Fuck. I scared her off. Me and my big dumb body and my big stupid hands and my goddamn thick everything. Of course she’s terrified. I almost knocked a ton of oats over on her. She’s smart to run away from me.
I trudge to the register and buy the cat food that’ll last Sylvester all the way through the next calendar year. That’s okay. This is his favorite brand. He won’t complain.
I peek around the store, trying to get another glimpse of Jocelyn, but I don’t see her. She’s probably hiding from me, waiting for me to leave so she can feel safe.
“Receipt, Mac?” Emily hands me the little rectangle of paper.
“Thanks.” I take it and notice it’s got something written at the top. “This a stock number or something? I don’t think I’ll need to reorder anytime soon.” I pat the big stack of cat food on my shoulder.
She puts her hand on her hip and flips her hair. “Not a stock number. It’s my number.”
“Like your employee number? You shouldn’t give that out, Emily. That’s dangerous. What if someone, I don’t know, used it to try and impersonate you or something?”
She gives me the same look I’ve gotten plenty of times in my life. The you big dummy look. I’ve never liked it, but I’ve gotten used to it. After all, I’m pretty damn huge, and I don’t always think the same way as other people. I’ve always been that way, as if I look at everything differently, through a different set of glasses. People don’t understand it. The only person I’ve ever met who’s never looked at me that way is Jocelyn, and now I’ve probably scared her off forever. My heart sinks at the thought.
“Just take it.” Emily gives me a long up and down look.
“Okay.” I pocket the receipt and hurry away from Emily’s weird stares. Once I get the cat food loaded into my car, I get in and wait.
It’s only a few minutes before Jocelyn pops out, some supplies in her arms. Just seeing her makes me feel better about the weird moment with Emily. Maybe Jocelyn’s afraid of me, but she doesn’t think I’m an idiot. At least, I don’t think she does. That’s a win.
And with Jocelyn, I’ll take the wins as they come. Hopefully, one day, I’ll get the biggest win of all—her love. But I don’t dare to hope that big.
After all, something like that would take a Christmas miracle.
4
Jocelyn
“I’m not fixing this mailbox,” I mumble to myself as I stare at the parts I bought from the hardware store. He can go get his own mailbox materials and do it himself. I mean, he is the one that broke it to begin with. I’m sure the pretty girl at the hardware store would be all for helping him find whatever he needs. He can call her right up since he has her phone number now.
I got the pleasure of listening to her brag about how she gave Mac her number, and how he took it. I knew it was Mac she was talking about because she called him the sexy man beast. She is cute, too, with her shiny blond hair and those plump lips of hers that are made for kissing. I reach up and touch my mouth. She is curvy in all the right places, and even I thought her makeup was on point. I sigh, knowing I can’t compete with how glamorous she looks. I guess he likes those put-together type girls.
I usually have pencils tucked behind both ears and holding my hair up while I can’t figure out where I put my pencil.
I’ll fix the box tomorrow. I get up from my work bench to go back into the house with a new plan for the evening forming in my mind. One that involves me in my pajamas with my Kindle surrounded by snacks. The perfect night for a single girl.
As I always do when I walk into the house, I hit the power button on my laptop to wake it up to check for new sales. I see there’s another email from this Nicolas man. He’s a persistent little bugger.
I’m in your neighborhood. I’ll swing by soon.
“What the heck?” I read it again. How does he know what neighborhood I’m in? He must’ve meant to send that email to someone else. That has to be it. I fire back another quick email for clarification. I should delete the whole email chain. This toy company wanting to meet with me has scam written all over it in glittery holiday colors.
The sound of bells jingling drift into the house. I walk over to the living room window and peek out to see where the sound is coming from, but all I see is Mac’s adorable cat in the window looking straight at me. He’s a little cutie pie. Maybe I could somehow lure him over here, and then Mac would come looking for him. I’ll have to think more about that plan later.
“Jocelyn.” I think I hear my name called. I walk back toward my side door that goes out to my garage. I step out and look around, but I don’t see anything. The doors are all closed. I walk over to my work area and stare at the stupid mailbox. I already know I’m going to fix it even though I’m upset with Mac. It’ll drive me nuts knowing it’s out here broken.
“You do amazing work.”
I let out a small scream, then turn around quickly to see who said it. An older man in a red suit is standing there with a hat on his head that looks like a Christmas stocking. He’s holding up an ornament I made. My heart begins to race. I should be afraid, but the man doesn’t look as though he’d hurt a fly. He has a kind face with a bushy white beard, and he’s a little on the plump side. He’s the quintessential dadbod Santa. I size him up just in case I have to make a quick getaway and decide I could totally outrun him if I had to. But that still doesn’t explain how the hell he got into my workshop.
“Don’t be scared. I’m Nicolas, or Santa, if you like.”
I stare at him. He’s clearly deranged if he’s going around introducing himself as Santa.
“I told you I was stopping by.”
I grab the broken piece of wood from the mailbox as a weapon.
Nicolas holds his hands up.
“Why are you in my house?”
“This is your workshop,” he points out.
“What do you want?” I start to circle around the table. He doesn't seem scary, but he still let himself inside somehow. The garage doors are closed. It’s not like he magically popped in here from the North Pole or something. “Great cosplay. Now you should leave.”
“I need your help.” He lets out a long sigh. “I can’t keep up like I once did. Each year there are more and more kids.”
“Kids that you have to deliver gifts to for Christmas?” I ask incredulously.
“Yes!” His whole face lights up with a smile. “This is so much easier than I thought it would be. I was sure I’d have to show you some magic. Though, to be honest, I think you could use some magic.”
Okay, he’s crazy. That’s the thing about crazy. It can come in a sweet looking grandpa package. He starts to reach inside his suit. Is he getting a weapon?
“Don’t move!” I shout, but he keeps moving, taking a step around the table toward me. I bump into something, making me swing the piece of wood in my hand. The Santa man jumps back, pulling his hand back out of his jacket. Glitter flies between us as he stumbles back to miss being hit. I hate glitter. It’s pretty and all, but it’s hell to clean up.
I swear it all happens in slow motion as he stumbles and falls backwards. I wince as I watch his head connect with the side of my worktable before he tumbles to the floor. I stand there in shock, unsure of what to do. He lies on the concrete floor with his eyes closed. I rush over to him, dropping to my knees to check his pulse. What have I done? The man was only reaching for glitter!
His eyes flutter open, and he smiles up at me. “You have to find the new Santa now.”
“Okay, Santa, sure.” I agree, going along with his crazy. “How many fingers do you see?” I hold up two, but he doesn’t answer me.
“It’s a special job, but I think you’ll find that perfect someone. You must hurry. Christmas Eve is near. The children are depending on you.” His eyes start to close again.
“Holy shit! Santa guy, where are you?” I frantically look everywhere for him, but the only thing I see is his hat.
I pick it up and look at it. The tag inside says it was made at the North Pole. I glance around the room again, but the man is nowhere to be found. Even the glitter is gone.
“What the hell is happening?” I rub my cheeks and stare at where I could swear the Santa cosplayer fell. But no. There’s nothing. No glitter. No lunatic Santa.
Maybe I’m the crazy one after all.
5
Mac
I watch out my window as Jocelyn moves from room to room in her house. All her lights are on. Even the ones in her garage. It makes me nervous. Why is she burning every light in the house?
“What’s the deal?” I pet Sylvester as he watches me from his cat tree I put against the front window. “She’s freaked out or something.”
Pacing in front of my window, I keep an eye on her yard and her shadow as it passes from room to room. Why is she so antsy? Something’s wrong. Oh, shit. Does she think there’s a prowler? Is she scared?
Just the thought of someone creeping around her house has me grabbing my coat and knit hat, lacing up my boots and stomping out to my porch.
The moon’s up now, the night clear and chilly. I head down my front steps and stride past the busted mailbox stake. A bitter wind whips down our street, and though there aren’t any clouds, the air promises snow.
Her lights are still on, though her Christmas décor seems to have been forgotten. After a quick circuit around her house where I don’t see anything except an owl looking down at me from the strip of woods beyond Jocelyn’s back fence, I return to the front. No prowler. Not even a nosy neighbor. It’s too cold out here for anyone except me.
The blowup Santa is deflated, and none of lights are glowing on her bushes. She may be able to do everything for herself, but this is something I can at least help with. I find the outdoor plug along her front foundation and look around for her extension cord. It’s in the brittle grass behind me.
Grabbing it up, I finish attaching all the strands to the power strip, and then I plug it in. Everything lights, and the Santa on the front porch inflates with a whir. He’s not lined up right, probably got turned around from the wind. Instead of facing the street, he’s looking right into Jocelyn’s living room.
I hop up the steps and grab him when I hear a bloodcurdling scream.
“Jocelyn!” I forget the Santa inflatable and bang on her door. “Are you okay?” I turn the handle, but it’s locked. “Jocelyn!”
She doesn’t answer. Fuck! I’m already in motion before I’ve thought it through. Pulling back, I heave forward with my shoulder and bust through her front door, wood splinters flying as I stumble inside and almost knock her over.
“Jocelyn.” I grip her shoulders and pull her tight to me as I look around the room. “Is someone here? What’s wrong?”
She presses her face to my chest, and I swear I feel warmth blooming from that little bit of contact. “I-I’m fine. I just saw …” She doesn’t finish her sentence.
The wind blows through her busted front door and rustles the garlands on her small Christmas tree.
“Shit. I’m sorry about your door.”
She shivers. “It’s okay.”
I don’t want to let her go, but she’s shaking. So I strip off my coat, drape it over her, then turn and close the door as best I can. The chilly air still seeps through the busted frame, but at least I can throw the deadbolt and keep the door in place.
“I can fix the door. Don’t worry,” she says, but when I turn back to her, she isn’t looking at the door. She’s staring at the window.
The Santa is gone. Damn, I think I tore it down when I went through the door. What else am I going to destroy today? “I’m sorry, Jocelyn.”
“I can fix it,” she says again and pulls my gigantic coat tighter around her small frame. The thing almost touches the ground, and the collar looks like there’s a giant bear arm wrapped around her. “I’ve got plenty of wood and putty. It’s just a door.”
“No, I mean—” I point to the window. “I think I killed Santa.”
Her eyes flick to mine, and the color drains from her face. “Wh-what did you say?”
I pull her to my chest again, even though she didn’t ask. Even though I’m afraid I could hurt her. Because in this moment, I can tell she needs me.
“What’s wrong, little bit?” I stroke her hair.
She snuggles closer.
Goddamn, that feels so good. No, not just good, fucking amazing. Jocelyn in my arms, holding on to me. This is what I’ve dreamed about for so long. Well, I suppose I didn’t dream about mauling her blowup Santa and tearing down her door—but the hug part, definitely.
“Nothing’s wrong. I just got a little scared.” She’s so small and delicate in my arms.
I want to lift her up and hug her, but I don’t want to spook her. “What scared you?”
“I …” Her words fade again.
If there’s a prowler, I’ll rip his head off. “Did you see someone?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
I sigh as another vicious breeze blows through the door. “Want to come to my place? I can make some hot chocolate, and Sylvester can—”
“Yes,” she answers quickly, and she turns a little toward her garage.
“Did you see someone in there?” I contemplate how easy it would be for me to kill a man with my bare hands and dispose of him in the strip of woods behind her house.
“No one’s in there. I’m just a little …” She shakes her head, then leans back and looks up at me with her big eyes. “Let’s just go to your place, okay?”
Does she have any idea how long I’ve waited to hear those words from her lips?
“Sure thing. I’ll keep you safe, Jocelyn. You don’t have to be scared. Not when I’m around.” I wrap my arm around her waist and guide her out of her house.
This is the opportunity I’ve wanted for so long, and I’m not going to waste it. Sylvester better put on his best kitty manners, and I’d better make the most delicious hot chocolate of my life—because this sort of magical chance doesn’t come around often.
6
Jocelyn
“He’s so sweet.” I pet Sylvester as he sits in my lap purring his little heart out. If I could purr, I’d likely be doing it right now. I can’t believe I’m over at Mac’s house. He pulled me close and held me in his massive arms. That alone might have been worth killing Santa.
“Suddenly, he's a lap cat,” I think I hear Mac say under his breath.
“What?” I ask.
“I hope you like extra marshmallows.” Mac turns around with a mug in his hand and places it on the table next to me. I jerk my eyes up from his thick, muscled thighs. I flush, hoping he missed me staring.
“Who doesn't like extra marshmallows?” I take a sip of the chocolatey goodness and let out a small moan. “This is wonderful.” Of course he can make killer hot chocolate. The man is perfect. I bet there isn't anything he can’t do. Except be small; there is no way he could manage that.
I lick my lips as I set the cup back down. Mac surprises me when he drops in front of me so that we’re eye level. Sylvester jumps from my lap. I lock my fingers together, but Mac grabs them, tangling his fingers with mine.
“You want to tell me what happened?”
I don’t know how he gets that deep voice of his to be soft, but he does.
“I’m not exactly sure. I think it may have been a bad dream?” What else could it have been? That has to be it. I must have fallen into a deep sleep and dreamt this whole thing up. Yet, that doesn’t explain the hat.
“Are you sure? I don’t think you’ve been napping.” He studies my face. How would he k
now if I was napping or not?
“It had to have been a dream. There was a man in my garage and—” Mac springs back up to his full height, towering over me.
“Drink your hot chocolate and stay in the house.” He’s on the move before I can grab him to stop him.
“What are you doing?”
He pulls out his phone, his fingers moving quickly across the screen.
“The house is armed. You’ll be safe here while I’m gone. Stay put,” he orders. My nipples tighten at the tone of his voice.
“But—”
“Lil bit. Stay. Put.” The softness in his face is gone. His jaw is set in a hard line, and the deadly look in Mac’s blue eyes tells me not to push him on this. I nod, my mouth suddenly so dry I’m unable to speak. It’s not because I’m scared of him or that look in his eyes. It’s because I’m turned on by his behavior. By the fact that he called me lil bit for the second time tonight. I love the fact that he is so willing to protect me. I press my thighs together and try not to wiggle in my chair.
He gives me one last long look before he leaves me alone in his house. I’m not sure if I want him to find this guy or not. I think the Santa impersonator was harmless. He was crazy, that’s all.
A few moments later, Mac is back. I jump up from the chair as he walks in the front door.
“I didn't see anything. I checked the whole place.”
I bite my lip and look down. “I guess I’ll head ba—”
“Stay.”
I jerk my head up, and he’s right in front of me. For a big man, he sure can move without making a sound. “Whatever it was, it spooked you. You should stay until you calm down.” He wraps his arm around me, pulling me into his giant chest again. I nuzzle into him. My thoughts drift to how it would feel to have my cheek pressed against his bare chest.
