Only You

by Marie Landry

  Meredith squeezes between people and plucks two shot glasses from the tray before returning to me. “Want one? It’s a signature drink the pub let us create a couple years ago. It’s creamy and pepperminty and delicious.” When I hesitate, she quickly says, “No pressure. I’d be happy to go get you another daiquiri or something non-alcoholic.”

  God, she’s sweet. She reminds me of Bridget in some ways. Thoughtful, upbeat without being annoying, and just an all-around good person. I love that she’s not pressuring or shaming me. I’ve been at countless parties where people call me a prude when I don’t drink, even if I’m the designated driver, or try to push drinks on me despite telling them no. I learned a long time ago not to care what people think and not to let their ignorance bother me. After the week I’ve had, though—hell, after the last few months I’ve had—it would be nice to let go and have a few drinks. I’m a responsible adult now, not a kid trying to impress people.

  “Thanks.” I take the glass, and at Meredith’s signal we both down the liquid. She was right, it’s delicious. Whatever my expression is, it makes her laugh.

  “Want another one?” She takes my glass and sets it on the tray with the other empties.

  I actually do, although I should probably pace myself. “Maybe later.”

  We go back to watching the pool game, and after awhile I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. When I return, Hugh is coming in with a full glass of Sprite from the bar.

  “Having fun?” he asks.

  “I am. Everyone is so great.”

  “Mm, they’re a good bunch.” He casts his gaze over the group with an affectionate tilt to his lips. His eyes return to my face and he asks, “Would you care to sit with me for a moment, Ivy? I don’t want to take you away from the others, but I’d like to talk to you.”

  I swallow past the lump in my throat. His expression tells me he’s not attempting to flirt. I ignore the tiny voice in my head that tsks and says it’s a shame because I wouldn’t mind a guy like Hugh flirting with me.

  “Nothing serious,” he adds. “I usually have time to get to know the new recruits, but it’s been a week since you started and this evening was our first time talking.”

  Ahh yes, so nice to be reminded about our encounter in the alley. I nod and follow him to one of the round two-seater tables on the far side of the room. Once we’re seated, we simply stare at each other. I’ve never been good at small talk or starting conversations with people I don’t know.

  “I’m sorry about this afternoon,” he says finally, leaning forward. When I mimic the gesture, I tell myself it’s because he’s speaking low and not because of that same magnetic pull I felt earlier today. “When I saw your distress over figuring out who I was, I realized we hadn’t met properly yet and you hadn’t seen me without the costume.”

  “There’s also the accent,” I say. “When we were talking before, you didn’t have an accent.”

  One side of his mouth inches up. “Well, I am in fact Scottish, just to make that clear. I hide the accent when I’m working, because who ever heard of a Scottish Santa? You’d be surprised what sticklers for details some of the kids are, especially the older ones who are questioning if Santa is real or not.” He pauses and takes a sip of his drink. “You’ve heard of method acting? Actors staying in character even when they’re not filming? I attempt to do that whenever I’m wearing the Santa suit, even during private conversations. Kids are curious, so wherever I am they watch and listen. Eyes and ears everywhere, I’m telling you.”

  The way his eyes sparkle as he speaks makes some of the tension ease from my shoulders.

  “Anyway, I don’t want you to be embarrassed about what you told me. It’s perfectly normal. The things adults wish for are a lot more complex than the things children wish for. Usually.”

  “Usually?”

  The last traces of a smile slip from his face and his eyebrows dip slightly. “It’s gotten harder the last few years. There are more broken families than ever before, and a lot of children are confused. Kids tell Santa all they want for Christmas is for Daddy to come home or for Mommy to stop being sad all the time. They want their families mended, or a loved one back from the dead. It’s truly heartbreaking at times.”

  Even though I never visited Santa as a kid, I can imagine asking for my parents back. Or asking for a loving family instead of my cold aunt and my indifferent uncle. Longing for normalcy and love and affection, and thinking Santa—the man who possesses enough magic to travel the entire globe in the span of a night in a sleigh pulled by flying reindeer—could grant that type of wish. “How do you do it?”

  His attention settles on something beyond me, his eyes shifting out of focus slightly. He seems lost in thought until one corner of his mouth lifts a fraction. “I love children. I love what I do. The look of joy on their faces as they’re waiting to see Santa. The palpable excitement. Their innocence and frankness.” His gaze returns to mine. “The moments of heartache are worth it. Even occasionally getting peed on is worth it.”

  An unexpected laugh bursts out of me. “Getting peed on?”

  He chuckles, the low sound warming every inch of me. “It happens. Some kids get overly excited. Or nervous. I’ve learned to always have a spare pair of Santa trousers in my dressing room.”

  Laughter rolls out of me until I’m hunched over the table. His honesty and humor make it easy to understand why he’s popular with kids and adults alike. He watches me, his eyes lit with amusement.

  “Why don’t you let me get you another drink?” he says when my giggles have subsided.

  I glance at my watch, surprised to discover we’ve only been here for a little over an hour. I wonder what time they typically clear out, especially since Hugh and some of the others have to work in the morning. I, however, do not have to work tomorrow, so I accept Hugh’s offer and watch as he walks away and disappears through the door into the main pub area.

  Meredith startles me when she appears at my table and plops into the seat Hugh vacated. “All good?” she asks. Her blond curls have been mostly corralled into a high ponytail, and her hairline is damp. While Hugh and I were talking, I noticed her and a few other girls break apart from the pool tables and start dancing in one corner of the room.

  “All good,” I reply. “I’m glad you convinced me to come tonight.”

  “Me too! This place is great, right? And everyone is amazing.” She cups her chin in one hand and gazes around the room. This is the first time all night I’ve seen her without a drink in her hand; I think my merry little friend is on her way to being drunk. Her eyes return to mine and her smile widens. “A certain hot Scot seems to have taken a liking to you.”

  “What? Who? Hugh?” I sound like a demented owl. “He’s just being friendly. Like he is with you and with all the others.”

  Her answering smirk makes me wonder. Before I can say anything else, Hugh returns, carrying two glasses. He sets them on the table, pushing one toward me and the other toward Meredith.

  “Noticed you’d finished your drink,” he tells her.

  She jumps up from her seat and plants a kiss on his cheek. “You’re too good to me.”

  “How much do I owe you?” I ask, unclasping my purse.

  Hugh waves me away. “Nothing. Consider it a welcome to Santa’s Village drink.”

  I should insist, especially considering he bought the first round. Ultimately, I decide to accept the gesture; I have a feeling he’d have a comeback for whatever I said, anyway. “Thank you.”

  Meredith asks if I want to join her and the others on the dance floor, and I say yes. She asks Hugh to come along and show us some of his moves, but he declines, saying he’s going to get a game of darts going. “Maura was mixing up another batch of elf shots when I was out there,” he says before we head off. “Be sure to pace yourselves.”

  *****

  It’s just after midnight and I’m only now realizing why Hugh’s words sounded like a warning. Whether or not he guessed I’m a lightweigh
t, two daiquiris and two shots have left me with a buzz that makes me feel like I’m floating.

  I’m sprawled in the middle bench seat of Hugh’s SUV. The only other person left for him to drop off is Meredith, who apparently lives down the street from him. We had a car full of giggly elves until a few minutes ago. I can still feel the goofy smile plastered to my face as I sink into the plush seats.

  “Don’t fall asleep, we’re almost there,” Meredith says from the front. Her words are slightly slurred, which triggers my giggles yet again. For the last half hour or so everything has been hilarious.

  We pull up in front of my apartment building and I fumble with the seatbelt, unable to depress the button enough to free it. Hugh releases his own seatbelt and twists around, kneeling on the center console so he can reach me. He’s close, filling my nostrils with his fresh winter scent. My breath catches and I hold it until he frees me.

  “I’ll walk you up to your apartment.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I tell him. “This is a no parking zone anyway. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll stay in the car in case a fire truck comes,” Meredith says.

  “You’re more drunk than I am, so you wouldn’t be able to move the car.”

  Hugh laughs quietly, shaking his head as he shifts back into the front and opens his door.

  “Then I’ll get out and…I don’t know, push it out of the way,” she says.

  I snort. “Push a vehicle that weighs about a thousands times more than you. I’d like to see you try.”

  Meredith hops out of the front seat and opens my door. “Well you won’t see it because you’re going to let Mr. Chivalry walk you upstairs so you don’t do a faceplant in the hall or something.” She reaches out and helps me slide out of the car. We stumble on my oh-so-graceful landing and turn it into a laughter-fueled hug. “I’m so glad you came tonight. And I’m glad you started working at Santa’s Village. And I’m glad we’re friends.”

  I laugh into her hair. “I’m glad about all those things too.” Upon releasing her, I notice how heavy her eyelids appear and how flushed her face is. I haven’t had a chance to check my reflection, but I can assume my face is red after so much alcohol. At least I’m not the only one. “Are you going to be okay to work in the morning?”

  “Psh, of course.” She grips the handrail inside the passenger side door and hoists herself into the seat. “This is nothing. You should have seen me in college. Just make sure to drink a full glass of water when you get upstairs and you should be fine in the morning.”

  I wave goodbye to Meredith and join Hugh on the other side of the vehicle. We’re quiet as we go up the front walk. The air has a bite to it that feels nice against my hot cheeks. I unlock the building’s front door and lead the way to the elevators. I usually take the stairs since I only live three floors up, but I can feel myself fading fast and I don’t want to take a tumble on the stairs and keep Hugh any longer than necessary.

  Neither of us has said a word yet. It almost feels like the end of a date, which is probably why butterflies are taking wing in my stomach. There shouldn’t be any awkwardness, though; I felt at ease with him after our chat earlier, plus Meredith is waiting in the car. It’s not like I have to worry about him expecting anything from me. Or having to do the weird post-date dance of should I or shouldn’t I invite him in or the always fun will he or won’t he kiss me question.

  The elevator dings and the doors slide open. I almost tell him he can go now, but I have a feeling Hugh is the type to see things through, and he’ll want to make sure I get all the way to my door. We trudge down the hall and I stop in front of my door, belatedly realizing I should have been digging my keys out on the way up.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I say, fishing in my purse and latching onto my keys. “And the drinks. And being kind and welcoming and friendly in general.” My body moves forward of its own volition and before I fully grasp what I’m doing I kiss his cheek. I move back so fast I slam into the wall behind me. “Oops! Alcohol brain. I must have been thinking you were David.”

  “David?” he asks, his brows pinching together.

  “My best friend Bridget’s David. I mean boyfriend. They’ve been together for almost a year now and we reached the peck-on-the-cheek stage early on because we’ve known each other so long. He was our boss until this past January when he moved up in the company.” I press my lips together to stop my rambling. I don’t miss the bemused look on Hugh’s face. After a deep breath, I add, “Anyway, he’s tall and hot too, except his accent is British, and oh my god I need to go inside and sew my mouth shut now.”

  In the time since I started this never-ending speech of embarrassment, Hugh has crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. His eyes hold a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “You think I’m hot?”

  “Well, I mean, yeah. Obviously. Do you own a mirror?”

  A low laugh rumbles out of him. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again when a scraping sound comes from inside. I can’t see any light from under the door, so maybe Celia got up to go to the bathroom and bumped into something. Or maybe she heard us talking and is coming to investigate. If she opens the door and finds me out here with Hugh, I’ll never hear the end of it.

  “I’d better be going,” Hugh says. “Meredith tends to fall asleep after a night like tonight, and I’m not sure I’m up to carrying her inside her place.”

  “Okay. Thanks again for everything. I’ll see you on Monday?”

  “You bet.” He leans in and my heart stops for a second as I think he’s going to kiss my cheek. Instead, his hand lightly grips my shoulder and squeezes. “Sleep well.” He releases me and starts down the hall, stopping after only a few feet. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re pretty hot yourself.” After my mouth running away with me the last five minutes, I’m now stunned into silence. Hugh grins and turns around slowly. “Goodnight, Ivy,” he says over his shoulder.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I’m lying on my back on the polished bar in Connelly’s Pub. Cans and bottles of Sprite line an entire shelf above various bottles of liquor. Music plays through invisible speakers; after a minute I realize the song is “Where the Streets Have No Name”, one of my all-time favorites. The music mixes with the sound of voices, although I don’t see anyone.

  I’m about to push myself off the bar when Hugh appears. He’s wearing his red velvet Santa jacket and white beard. As he moves closer, the beard disappears and the jacket is replaced by a worn leather one with a gray henley underneath. Rawr.

  He approaches the bar. Without a word, he slowly lifts my shirt up. His fingers brush against the sensitive skin of my belly, causing my entire body to break out in goose bumps. His lips curve slightly, but he still doesn’t say anything and neither do I.

  Leaning over me, filling my nostrils with his winter-fresh scent, he reaches for an open bottle of Sprite. “Ever do belly shots?”

  I shake my head. Time blurs and skips until the moment he’s about to lower his mouth to my skin. His eyes meet mine as his head descends. His breath is hot. He opens his mouth and—

  Bzz bzz. Bzz bzz.

  My eyes pop open. No. No, no, no. I slam my eyelids shut again, desperate to return to the dream, to see where it goes from there. It’s no use. The buzzing continues, so I sit up to search for the source, blearily realizing it’s coming from the folds of my fluffy blue duvet. My phone.

  As I reach for it, I see I’m still wearing the shirt I wore yesterday. I lift the comforter; no pants, just underwear. A quick feel of my chest tells me I’m not wearing my bra. Did I do the old bra-off-under-the-shirt trick or take my shirt and bra off and then put this top back on instead of my pajamas? During my dazed pondering, my phone stops vibrating, then almost immediately starts up again.

  “Whyyy is someone calling me so early?” I groan, finally fishing the phone out from where it’s buried. I normally turn it off before bed, but then again, I normally don’t throw it on the bed to get lost
in the sea of my comforter. Or go to bed half dressed. Or get drunk and stay out past midnight. The image on the display shows Bridget’s face, along with the time: ten o’clock. Not so early after all.

  “Hello?” I croak.

  Bridget lets out a surprised laugh. “Ivy?”

  I clear my throat and try again. “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Why do you sound like you suddenly took up smoking a pack a day?”

  I flop back on my pillows, wincing when the movement makes my head throb. “I went out with some people from the Village last night and I guess I had too much to drink.”

  “My little lightweight.” Bridget’s voice is full of affection. “I don’t suppose you feel much like going out if you’re nursing a hangover.”

  I close my eyes and massage my forehead with my free hand. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Well, I made good progress last night fixing the project, and I should be able to finish Monday. It’s too late for breakfast with Santa, but I was wondering if we could go to Santa’s Village. You could show me around and we could have lunch.”

  I stifle a groan as images of last night—specifically my conversation with Hugh when he dropped me off—flood into my mind. The last thing I want to do is spend my day off where I work, especially if there’s a chance we might run into Hugh.

  “Ivy?” Bridget says again.

  This time I do groan because I’ve just remembered my car in the Santa’s Village parking lot. I could have Bridget drive me there and then suggest we go somewhere else, but I know she’s dying to check out the Village. She’s a fiend for Christmas, and places like this were made for people like her. “Why don’t you pick me up around eleven?”