Very Merry Wingmen

by Daisy Prescott

  “Hey now. Use your own kid as a bargaining chip. My daughter isn’t going to be named Olaf.” Tom slaps his hand over his mouth. “Shit. Not supposed to tell. Forget I said anything.”

  My eyes widen but I keep my mouth shut. Tom raising a daughter is going to be fun to watch. Then I remind myself I won’t be around as much. Not like Tom and John are going to come play pool every week at my house.

  We’re at the bottom of the steep hill leading up to First Street. Carter circles around and comes up beside me, facing the right direction now. I really don’t want to huff it up this damn hill. This suit was fine on the water, but it’s getting kind of warm now.

  Abruptly halting, I lift my gaze up to the clear winter night sky. When I exhale, my breath is visible.

  “Fine. We drive down First. You take the left on Anthes and drop me off at the Historical Society. I can ditch the suit and walk back to the Dog House from there. Under two conditions.”

  “We’re all ears.” Carter gestures to the place where his normal, human ears should be. That’s when I notice he’s wearing pointed elf ears. In fact, below his jacket I see what appears to be green and white striped pajamas.

  Boy can’t be normal if he tried. Last year he and his brother and a bunch of hooligans dressed up like snowmen from Frozen. Yes, the one that shares my name. Year before, there was more striped pajama nonsense. You’d think they’d grow of out wanting to look like a fool. Married. With a daughter. Still an idiot. Guess somethings never change.

  “Don’t stop for any reason. Don’t let them mob us. I don’t want to be torn to shreds by a pint-sized mob on a sugar high, looking for their next candy cane.”

  Both men laugh at me.

  “I’m serious.”

  They barely contain themselves.

  “May I continue?” I don’t wait for them to settle. We’d be here all night. “Second, I ride in the front seat next to Carter. Too exposed in the back. The sack of toys can go there.” I listen for the sound of children’s footsteps running toward us.

  Tom relinquishes his front seat. “Where am I supposed to ride?”

  “You sit in the back up the hill, but once we hit the library, flank the golf cart like the Secret Service does. Make sure no one gets too close.”

  Tom’s laughter bursts out of him. “You’re hysterical.”

  “Still serious.”

  Carter is staring at me with his mouth open. “I never knew you were afraid of kids.”

  “I’m not. I hate crowds.” I blow out a breath and make sure my suit buttons are closed.

  Carter reaches inside of his jacket and pulls out a flask. “You should take a shot.”

  I accept it from him and unscrew the cap. “What is it?”

  “Local whiskey.”

  “Moonshine?” I sniff the contents, sending a burn of alcohol fumes into my nose.

  “No, legitimate and legal distillery.”

  I eye him, but take a long sip. The liquid goes down surprisingly smooth. “Thanks.”

  “Ready?” Carter asks, slowly accelerating.

  “I regret every decision that led me to this moment. Let’s go.” I adjust my hat and glasses.

  Tom slaps my shoulder. “Remember to be jolly.”

  “Ho, ho, ho,” I say, drily.

  The streets aren’t officially closed for the evening’s festivities, but traffic is lighter than normal. Our little cart weaves a path down the street uninterrupted. Carter honks the horn and I wave to the kiddos, who keep to the sidewalks thanks to their parents’ vigilance. After spotting Hailey with Shaw near the the yarn store, Tom wanders away, leaving us exposed.

  We almost make it to the Dog House and the left turn to freedom before chaos breaks out.

  Baby goats dressed up like elves are frolicking in the middle of the damn intersection. Erik and Cari chase the little ones around, grabbing for their leashes. The whole mess looks like a weird production of the Nutcracker, mainly because Erik has enlisted the help of the mouse king and snow queen from the local dance studio.

  The cart comes to a halt. Carter abandons me to help with the goats. And that’s when the shouting begins.

  “Santa!”

  “Santa!”

  “SANTA!”

  Traffic is at a standstill. Everyone is gathered at this end of the street to watch the impromptu goat ballet. Slowly at first, kids abandon their distracted parents on the sidewalk and cautiously approach the cart.

  “Santa?” An adorable little girl with dark hair and wide eyes stands in the middle of the road. She’s dressed in a fluffy pink coat and matching boots.

  “Lizzy!” a blond man calls out before scooping her into his arms. “What did Daddy tell you? Never step off the curb without us!”

  “Is he the real Santa?” she asks, still staring at me.

  Emboldened by her, a few more kids come closer, surrounding the cart, but keeping a respectful distance. For the moment.

  The crowd shifts and I spot the familiar red hair of Maggie Marion. She joins the man with the pink fluff ball of a daughter. Recognition sparks in her eyes as she studies me.

  I tap my finger to my nose—like the mobsters do in The Sting—to let her know I know she knows, but to keep quiet.

  “Of course he’s real,” she tells the little girl. “Diane is going to die when she sees this. Where is she?”

  “Right here. Alene wanted to come say hi to Santa.” Holding the squirming toddler in her arms, Diane steps beside her.

  When she spots me, Alene does a forward dive, nearly toppling out of her mother’s hold. “Olaf Claus!”

  “Holy Christmas miracle,” Diane says loud enough for me to hear. “I can’t believe my eyes.”

  Tom approaches, holding Shaw. “Look, it’s Santa.”

  Hailey joins them. “Quick, can we get a photo with Santa?”

  Next thing I know, Tom’s thrusting his one-year-old son at me. “Here.”

  Old instincts kick in and I adjust the little guy in my arms so he’s comfortable.

  “You’re a natural,” Hailey tells me as she snaps photos with her smartphone.

  “You were born for this.” I swear Diane wipes tears from her cheeks. “This is the sweetest thing ever.”

  A line begins to form behind them. I spot Dan and Roslyn with ridiculous grins on their faces. He dips his chin in acknowledgment.

  My cover has not only been blown, Olaf Claus is about to be memorialized in hundreds of snapshots.

  “Oh, hell no,” I mutter to myself.

  Ditching the cart, I stand and hand Shaw back to his dad. “Santa needs to go feed his reindeer! Ho, ho, ho, and a Merry Christmas!”

  I pat a couple of kids on their heads as I weave through the crowd toward the Dog House.

  “Daddy? Why is Santa going to the bar?” a little voice asks.

  Crap. Plan foiled.

  I reach the sidewalk and spot Jonah inside. He gives me a wave and a thumb’s up. Falcon’s perched on his stool. The lights on his green Christmas sweater complement the trees and garland. At the moment, as strange as it all is, he’s the most normal thing about this scene.

  “Ho, ho, ho,” I shout, navigating the crowd as I move toward the yarn shop. “I have to pick up a present for Mrs. Claus!”

  People move out of my way and salvation is a few feet away when the door to the shop opens and Lisa exits. She’s changed from earlier and is now wearing a hand-knit sweater that resembles my Santa suit. The only difference is hers has a frilly collar and cuffs instead of the fake fur on mine.

  “Hi, Santa!” she greets me with the same warm smile as before. “I was just coming to see you.”

  “It’s me, Olaf,” I whisper to her.

  “Of course it’s you.” Her smile doesn’t waver as she tucks her hand in my elbow.

  “Look! Santa and Mrs. Claus are standing under the kissing ball,” someone shouts, and I’m not certain it isn’t Diane. Maybe Roslyn. I add both of them to the long naughty list I started earlier today.


  Glancing up, I spot the mistletoe orb directly above our heads.

  “Don’t feel obligated,” I whisper to Lisa. “It’s just a silly, old tradition around here.”

  “I like traditions.” She stares up at me, her glasses reflecting the white twinkle lights in the shop’s windows. Without hesitation, she stands taller and presses her lips to my cheek.

  It’s a good thing I’m still wearing the fake beard and wire-rimmed glasses. Otherwise she could probably see my embarrassment. Been a long time since a woman has kissed me.

  “Thank you,” I tell her, my voice tender.

  “Merry Christmas,” she replies.

  “Merry Christmas,” I say softly before I raise my voice to address the crowd. “Merry Christmas, one and all!”

  From the youngest voices to the oldest, the sentiment is echoed up and down the street. This is the spirit of the season. We’re no longer random strangers, but friends and neighbors sharing a moment of community. My cynicism fades as I enjoy the moment of happy camaraderie.

  It truly is a Christmas miracle.

  An Erik & Cari Christmas bonus scene

  Erik

  “I’m not sure I’m ready for kids.” Cari falls on her back in the middle of our bed.

  “The goat or human kind?” Exhausted, I flop next to her.

  “Both. Who knew goat wrangling was so tough? I swear the one in the Olaf pajamas looked me straight in the eye and challenged me to try to catch her.” She laughs, sounding bewildered by the mayhem we caused at the Sip ’n Stroll tonight.

  I’m still not sure how it happened, but we lost control of the herd. The twelve goats of Christmas somehow slipped out of our grasp. First one, then another two, until we had more goats off leash than on. At some point, I was on my hands and knees, crawling around in the street. A couple of the goats decided to climb on me for an impromptu goat yoga session.

  “You know someone got it on video, right?” Rolling over, I poke her hip.

  “Of course. It’s you. It’ll probably be viral by tomorrow. Should you let your buddy Gomez know? He’d love an exclusive for his website. I’m sure he misses you.”

  I groan and bury my head into her side. “No. Please, no.”

  “Come on. It would be great press for Carter’s business and we could get a mention for the new calendars. Think of it the money we could raise for the foundation.”

  “We’ve already sold more calendars online than we ordered. It’s only been two weeks since you came up with this crazy idea. The second printing won’t be ready until after Christmas.”

  “What can I say? I’m brilliant. Although I never thought we could get everything organized and shot so quickly.”

  “Makes no sense to me. We’re not even naked in this year’s calendar. All of us are wearing flannels or T-shirts and jeans. What’s so special about that?”

  She shifts to her side. “Doesn’t surprise me. Women are more about the fantasy than just naked flesh.”

  I scrunch up my forehead. “Explain the appeal to me again.”

  “Hot men holding babies? It’s primal, evolutionary. Even if the man and the baby aren’t ours, we like to fantasize they could be.” She scrapes her fingers through my hair.

  “So somewhere in Nebraska or Michigan, a woman is staring a picture of John holding Mac and having dirty thoughts?”

  “John, Tom, Dan, Carter, Jonah … you.” Her fingers still. “I really didn’t think this concept through.”

  “You should deal with the inappropriate emails and customer service calls.” I shift closer to her. “Some of those women have very, dirty imaginations. Jonah’s going to need a bodyguard.”

  She laughs and her thigh bounces under my cheek.

  “I’m not kidding. After what happened on Black Friday and now all the women with their tattooed DILF fantasies, the guy needs back up. There could be backlash when they find out he’s not even a dad.”

  “What’s the opposite of a backlash? Forward lash?” Cari smirks. “I think he’s going to be very popular with the ladies next year.”

  “Poor guy.”

  “Jonah can hold his own.” She yawns and shifts again until her head is resting on her pillow.

  I join her and she drops her head to my shoulder. Pressing a kiss to her temple, I share something that’s been on my mind for months. “Do you think about us having kids? Human ones, not goats.”

  She twists her upper body away from me to stare into my eyes. “Do you?”

  “Asked you first.”

  “I do, but I’m not convinced it’s not a side-effect of the baby fever going around the island. I feel like we’re too young, but that’s obviously not true.” Her brows pull together and then relax. “Don’t laugh, okay? I’m totally guilty of fantasizing over your calendar picture. It’s my phone’s lock screen. And it’s not even my baby. She’s the daughter some random client of June’s. I can’t even remember her name. But you’re holding her and kissing the top of her head. It does things to me.”

  My brows lift at her confession. “What sort of things?”

  She ducks her head into my neck, muffling her words when she speaks. “Makes me want to jump you and demand you impregnate me.”

  “Excuse me?” I ask out of surprise.

  “You heard me. I can’t control it.”

  “Why would you want to?” I’m still stunned. “Is this why we’ve having sex all of the time?”

  More than seeing, I feel her nod against me.

  “I’m not complaining. Just so you know.”

  “We were going to travel the world together, visiting all of your partner coffee farmers and lying on remote tropical beaches.” Her voice waivers.

  “No reason we can’t still do that. Dan and Ros travel with Ione. And most of our farmers have kids. The more the merrier.” I reassure her.

  “But what if we can’t get pregnant?”

  Her shift in thinking gives me whiplash and I don’t know what to say.

  “It’s not a guarantee. Some people can’t have kids. Like thirty percent. It’s a really high number. Odds are against us.”

  Inhaling deeply, I pull her closer, wrapping my arm over her shoulder. “If it doesn’t happen for us, we’ll be okay. There are other ways to become parents. Or not. No matter what happens, it won’t change my love for you, Cari.”

  “Love you, Erik Kelso,” she whispers against my skin.

  In this moment, I have everything I want right here in my arms.

  “You sure you can handle the Christmas rush?” I close my laptop and stare at Jonah. It’s the twenty-first of December and our flight to Albuquerque is tomorrow.

  “Yeah, we’re ready for the last minute coffee buyers on Christmas Eve. All of the extra beans you roasted earlier in the week are packaged and ready to go. I think the crew can take care of the extra six people showing up here the morning after Christmas. Most of the early birds will be lined up at Walmart in Oak Harbor or off island for the post Christmas sales.” He shoves his chair away from his desk across from mine, bumping into a stack of boxes. Our office at Whidbey Joe’s is more chaotic than usual with all of the new Naked Whidbey calendars.

  “You plan on bringing the coffee truck to the madness again?” I ask.

  A slight shake of his head followed by a full body tremor tells me he probably still has PTSD from the mob scene on Black Friday. “I, I … I wasn’t prepared. I never thought they’d try to climb inside the truck with me.”

  “You were bringing coffee to the under-caffeinated. Always lock the doors.” This is zombie apocalypse 101. I might get mocked for my horror movie obsession, but I’ve learned valuable life skills.

  Unlike Jonah. By the time he’d returned to headquarters, he had three different color lipstick kisses on his cheeks and one sleeve of his flannel was torn at the shoulder.

  “Lesson learned. No good deed goes unpunished.” He shakes out his hands. “I should get that tattooed on my arm. Or forehead.”

  I’m not sure where he�
��d put another tattoo on his forearms, but I’m against face tats. “Uh, you might want to rethink that.”

  He scrubs his hands over his face and beard. “I need something to remind me to not care so much about stuff that’s none of my business.”

  I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. Instead of asking for further explanation, I tell him, “Thanks for handling Christmas. I appreciate it. Gives Cari and I the time to spend a few extra days in New Mexico with her family.”

  “No problem. I didn’t have plans except, hanging around with Carter, Ashley and Rosie.”

  “Crazy how everyone has kids now but us.” My talk a few weeks ago with Cari comes to mind again. We haven’t discussed the kid thing again. Part of my mission during our visit with her family is to ask her dad for his blessing. Carter and Ashley eloped, but I want to be more traditional when I marry Cari. Becoming her husband isn’t something I take lightly.

  His brow lowers as he frowns. “Yeah, I guess. You’re paired off, though. I’m the only guy still flying solo.”

  “You’re the unicorn.”

  “Magical?”

  “Uh, that too.” I realize too what I was about to say is kind of mean.

  “Oh. Got it. I’m guy left off the ark when everyone pairs up two by two.” He nods in confirmation.

  “What do I know? I’m just your business partner. You could have a secret family off the island for all of the time you spend over there.” Someone take away my shovel so I can’t dig this hole any deeper.

  “When would I have time? Between the roasting business, Fellowship of the Bean and the coffee huts with Ashley, and finishing the new place in Langley, I can barely find time to eat and sleep. All work and no play makes for a very dull Jonah. I haven’t been to a concert or a show in Seattle in months. All I do is work, work, work.”

  Behind him, the tower boxes sways and tips precariously.

  “Watch out.” I jump from my chair and catch the top box before it topples over and gives him a concussion.