by Jean Oram
“Relax,” Steve said, catching my expression. “It’s just sparkling grape juice.”
“Isn’t that a roundabout way of saying champagne?”
He let out a laugh and unfurled the foil from around the cork. “It’s non-alcoholic.”
I picked up one of the plastic cups. “Well, if it won’t send me to jail, then it’s not worth it.” I made a show of pulling my glass away.
“You enjoyed your one and only night in the clink?”
The pig incident.
“I wasn’t in there all night.” I hesitated, then added, “I saw you across the street when I got released.”
“Yep. I saw you, too.”
“You were smirking.”
“Because the perfect Joy Evans had done something that surprised me.”
“That’s not why.”
“And because...” He was smiling up at the trees and I had a feeling it was at my expense.
“Releasing farm animals into a school is not funny,” I said, quoting my mother.
“But it was, wasn’t it?” He snagged my glass, filling it for me.
I thought of my friends and how they’d come alive, laughing and giggling. Even the straight-laced Lexi Townshead had gotten into the prank. “It was kind of fun.”
“Want to go paint our names on the water tower?” Steve asked, tilting his head toward the town’s main reservoir.
“No,” I said definitively.
“Remember that guy from Blueberry Springs who fell off their tower back in high school? What was his name again?”
“Frankie Smith. He was trying to impress my cousin Mandy. Did you hear she painted his name up there and got busted like he did? She didn’t fall off, though.”
I took a sip of the sparkling juice. It was pretty good and its bubbles made the picnic feel special—like this was a celebratory moment. Our first date. I set my cup down beside me to hide the tremors that had started in my hand.
“Why were you really smirking?” I asked, realizing he hadn’t fully answered my earlier question.
He shrugged, shoving a cracker in his mouth.
“You can’t get out of answering by stuffing your face.”
He chewed, then replied confidingly, “I wasn’t actually smirking. I thought maybe you were rebelling. You know, about to change up your life. I was curious.”
“Change it how?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Tell me.”
His gaze got a faraway look like he was lost in his thoughts, and I wondered if teenaged Steve had thought I was about to dump Calvin and find a way to become a doctor.
Steve’s focus returned, and he said cheerily, “I was going to bail you out if your parents didn’t.”
I shifted toward him, taken off guard—although not surprised—by him choosing to change the subject. But I didn’t know what to say. Bail was not exactly a teenager’s part-time-work kind of money. Not that my parents had needed to post it. Instead I’d gotten a lecture from every adult I knew, and us girls had spent the next morning cleaning the school hallways where the pigs had run, and doing our best to fix the football trophy case. But still, to think that Steve was there to make sure I was okay touched me deeply.
I had spent every minute inside that jail cell thinking my parents weren’t going to come, that they’d be too humiliated to claim me. And that they would let me sit so I could learn a lesson I already knew: the one time I had chosen to go with the flow and be a bit mischievous had landed me in jail.
“Thank you,” I said to Steve.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“But you were there.” I locked my cold hand over his, giving it a squeeze.
“I’m glad they came,” he said, taking a sip of his drink with his other hand.
“Why?”
“It would have been pretty awkward if you hadn’t accepted my help.”
“True.” And I likely wouldn’t have. My pride and self-assurance that he was evil and always plotting against me with judgment in his heart would have surely had me soundly rejecting any offer.
But now? Now he was warming my heart in the most unexpected ways.
Chapter 7
Christmas was right around the corner and the kids in the daycare were pretty much bonkers. I loved every second of it, even though they had been bouncing off the walls and asking me every five minutes when Santa was coming.
Originally, Miles Wilson was supposed to pop by just after lunch, but his wife had called earlier to say he was down for the count with the stomach flu. Our last-minute quest to find someone to wear the suit had failed, and just after lunch I’d broken the news that Santa couldn’t make it to the daycare. They’d taken it like troopers. Troopers who’d lost their platoon in a horrifying and grueling war.
I’d been about five seconds from putting on the suit myself.
Kneeling on the floor, I took three-year-old Anya Rogers’s hands in mine and gently curled down a few fingers. “This many sleeps until Santa comes to your house.”
She wiggled and grinned at me.
“Do you think you can wait that long?” I asked.
Anya shook her head.
“Maybe we could make some reindeer food. Have you done that before?”
She shook her head again.
“That settles it. Let’s get the rest of the kids and make some reindeer food for Rudolph and his friends.”
Like the little leader she was, Anya gathered up the few classmates whose families weren’t yet on holiday, and we settled at one of the low tables to get started. We had only ten kids, which was fine for Edith and me to care for—when she wasn’t busy in her office.
“Do you know what helps reindeer fly?” I asked. No Santa Claus visit meant we were gliding right on into our regularly scheduled craft time.
“Snowshoes!” replied Elias, who then burst into giggles.
“Ice cream,” another said.
“Wings?” asked Anya.
I held up a tiny container of glitter. “This does.” I held up a small bag. “And they love oats. So what we do is we mix these two things together, and then on Christmas Eve sprinkle it out on the snow where you think Santa might land his sleigh, so the reindeer can eat it.”
“I’m not allowed on the roof,” said Evan.
“Sometimes they land in our yards,” I said, “and I bet if you put some in the front yard they’ll eat it. They aren’t always hungry, though. If they don’t eat it, the birds will.”
“Is glitter safe for birds?” asked my boss as she glided by. Edith was like a harbinger of gloom, the way she coasted silently over the floor, popping up to make me doubt the wisdom of anything I did. I looked at the glitter. Surely birds would avoid eating it, wouldn’t they?
But now I wasn’t so sure.
I had a momentary vision of the kids climbing on their roofs, and birds becoming ill from eating glitter.
“It’s fine,” I said, reading the label. The glitter was edible, Edith just causing me to doubt myself. It seemed to be a favored pastime of hers.
The kids and I set to work, and by the time we were done I was yawning. I’d been so excited from my so-called date with Steve last night that I’d stayed up late, putting the second coat of paint on Max’s room, and more than once imagining what it might be like to date Steve Jorgensen for real.
“Okay, put your reindeer food in your cubby,” I told the kids, “then find a stuffy to snuggle with. It’s story time!”
Story time. Then nap time. Everything was right on schedule—the only way to keep a roomful of tykes from extreme meltdown.
The little ones circled around me on the carpet as I opened our afternoon story about a snowman. The front door of the daycare opened, kicking the furnace into gear as it battled the draft of winter air. It was Anya’s mom, Emily Rogers, the principal of the elementary school. “Guess who I found outside?” she announced loudly.
I did a quick head count. None of the children were missing. Before I could ask whom
she’d found, a man came in dressed in a red-and-white suit.
Santa.
The kids went wild, storming the baby gate that separated them from the front entry, where Santa stood with Emily. The kids shouted, “Santa! Santa! He came! You told a lie, Miss Joy. He’s here! He’s here!”
“I’m so glad he could make it.”
I glanced up as Santa’s head raised, and familiar blue eyes greeted me with warmth as my breath caught in my chest.
Steve.
Steve was saving the day by dressing up as Santa. Any lingering uncertainty about him dissolved, and I swear my ovaries twitched as I battled the urge to swoon. Just a little.
Just... you know. Having a man you kind of like dress up as Santa to save the day was a noteworthy item on the mental does-he-check-out list.
Steve let out a booming “Ho, ho, ho!” and the kids’ excitement level ratcheted up another notch.
“I saw Steve outside C.M. Salon after getting my hair done by Morgan,” Emily whispered in my ear. “And when he heard you didn’t have a Santa he offered to step in.” She beamed at Steve in a way that made jealousy rise inside me. She was married.
Then again, ovaries were ovaries and I was certain hers were twitching, too.
“Who is this?” Santa asked. “Joy Evans? My, you’re all grown up. Do you have a boyfriend?” He was watching me with dancing eyes, and I felt the heat rise in my face as the kids giggled.
I might have to mentally uncheck a box or two on the does-he-check-out list if he continued on.
“Miss Joy! Kiss Santa!” Anya called, starting another round of giggles.
Emily opened the baby gate for Steve and he closed in on me, asking, “Have you been a good girl?” He wasn’t even five minutes inside the daycare and he was already knocking everything off-kilter.
“Okay, boys and girls, go to the carpet so we can let Santa come in and join us.”
I began directing the children toward the sitting area, but Steve stopped me. He was digging in his bag. “Do you boys and girls want to know what I have?”
They all raced back to him.
He had palmed a box roughly the size of a basketball and was holding it over his head. “This present says it’s for Miss Joy.”
My head snapped to Steve. He’d brought me a gift? When had he had time to pull that off? Unless this was something slipped into the bag by Edith, when she’d set it up for Miles. I considered the idea and quickly discarded it. This was one hundred percent Steve.
“Me! Me! I want one, too!” Anya was bouncing in front of Steve, yanking at his sleeve as he approached me.
“She’s been extra good and is often forgotten.” He nudged me, handing over the gift. “Go ahead. Open it.”
I didn’t know what to expect. Something over-the-top? Ridiculous? Embarrassing? Telling?
“I’ll open it in a bit.” The box was a tad heavier than I’d expected, and I tucked it in the crook of my arm. “Let’s get the kids settled.” I eyed Edith’s office, and sure enough, she came trundling out to see what the disturbance was.
“What’s this?”
“Santa!” Anya yelled. “He came!”
“But he canceled.” Her eyes narrowed as she tried to identify the man behind the fake white beard.
“He’s here now,” I said brightly.
“And he has a gift for Miss Joy,” Steve said with a wink.
“He does?” Edith’s tone was unamused, and she stared me down like she had mind-reading powers.
“He does,” Steve said smoothly. He winked at my boss, whispering, “No gift for you. I heard you were naughty.” She jolted as if she’d been goosed, her cheeks flaming.
“Open it,” Steve urged, his attention back on me.
“I will.” I began directing the kids toward the carpeted area again, placing the wrapped box on top of a shelf so the kids wouldn’t open it for me.
“Come, children,” Edith said. “Let’s gather on the carpet with Santa.”
I stood at the edge of the carpet, waiting to be needed as Steve expertly wrangled the kids into a circle while my boss looked on.
“He’s a sweetheart,” Emily said, joining me. She smiled and waved at her daughter.
“Steve?” I confirmed.
“He really likes you.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said bashfully, feeling a desperation rising within me to pump her for more information, details, anything and everything.
“He thinks very highly of you. In fact, I heard you’ll be joining the profession very soon.” She gave me a nudge.
“What?” My head snapped away from Santa and the little fantasy that had been playing out, of Steve wrestling sheets onto Max’s bed, then tucking him in before joining me for a cup of tea and warm kisses that tasted like chai tea and love.
Emily was smiling at me expectantly. “Steve said you’re going back to school for a few classes?”
I’d told only one person that I had applied. One. And he was blabbing all over town when I hadn’t even been accepted into the program? That man did not understand the no-meddle rule.
“You chose a great school—they’re well-rated for their elementary education program,” Emily said. “Do you have your résumé or portfolio ready?”
Portfolio?
“No, not yet.”
“Well, when you’re ready for a job, let me know.”
“There’s an opening?” I said. “I mean, it’ll probably be a few years before I’m certified...”
“Oh.” Emily looked taken aback. “I didn’t realize you had that much upgrading to do first.”
“That’s if I’m accepted into the program.”
“Oh, I see. I must have misunderstood.” Her cheeks pinked. Emily was no doubt thinking about how I’d sworn up and down that I was going to become a doctor and then hadn’t. She’d been a few years ahead of me in school and had been in charge of the yearbook, interviewing students about their future goals. It had been embarrassing having to go back and change mine before it was published. Emily was the kind of woman who made plans, set goals, then burst past them ahead of schedule.
Steve really needed to learn where it was safe to stick his nose. Not only was I feeling as though I had just entered an impromptu interview wholly unprepared, but he’d put Emily in an awkward spot, too.
“I’ve only just applied.” I pulled my sweater sleeves over my hands, wanting to disappear, and struggling not to shoot daggers at Steve who had all the kids cooing over him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Do you know which grade you’re hoping to teach?” Emily asked, her tone a little less enthusiastic and a bit more professional now.
I shook my head. “No, not yet.”
“Well, we’re often looking to cover maternity leaves or in need of a substitute teacher here and there. We’ll get your name on the list when you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Completely unprepared.
I found myself staring at Santa, trying to convince myself that Steve meant well with his meddling, and that I hadn’t just ruined my first impression at the one place I most wanted to work—the Christmas Mountain Elementary School.
I called Steve into the small staff room off the barricaded playroom. Still dressed as Santa, he was surrounded by shreds of wrapping paper—I’d given up collecting it after he’d suggested the kids rip up every little bit and throw it around like confetti.
Yeah.
He was that guy.
Naturally, the children adored him. There was no fighting or whining, and I figured that we—a.k.a. me, since the other part of today’s staff was in her office pretending to work—had about twenty minutes until the bottom dropped out of their good moods.
“What’s up?” Steve asked as he joined me in the staff room. He glanced through the window that allowed us to peek out at the kids. The cushion filling out his flat stomach was knocked askew and I reached to straighten it.
“You told Emily I was going b
ack to school?” I asked, trying to make the pillow resemble a bowl full of jelly.
“Yeah. It came up. She sounded excited.”
“How did something like that come up?”
“Did you like your Santa gift?”
“I haven’t opened it yet.” It was still on top of the shelf in the main room.
Steve looked at me expectantly. He didn’t understand relationships, did he? There were boundaries to establish, as well as respect, if we were going to make this work. Such as no meddling.
Wait a second. A relationship? Was I seriously considering something more than a casual, my-kid-is-away-for-a-few-days-so-let’s-play-around?
I was, wasn’t I?
“Santa! Come see my train!” Elias hollered through the window.
Steve raised his eyebrows at me, asking permission. I sighed and gestured toward the door. I wasn’t going to get anything helpful from him, anyway. He didn’t understand my approach to life.
He turned in the doorway, watching me for a moment.
“No meddling,” I said firmly.
“I thought I was just sharing your good news.”
“I haven’t even been accepted into the program.” My frustration exploded. “She was practically interviewing me for a job, thinking I was already looking. It took me off guard, and I gave her the impression that I’m completely oblivious and unprepared and that I don’t understand how any of this works!”
Before I could do anything other than suck in a fresh breath to continue my rant, Steve had shut the door again, pulled down his fake Santa beard and was kissing me.
He was trying to soften me up with his wonderful kisses, and sadly, it was working. I was sweating the small stuff again—that was what I did, after all.
He was smiling when he released my limp body, now devoid of anger.
“It’s fun being more than a friend,” he murmured.
I couldn’t help but smile in return—even though I was still upset over how he’d inadvertently set me up.
“I’m sorry I overstepped,” he said, his expression sincere. “But you had it coming.”
