by Noelle Adams
Secret Santa
Milford College, Book Four
Noelle Adams
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Noelle Adams. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About Secret Santa
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Epilogue
Excerpt from Temp
About Noelle Adams
About Secret Santa
THE LAST THING I WANT for Christmas is a brand new case of smoking hot attraction for my best friend, Jeremy. I don't think about him that way. I never have. And I can't risk ruining the best relationship in my life because I can't seem to keep my hands off him lately.
I need to focus on safer things, like my secret admirer who keeps sending me romantic Secret Santa presents. Jeremy has always been a grump about Christmas, but someone is clearly into me. I'll have to try to think about him instead.
Secret Santa is the fourth book in the Milford College series, novellas about the faculty and staff of a small liberal arts college.
One
“MAY, I NEED YOUR HELP.”
At the words, I glance away from my computer monitor to see Cindy Harris standing in the doorway of my office. I’m the coordinator of student life at Milford College, which basically means I oversee all the organized student activities on campus. I have a small office in the student affairs suite of the main administration building, but most of the time I’m in it only a few hours a day. Most of my work takes place around campus rather than at my desk, and that’s one of the reasons I like my job.
At the moment, I’m reviewing the recent applications for official student clubs and wishing people could follow directions better, so Cindy happens to have caught me at my computer.
I turn toward her with a smile because I like Cindy and am happy for any distraction from a tedious task.
Cindy is the administrative assistant for the college president. She’s a quiet, competent, polished woman in her fifties, and she comes over to sit down in the one chair beside my desk. “I need you to take over the staff gift exchange this year.”
Every year in December since I started working at Milford College six years ago, the staff has had a Secret Santa gift exchange in the weeks leading up to the Christmas party. It’s a nice tradition, and people always get into it and have fun, but it involves a lot of people and so it’s a somewhat complicated task to organize.
I bite back a groan. “I thought you had that covered.”
“I’ve got it started, but I’ve been told I need to clear some things off my plate so I can focus more on the accreditation visit this spring.”
“But your plate is always big enough for everything, isn’t it?”
“I think so,” she says dryly. “But everyone is stressed and I’ve been told there can be no distractions. So would you please help me out? You’re so good at these kinds of things, and everyone loves you.”
“Of course I’ll help you out. Is it just the gift exchange or the Christmas party too?”
“No, I’ve got the party planned and organized already, so it’s just the Secret Santa.” She hands me a few pages of printed names. “I’ve already sent out the preliminary information. Here’s the list of people signed up so far. I’ll email it to you as well. So if you can, just follow up with anyone who hasn’t signed up to make sure they don’t want to participate, organize the exchange of names, and then send out weekly emails reminding everyone to work on their weekly gifts.”
The way it’s always been done, we give our designated staff member a gift once a week for three weeks until the final gift at the Christmas party, where the givers are at last revealed. The gifts are all inexpensive—no more than five dollars for the first three weeks and no more than ten for the final gift—and it usually becomes an escalating competition for who can be the most creative and amusing with such a low budget.
“Okay. I’ll do it.”
“Thank you so much. I’m sorry you won’t be able to participate yourself this year, but since you’re in charge of who gets who—”
“I know. I know. It’s no problem at all. I’m not very creative at that kind of thing anyway.” I glance down at the list of names. Near the top of the first page I see the name Jeremy Carson, and I feel a flicker of pleasure and familiarity.
Jeremy is my best friend in the world. He must have been one of the first people to sign up this year.
This is significant since he’s been a vocal Christmas hater since I first met him when we were both teenagers. He was a foster kid for most of his childhood, and from what he’s told me, his Christmases were never very good. I’m not surprised he doesn’t get into Christmas. The fact that he’s already signed up is probably more a testimony to the way I nagged him about it in previous years than a sign of any new desire to celebrate the season.
But for whatever reason he’s on the list, it makes me happy.
“I’ll be glad to take this over,” I tell Cindy.
“Thank you, May. I knew I could count on you.”
As soon as she leaves, I close out the application document I was reviewing earlier and start working on the list of names, identifying the members of staff and faculty who haven’t yet signed up.
It’s been a pretty good turnout. Only about half the faculty have signed up, but that’s not unusual. Faculty are always bogged down with the end-of-the-semester grading at this time of year, and a lot of them disappear as soon as classes end in the second week of December, so they’re not around for most of the gift exchange. I’ll send out a reminder email to them to make sure they didn’t let it slip through the cracks but only follow up in person with the few I know normally participate but don’t have their names on the list.
There are only eleven members of the staff who haven’t signed up. I can probably make a quick walk through campus and touch base with most of them this afternoon.
I print out the names of the people I need to check with, and then I grab my jacket from the hook on the back of my office door. It’s a slim-cut coat in a buttery-soft brown leather that Jeremy gave me for my twenty-seventh birthday a couple of months ago.
It’s the nicest jacket I’ve ever had, and I smile as I put it on. Glancing in the mirror, I smooth down my thick, shoulder-length red hair and make sure I don’t have flecks of mascara under my blue eyes.
The reflection in the mirror is pleasant in a familiar way. When I was younger, I didn’t like how I looked. I didn’t like my red hair or my freckles or that I was so tall and gangly. But sometime in my early twenties I grew comfortable with my appearance, and I don’t worry too much about it now.
Plenty of people think I’m attractive, and if anyone doesn’t, I really don’t care. I just don’t have the interest or mental energy to worry about that anymore.
My minimal makeup has mostly worn off since the morning, but it’s not doing anything it’s not supposed to do, so I zip up my jacket and head out of the office suite. I stop in the financial aid suite down the hall to check with one of the counselors who hasn’t yet signed up. She lost track of the email but wants to participate, so I add her to the list.
I’m just leaving when I hear from the other side of the suite, “May, I need your h
elp.” It’s Jennifer, the assistant director of financial aid.
I stick my head into her office and ask, “What’s up?”
“Do you know a student named Joshua Brick?”
“Yeah, I know him. His mom just died.”
Jennifer’s face twists. “Oh no. That’s terrible.”
“Yeah. It really is. It was sudden and completely unexpected.”
“Poor thing. He missed an appointment with me yesterday, and then I couldn’t get ahold of him. But that must be why. I’ll wait a couple of weeks and contact him again.”
“That sounds like a good idea. He’ll probably be home for at least a week.”
“Thanks for the info. I figured you’d know what’s up.”
I wave as I say, “You’re welcome.”
I make three more stops in the main building and then visit four other buildings on campus, chatting with the people I see and getting eight other people to sign up for the gift exchange.
On my way back to the administration building, I see George Franks approaching. He’s the head coach of the baseball team, and I’ve known him since I started working at Milford. He’s a handsome man with a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and dark eyes. I smile as we get closer. We’ve never been close, but we’re friendly, and it’s impossible not to like looking at this man.
“What are you up to?” he asks, slowing down when we reach each other.
“I’ve gotten stuck with the Secret Santa thing, so just trying to hunt down stragglers.”
“Oh yeah. Did I sign up for that?” He’s a laid-back guy with a lazy manner. I’m not at all surprised he doesn’t remember signing up.
“You did. Otherwise, I’d be hunting you down.”
“You can hunt me down anytime.” His eyes run up and down my body from my windblown hair to the cute boots I bought last month with a lot more of my paycheck than I should have spent. I see his expression change. He likes how I look.
I’ve never been particularly interested in George Franks. Every time I see him outside work, he’s with a different woman. But my cheeks warm with a flush of pleasure at his tone and expression. Who wouldn’t like a man as handsome as him admiring her? “Maybe I’ll do that, as long as you promise to let yourself get caught.”
Yes, I’m flirting. So sue me. I haven’t had a date in three months, and I’m missing it. Plus this guy is hot.
His smile warms as he takes a step forward. “How ’bout I get caught on Saturday night? That work for you?”
I do my best to hide my excitement. It’s not exactly wise strategy to do a giddy jig in front of the guy who just asked you out. “I think I can manage to catch up with you by then.”
“Excellent. I’ll text you about plans.” He’s smiling as he starts walking again with his long, leisurely stride.
I’ve dated a reasonable amount in my life. I’m not exactly inexperienced. But for the past six years I’ve lived in a very small town in a rural part of south-central Virginia, so appealing single guys over twenty-five aren’t exactly thick on the ground. Any new possibility is exciting for me, especially one as good-looking as George Franks.
When I return to the administration building, I walk down to the basement to reward myself for my efforts and share my news with the one person I always want to share good news with. On one end of the hall in the lower level is the facilities department, and on the other end is the IT department.
Jeremy is the director of IT, and he’s been my best friend since high school.
I wave at the student manning the computer help desk and step in through Jeremy’s half-open door.
He’s working on his computer, which faces a far corner of the office, so he doesn’t see me come in. I stand there for a minute, smiling at his brown hair and broad shoulders and watching him work.
“May, I need your help,” he says without ever turning to see me. I have no idea how he knows I’m here.
I roll my eyes at what’s become a refrain for the afternoon. “You’re not the only one.”
He glances over, his brown eyes glinting with humor although he’s not smiling. He nods toward a plate on his desk. “If you don’t take some of those, I’m going to eat them all before the afternoon is over.”
On the plate are big chocolate-chip cookies that look homemade. I make a pleased sound in my throat and come over to grab one. “Who gave you these?”
“Dr. Sherwood. Because I spent two hours the other day showing her how to get around in her online course shell.”
Carol Sherwood is a history professor in her midsixties who isn’t at all happy with the move toward online components of classes that the administration has been implementing. She’s also a very good baker. I hum in pleasure as I chew a bite of the cookie.
“Take at least half of those,” Jeremy says. “Or I’ll seriously eat them all before I leave today. I’ve already had four.”
“Why were you helping Dr. Sherwood? That’s not exactly your job. Don’t they have workshops and things to help faculty who can’t do online stuff?”
“Of course they do. She’s taken three of them but still didn’t know what to do. She asked for my help. What am I going to do? Say no to her?”
“But you also have your own work to do.”
He turns his chair to face me. “Do you really think I’m not getting my work done?”
Jeremy is one of the smartest people I know. He’s brilliant with computers, and he could probably get a job anywhere, making a huge amount of money. But he was dating a girl who lived in Milford when he graduated college, so he took a job here instead. His salary is better than mine—a lot better—but it’s not anywhere close to what he could be earning elsewhere. He broke up with that girl a year and a half after he moved here, but he doesn’t seem inclined to find something better.
“I’m sure you’re getting your work done. You could probably get three different people’s work done.”
The corners of his mouth turn up. He’s got a square face with full cheeks, so he had a baby face when he was younger. He keeps his hair short, and he wears khakis and a camp shirt almost every day. His frame is big, but he doesn’t like to exercise, so his belly isn’t entirely flat. He might not be George Franks level of hot, but I’ve always thought he’s adorable. “Maybe two people’s jobs,” he drawls.
I’m leaning against the edge of his desk with one of the chocolate cookies in my hand. Remembering I’ve only had one bite, I take another. It’s really good.
His eyes are running up and down my body the way George’s did earlier. It’s not surprising that he’s looking at me. Why wouldn’t he? I look at him too. He’s probably my favorite person in the world to look at. But the expression in his eyes prompts a flicker of something inside me.
Something.
It makes me immediately uncomfortable, and I’m not used to feeling that way around Jeremy. I frown. “What are you peering at?”
“Something happened,” he says, his thick eyebrows pulling together. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on. What are you talking about?”
“You look...” He shakes his head. “What happened?”
I know now exactly what he’s talking about. He somehow sees my excitement about my upcoming date with George Franks. But that something I saw—I felt—when he was looking at me makes me feel weird about it.
I’m going to tell him about the date. I tell him everything.
But for some reason I don’t want to tell him right now.
I curl up my lip in a faint snarl. “They foisted the Secret Santa thing on me. So that happened.”
As expected, this distracts him from his probing. “Why did you get stuck with it? That’s not your job.”
“I know that. But they took it away from Cindy, and someone has to do it.”
He shakes his head. “You need to work on not being so likable. That’s your problem.”
“How is being likable a problem?”
“It’s a problem because if everyon
e likes you, then you’re always going to get jobs like this dumped on you.”
“Not everyone likes me.”
He lets an eye roll be his answer to that.
“Okay, most people like me, but that’s because I exert myself to be nice to them. That’s something you could use some practice at.”
“You think I’m not nice to you?”
“You’re very nice to me. But you act all grumpy and aloof with other people.” I reach over and squeeze his knee. “They don’t know you like I do, so they think you mean it.”
“I do mean it.”
“No, you don’t. You try to act like a grizzly, but you’re actually a teddy bear.”
He narrows his eyes.
I giggle at his disapproval. “You are a teddy bear. You’re my teddy bear.” With a wave of affection, I reach over to give him a hug.
I’m standing and he’s sitting, so it’s not exactly ideal hug conditions. I lean over to wrap my arms around him—a gesture he immediately reciprocates—but the positioning is awkward. I lose my balance and start falling forward toward him, which wouldn’t necessarily be a problem. But his chair is on wheels, and it rolls.
I squeal as we both get pushed backward until the chair connects with the bookshelf against the wall. I end up in a sprawl on Jeremy’s lap, my face buried in his shirt.
He smells like laundry and coffee. He’s warm and big and familiar. His arms are surprisingly strong as they grab ahold of me. I try to straighten and end up with my face a few inches from his.
I see the dark stubble on his skin. The thick fringe of his dark eyelashes. I’ve always visualized him in my mind with the baby face he had in high school, but I’m suddenly aware of his cheekbones. The square cut of his jaw line.
One of his hands is spanning the curve of my ribs, and the other one is holding me at the hip. The touch is intimate. A lot more physically intimate than Jeremy and I ever get.
I flush hot and fight against a surge of pleasure, excitement. My female parts have all clamped down around my sudden awareness of his body.
