by Jana Aston
“Oh. Well, I realized I have no idea how to judge a reindeer trot.” Jillian shrugs and then grabs another scone from the tin with a big smile.
“Riveting crisis, Jillian,” I deadpan.
“I know. But I’ll figure something out.”
“I know you will. I have faith in you.” I roll my eyes as I stand, ready to take myself and my cookie tin back to my own office.
“Thanks, boo. But I do have one other teeny-tiny problem I could really use your help with.” Jillian looks at me beseechingly, her hands clasped together and tucked under her chin as she leans forward in her chair and does her best impression of puppy-dog eyes.
I groan.
Chapter 3
Ugh, where is this guy? I bounce my knee nervously while glancing at the door. Pictures with Santa start in twenty minutes and Santa is missing. Or rather, the guy coming to put on the Santa suit is missing. But at the moment, it’s the same thing.
I’ve got a room full of kids and no Santa.
If Jillian’s brother bails on this gig I will kill him. And her. It turns out her work crisis has nothing to do with planning an event in which the kids are going to prance around the community center gymnasium on stick reindeer while jumping over obstacles she bought online. Obstacles meant for dog agility training, but whatever. Apparently one has to make do with what they can find until hobby reindeering takes off.
That’s a direct quote, bless her heart.
Anyway.
No. Her crisis was that her boyfriend surprised her by planning a weekend trip, not realizing it was the same weekend as the fundraiser pictures with Santa at the library. An event that Jillian arranges as it falls under youth services. An event I’m now overseeing because Jillian’s skiing with her boyfriend.
So here I am. Ho-ho-helping.
All I have to do is get Santa into the Santa suit and ensure none of the children knee him in the balls. That’s the gist anyway. It’s a bigger problem than you’d think. As is finding someone to put on the Santa suit. All the professional Santas get snapped up by the big payers—the River Place Shops, the Christmas-themed hotel with an indoor water park. Heck, Otto’s Christmas Mart keeps three full-time Santas on staff year-round. Besides which, Jillian blew most of her budget on the hobby reindeer supplies so she wouldn’t have been able to afford a premium Santa even if she had been able to book one.
Hence, she’s booked a second-rate Santa. Her brother.
“Teddy’s a flirt,” she said. “He’s currently unemployed and living in our parents’ basement, so save yourself the hassle.”
Noted. At least she’s not trying to set me up.
She promised him fifty bucks to show up, which is more than I got, now that I’m thinking about it. But I don’t mind helping. I really don’t. As long as her brother shows up to put on the Santa suit.
I’m giving him another ten minutes before I place an emergency call to my dad and beg him to fill in. He’d probably be happy to do it, as I’m sure Mom’s got him on wrapping duty. He hates wrapping presents. If he doesn’t line up the pattern perfectly she makes him redo it. Then he suggests gift bags and then she tells him gift bags are for quitters and, well, things can get a little tense this time of year.
I’m just about to call when a man I’ve never seen before enters the library. He’s carrying a couple of books and headed toward the return bin, but then he sees me and pauses, something like recognition crossing his features. Granted, I’m standing in the lobby and I’m staring right at him, but he’s giving me that look that you give to strangers you’re meeting up with. Anyway, I think I’ve got my Santa. Finally.
“Teddy?” I ask, fighting the urge to look pointedly at my watch as a not-so-subtle reminder that we’re on a schedule.
He dumps the books into the return slot and then closes the distance between us with a slow stride, like a guy with no job and no use for time constraints. He’s good-looking. Of course he is. Men who come with a warning always are.
Crap.
He’s the kind of good-looking that makes my heart rate speed up. And he’s got sexy eyes. Yeah, yeah, I know that sounds dumb, but you know the type? They light up when he talks and they smolder when they look at you. He’s tall with wide shoulders and narrow hips. Strong jaw and perfectly symmetrical features. He’s the kind of attractive that you know is going to age really well.
And yeah, I want to punch myself in the face for even thinking sexy things about Jillian’s brother.
He stares a moment longer before shrugging and saying, “Sure,” with a small laugh as his eyes trail over mine. Heavy-lidded brown eyes the color of a swirl of caramel in a pecan pie, which has always been my favorite of the pies. “And you are?”
What a dick. Who says “sure” in response to “hello”? This time I make a show of checking my watch before I respond. “I’m Noel. And you’re late.”
“Ahh, you’re Noel. From the community center.” He says this as if it’s all clicking into place for him. As if he’s just remembering he was meant to do something at the library besides drop off books.
Super bright, this one.
And I bet those books were overdue.
I refrain from grunting as I tell him to follow me and spin on my heel, talking as we walk, reminding him of what Jillian has surely already explained to him. Santa. Kids. Pictures. It’s not hard. We should have this wrapped up in a couple hours and then he’s free to go.
When we reach the office he’s smiling. “So you need me to put on a Santa suit and play Santa?”
“Yeah, that’s the general idea.” I’m not sure why he’s so seemingly amused by this. He’s almost acting like he’s doing me a favor when really he’s doing the favor for Jillian. And the fifty bucks.
“You’re not what I expected,” he finally replies.
“Put this on,” I respond, shoving the Santa suit into his hands. When he simply grins and starts unbuttoning his pants I take it upon myself to step into the hallway because it’s pretty clear he’s got no relationship with modesty. It’s also clear why Jillian sent the Santa padding along with the costume because her brother does not have the body to play Santa. Unless it was a male stripper version of Santa—that he could definitely do, I think with a peek through the open door. “What were you expecting?” I find myself asking against my better judgment.
“You were described to me as sweet,” he answers, laughter in his voice.
“I am—” I start to object but I cut myself off with a shake of my head. I don’t care what this guy thinks. Jillian warned me he was a flirt. I need to stop engaging with him. A guy like Teddy is the last thing I need. Call me crazy, but I find employment and a place of your own really attractive in a man.
“You’re feisty,” he calls out from inside the room. I wrinkle my nose, reminding myself I don’t care what he thinks. “Sexy,” he adds, and my jaw drops open. Okay, maybe I care a teeny-tiny bit. I wonder if he’s joking though. I’m wearing jeans and a green turtleneck sweater. He must be joking, unless he’s got a turtleneck fetish.
“Well, you’re exactly what I expected.” I lean against the opposite wall to force myself to stop spying on him through the open doorway.
“How’s that?” He steps out of the office, still buttoning the Santa jacket over the stomach padding. He should look ridiculous—red pants, wide black belt slung over his shoulder and a half-buttoned matching jacket—but he doesn’t. In fact I’m having decidedly un-ridiculous thoughts about him as I watch his hands moving the length of the coat. When he finishes, he winks at me and I blush at having been caught staring.
Maybe I have a Santa fetish? Eww. Is that even a thing?
“You’re an even bigger shameless flirt than I was warned about.”
“Were you? That’s unexpected.” He smiles, appearing more amused than offended.
I shake off the weird sexual tension between us and push past him into the office to grab the beard wig and the hat. Beard wig is the correct terminology, right? Jillian
left some boob tape to ensure it stays put. Body tape. I’m sure it’s called body tape. I think? Still, I laugh ’cause we all know the only thing you use body tape for is to ensure a low-cut top doesn’t stray where it shouldn’t.
“You’re going to tape that to my face?” Teddy asks, a look of disbelief crossing his face, eyebrows raised in question when I tear off a strip and attach it to the back of the beard wig.
“Don’t be a baby. It peels right off. Trust me, women go through far worse in the name of beauty.”
“All right, sure.” He waves his arms wide, as if in surrender, and perches against the edge of the desk. “Do with me what you like,” he says. But the way it comes out has my body responding in ways I’d prefer it not to. He says it like an invitation, which I suppose technically it was.
I step forward and attach the mustache portion above his lip, pressing it in place with my fingertips. My thumb inadvertently brushes his lower lip as I do so. I suck in a small breath at the contact, more affected than I have any reasonable right to be. Am I this hard up that I’m attracted to a Santa I met ten minutes ago?
Ugh.
He smells like he just ate a peppermint with an undertone of something else, like a simmering pot of cloves and cinnamon and lust.
And he thinks I’m sexy. I don’t think anyone’s ever referred to me that way before. Maybe it’s happened in bed, but never in the middle of a random day when I’m not even trying.
I scoot in between his spread legs, peeling another strip of tape to attach the bottom half of the beard to his face. There’s an elastic portion that secures it around his head as well—the tape is just a precaution in case any of the little ones get grabby. He looks truly ridiculous now, but damned if I’m not still drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Like snow to December. Like Santa to a chimney. Like a thirsty woman with an overactive imagination in the presences of one of those make-your-own-soda machines with the fancy touchscreen that allows you to make the soda combination of your dreams, like a peach-flavored Sprite or a raspberry Fanta.
Just like that.
“Why did you refer to me as sexy?” I find myself asking. I’ve still got the tape pressed between my fingers but I’m afraid to touch him again. Afraid I’m in some kind of sexy-Santa-induced trance.
“What? Santa isn’t allowed to find turtlenecks sexy?”
Yeah, that wakes me up. I’m the dowdy equipment manager to his sexy quarterback. Abort flirtation immediately before his cheerleader girlfriend shows up and laughs at me.
That might have triggered a bad high school memory. Shake it off, girl.
He’s teasing me. He’s a tease. A flirt. Jillian warned me. Out-of-my-league attractive is what he is. I slap the beard wig on his face with a little more force than necessary and step back, flushed.
“Uh, the kids are waiting,” I stammer as I turn and head for the door.
“Noel.” He says my name in a way that makes me stop and turn back, waiting for him to continue. “It was the way you glared at me the moment we met. Your bossy no-nonsense attitude. How you contradicted every idea I thought I had of you. Sexy as hell.”
I blink. And before I can process that he’s stood, placed the Santa hat on his head and moved to the office door where he pauses with one hand on the doorjamb, leaning in so close I think he might kiss me. He doesn’t. Instead he lowers his voice to a murmur. “Now let’s go ho-ho-ho it up, shall we?”
Chapter 4
Teddy’s an excellent Santa. First-string Santa material, actually. He engages with the kids, makes them laugh for the pictures and he’s so good with the criers they’re giving him hugs and smiling by the time they’ve collected their candy cane, waving bye-bye with chubby mittened hands as their mothers bundle them back into their winter coats. The mothers don’t seem to mind him either. He charms them too, but I notice he isn’t looking at any of them the way he looked at me in the office. He’s charming with everyone but respectful. The added flirtation seems reserved especially for me, a fact that warms me from my head to my toes and all the best bits in between.
“You should line up a few more Santa gigs this week. Everyone in town is looking for a good Santa,” I tell him on the way back to the library office. The event ran longer than I planned, both because Teddy was a chattier Santa than I expected and because we had a huge line of kids. Seems there were a lot of parents in Reindeer Falls hoping their kid would tell Santa what they were hoping to find in their stockings come Christmas morning.
“Uh, I’ll keep that in mind.” Teddy looks like he’s fighting a grin. “I was thinking I’d take a bit of time off this month, but it’s good to know I’ve got options.”
He’s removed the Santa hat and beard as we approached the office, ripping the mustache off with a quick rip, like removing a Band-Aid.
“It’s good money,” I add, a little annoyed with his attitude. He’s being a little selective for someone without a job. “The A-list Santas are paid more than I am.”
“A-list Santas? Did you really just say that?” His eyes twinkle in amusement and I wonder yet again how it’s possible for someone to look attractive in a Santa suit, complete with a fake Santa pot belly.
“We’re in Reindeer Falls. Of course I just said that. There are more full-time Santas employed in Reindeer Falls than anywhere else in the world.”
“Is that so?” He smiles at me and it feels like seduction. I’m not sure how he’s not confusing every woman he comes in contact with, with those smiles. Come hither, they say. Ugh, shameless flirt, I remind myself. It’s second nature for him. Hell, I just watched him charm a bunch of kids—in a non-creepy way—like it was nothing. This is just who he is.
“It is,” I confirm. “Reindeer Falls fun fact.”
He nods. “I’ve been away too long. I’ve forgotten all the fun facts.”
“What is it that you do, normally? When you’re not taking time off,” I add. Which is rather polite of me, I think. Or passive-aggressive. Take your pick.
He gives me a sideways glance before answering. “Investment banking.”
“Investment banking,” I repeat, unsure of what to make of that. When Jillian said he was unemployed I imagined… actually I’m not sure what I imagined. A drummer probably. How cliché of me. “Is it hard to find a job in investment banking?”
“Not really, no. But I’ve been self-employed for some time now.”
Hmph, that’s a nice spin for unemployment.
“Okay, well, this is prime season in Reindeer Falls and the A-list Santas are very well paid. I can put in a good word for you with a few people if you like. One Santa goes down with the flu and everyone in town is scrambling for a decent replacement.”
“You’d do that for me, Noel?”
“Sure,” I answer, unsure if he’s amused or touched by my offer. But then he’s reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and I nearly forget how to breathe. His fingertip brushes my earlobe and it’s all I can do not to visibly shudder. I’m not imagining this either. He’s standing all of six inches from me, way, way past an appropriately friendly distance. He’s in kissing range, for sure. And his body language is more than friendly. Definite vibes happening.
He leans in a fraction farther and I think he’s going to kiss me, but he doesn’t.
A beat, and I’m sure we’re both thinking about it, but I’m waiting on him to pull the kiss trigger.
“Noel, would you have dinner with me?” he asks instead.
You know, the thing is, maybe Jillian is wrong about her brother? I mean, I don’t have a brother myself but I’m sure if I did I’d think he was undateable too.
Gah, no!
What is wrong with me? Why am I attracted to the one guy I was warned away from? Do I have a bad-boy complex I was previously unaware of? Then again, would it be so terrible to have a little fling with a bad boy? It’s not like I have anything else on my Christmas list. And it’s not like he’s that bad. He’s not even in a band.
It’s just dinner
, Noel. Way to jump the gun. But still, bad idea.
“Err”—I force myself to look away before I’m seduced by his come-hither sexy eyes and make bad choices—“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not hungry.” That was a solid excuse. Awkward, but solid.
“Hot chocolate then.” He hasn’t moved. He’s still standing close enough that if I moved my head back and he just bent his a little bit our lips would damn near be touching. “Come on, Noel. I’ve been a good sport today, haven’t I? Have a drink with me.”
Well. I run that over in my head.
Hot chocolate is the least threatening of all the drinks, isn’t it? Nothing bad has ever come from having a hot chocolate with someone, probably in the entire history of hot chocolate.
“We’ll have to bring the Santa costume,” I say in place of yes.
“Kinky.” He winks, but playfully. Smiling as he steps through the office door and starts unbuttoning the Santa jacket.
I roll my eyes. “It belongs to the community center. Jillian will kill me if I misplace it.”
“Can’t have that,” he agrees.
“There’s a coffee shop just across the street,” I suggest as we step outside of the library. There’s a light dusting of snow falling and Teddy is carrying the Santa suit under his arm. There’s Christmas music playing from a sound system wired along Main Street. Believe it or not, the town doesn’t play Christmas music year-round on Main Street. November first to December thirty-first only. So even though I live in a Christmas-themed town, it really does feel extra-special this time of year. The snow doesn’t hurt either.
I live in a small house, just a couple of blocks from the library, so I left my car at home and walked earlier today. That’s part of the charm of living downtown in a small town. You can walk everywhere, even with a little snow. We don’t need cars now either, the library being just a block off of Main Street.
