Page 2 of Make You Mine This Christmas
I salute and make my way into the locker room, depositing my jacket into one of the lockers. I change quickly, not wanting to keep Blaire waiting longer than I have to. On my way out the door, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. “Not half bad, Owens,” I mutter, fixing the messy locks of my dark brown hair into some sort of order. The green makes my blue-grey eyes pop, and my broad shoulders and muscular legs fill out every inch of stretch this costume has. While I was being a smartass flirting with the woman out there, the compression of the long johns under these leggingsdoeshelp with Blaire’s goal of presenting a wholesome elven image.
The door pops open a crack, and Blaire’s voice sounds from outside the door. “I love you, but can you stop worrying about your hair and get out here? You’re going to have to put on a hat anyway.”
I laugh to myself and, taking one last look, make my way back out into the gymnasium. Blaire’s waiting on the other side of the door with a hat and shoes that curl up at the toes, outfitted with a bell at each point.
“Hope the jingling shoes don’t mess up your game.” Blaire smirks as she hands them to me and starts leading me across the gym to a different door than the one I came in. “They’ll slip on over your shoes, so you can put them on outside Santa’s Workshop and not get them soaked.”
“Blaire, please. I’ve been upping my squat game the past few months, practicing so I can hold both twins at once as they grow. These leggings on this ass can outweigh anything you throw at me, even elf hats or shoes with bells. My game is fine.”
“That’s the spirit,” Blaire says. We reach the back of Santa’s Workshop and she unlocks a door hidden behind a huge stack of presents and a Christmas tree. “Now, hat on, shoes jingling. Let’s go make some kids’ days.”
We walk into the small hut, and my senses are inundated all at once. There’s the smell of gingerbread and peppermint in the air, the warmth from the heating system, the potentially hazardous amount of twinkle lights strung around the room. And then, over the Christmas music playing at a low volume, I hear it. The booming laugh that feels like it’s just ended when I wake up alone in the middle of the night, even after all this time. It can’t be.
“Austin?” Blaire’s voice is concerned, but fades into the background as I walk around the false wall separating Santa’s chair from the back door.
One look confirms it. It is him. There, in a red suit and close-cropped beard he didn’t have the last time I saw him, with rosy cheeks and twinkling eyes, is the owner of that laugh. The ghost of would-be Christmases past and broken futures—Brody Walker.
Chapter 2
Brody
The boy on my lap is listing the fifth video game he wants for the new gaming console he’s asked for when a chill enters the room. The door at the front of the workshop hasn’t opened. It must be the back entrance and the elf they’re bringing to replace the reluctant stand-in who’s been here since we opened an hour ago. She’s “only temporary” and “has to get back to the gym”—she only mentioned it about five times before we let the families start filing in.
“Ahem.” The noise comes from my knee, and I turn my full attention back on Carson Rose, age six.
“Sorry, Carson. I got a late start to Holly Ridge from the North Pole last night. Once you’re done telling me the rest of what you want for Christmas, I hope you can help me.”
Carson’s eyes go wide. “I’m done. How can I help?”
“Well, I could sure use a big hug and a promise you’ll be extra good for the rest of the year. It’ll give me a big boost of energy.”
“Sure!” Carson wraps his arms around me, and I sense rather than see his mom snapping a picture of the moment. “Thanks for listening, Santa. My mom told me Santa’s budget is smaller than the new Switch, but I thought it doesn’t hurt to ask.” I make eye contact with his mom and notice the dark circles under her eyes and the slightly worn nature of her coat. A top rule of being a professional Santa? Never promise any major gifts.
“I think you’re going to have a great Christmas, Carson. Be sure to tell your mom to stop by the Snowflake stand on the way out and grab yourselves some cookies, okay? Make sure your mom asks for one with sprinkles on it.” I make eye contact with his mom and see her nod, confusion clear on her face.
Part of what my Santa company brings to anywhere we do visits for the public are special “sprinkle” cookies for adults. Those bags have a QR code inside they can scan and sign up to get some help during the holiday season. Assistance can come in the form of a gift card for groceries, winter clothes, or a present under the tree. It’s one of the things I’m most proud of about my business.
Carson runs off back to his mother. I take a sip of water before greeting the next child, my mind wandering to how I ended up here. When the emergency Santa call came out for the Holly Ridge–Winterberry Glen Holiday Festival, I made sure the organizer, Blaire, didn’t have time to consider anyone else. This means I’ve been awake for going on thirty hours, making arrangements to fill in the other bookings I had for the next several weeks. I’m pretty sure my assistant Monica aged about five years with all the last-minute changes. And then I had to get myself up here from New York City.
A small girl with brown skin and round brown eyes approaches me next. I snap back into Santa mode and push aside thoughts of whether I’ll be able to make it over to Winterberry Glen tonight. Farah is telling me about the kitten she’d like for Christmas when I feel it. The weight of the gaze I’m not sure I deserve to feel again. I look to my right, and there he is. He’s bulkier, and his brown hair is longer, curling over his forehead and above his ears from under his elf hat. He’s pale, like he’s seen a ghost.
Seeing him freezes me in place. I’ve imagined this moment so many times and in so many ways. But I never picture me wearing this suit and him wearing bells on his shoes and striped leggings. Blaire walks up to him and tugs on his arm, her face full of concern. He lets her pull him behind the fake wall at my back.
Farah tugs on my beard, and I thank the Santa gods I perfected the art of whitening my real facial hair years ago. I turn my attention back to her, cursing the terrible Santa I’m being today. “Yes, Farah, I’m sorry. You were telling me about the kitten you want.” I glance up at her mom, who nods her head and smiles, letting me know they’re all in on this particular wish. “What do you think you’ll name her?”
This sets off a list of name options, dependent on fur and eye color combos. I smile, nod, and do my Santa laugh at appropriate intervals. Farah gives me a hug and we pose for a photo before she runs off, regaling her parents with every reaction and smile I gave her.
Blaire walks up and addresses the crowd. “Santa needs a milk and cookie break, everyone. He’ll be back in five!” She gestures for me to follow her, and the temporary elf comes along too.
As soon as we’re hidden from view, Blaire turns to the other woman with us. “Lexie, I’m really sorry, but you’re going to need to stay here for the rest of the day.”
My heart sinks to my feet as I look around and realize Austin’s nowhere to be seen. He took one look at me and ran out on the elf gig? Why is he an elf anyway?
Lexie sputters, but the back door opening again interrupts her. Austin walks back into the workshop, his coloring returned to normal, and his expression schooled and neutral.
“Oh, Austin. I’m just telling Lexie she’ll need to?—”
He cuts her off. “It’s okay, B. I told you, I only needed a minute. I’m good.”
