Page 32 of Make You Mine This Christmas
He pushes to his feet, and I stand my ground as he walks toward me, stopping inches away. Our eyes lock, and whatever he sees in mine makes him smile.
“I think it will be,” he says, before leaning in to kiss me. He takes the opportunity to bite my bottom lip lightly before pulling away. The mirth in his eyes is worth all the worry this morning.
“Let’s go, Santa. We’ve got ourselves a full slate today. Plus, we need to go pick up those coffees you promised everyone.” He smacks my ass and moves around me to the bathroom stalls.
I won’t have to try very hard to be a right jolly old elf today.
* * *
Turns out, staying jolly is much harder than I expected. At least once every season there’s a day where nothing goes right. Tantrums galore, tech issues, impatient crowds, short staffed—you name it, we had it. The hushed air when the door closes after the last family is heavy with exhaustion and frustration.
I wipe my face and decide I need to say something. “Hey everyone, give me a minute?” All the elves drop whatever closing up activity they were half-heartedly going through the motions of, and gather around, standing among the line stanchions. Jasmine even sinks to the floor, leaning against a particularly large present box.
“In the Santa biz, we call days like today a dark day. You all did your very best to keep up with everything the day threw at us, and I’ll be sure to tell Blaire the same thing. I wish I could say we’ve had our fill and it won’t happen again, but the closer we get to Christmas, the higher tensions rise. Hopefully, they will be isolated incidents, but remember why we’re here. To put smiles on those kids’ faces, whether their parents appreciate it or not. Let’s clean up as quickly as we can, go home, and get some rest. Breakfast and lunch are on me tomorrow.”
A few scattered claps ring out. Everyone gets back to their assignments with a bit more pep in their step—exhausted pep, but still.
I pull out my phone. Before I can start putting anything into action, Austin steps up next to me. “Are all Santas this good at rallying the troops?” he asks, leaning casually against the side of my chair. My face reddens.
“Maybe not all of them, but the ones who care about the people they’re working with should be.” The look in his eyes shows he’s impressed, and it’s hard for me to hold his gaze. I look back at my phone instead, typing fast and furious.
“So how are you going to get breakfast and lunch organized that quickly? Need me to make some calls?” he asks.
“Thanks, but I got it. Susie and I set up an emergency plan—and an emergency account—on my second day here. I wish it weren’t the turn from weekday to weekend hours, but she’ll get it done.” Right on cue, she texts back “10-4,” and I know there will be even more than I requested waiting for us to pick up in the morning.
“You can text Blaire now, but if you want a chance to fill her in more, you could do it at dinner on Sunday night,” he says casually. I look up from my phone in a flash. Austin’s face betrays the nerves his voice hid.
“Dinner with Blaire... does that mean dinner with Cole too?” I ask, wary. The fierce friend I know Cole can be, I’m not sure how Austin’s breakfast went this morning. Though his kiss in the locker room may be a clue.
“Mmhm.” Austin nods. “It was his idea to bring you, actually.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Not that I don’t want you there, really. The good idea was probably inspired by my presence. But”—his expression turns serious—“I’d really like you to be there.”
“Nice save,” I say, smacking his arm gently. “Now, go get moving on your cleanup. No special treatment from Santa in the workshop.”
“So there is the potential forspecialtreatment,” he says, his voice all innuendo. I look around, and catch Jimmy watching us, but everyone else is hustling. Jimmy rolls his eyes, but softens it with a smile before unplugging the computer and waving goodbye. I know he’ll be up late cleaning the database, making sure the bright spots from today—the people we’re going to help—don’t get overshadowed by the tough cases.
“Only for the reallygoodboys,” I say, my voice low and husky.
Austin salutes and saunters away. I can’t help but reflect on how good it feels to have someone to joke around with after a hard day like the one we had today. To know I’m not going home by myself, even if I’m not quite surewhatit is I’m going home to, means even more that it’s Austin I’m sharing it with. And I plan to hold on to this feeling, for however long I have it.
* * *
“I know I’ve only been an elf for about two weeks, but I thought it would be more toy making and less exhausting,” Austin says, flopping onto the couch after we get back to his place. “Home” he called it again as we were leaving. It’s hard not to read too much into his words. It is his home. Does he want me to view it as a place to call home too?
“Well, you know, even toy making can be grueling. After all, Ming-Ming expected a thousand Etch-A-Sketches a day,” I say, knowing he’ll get the reference immediately.
“Fuck, now I want to watchElf, but considering we need to be back at the workshop in less than twelve hours, it’s probably not the responsible thing to do.”
“Rain check.” I roll my neck along the back of the couch to look at him.
“Snowball check,” he responds, mimicking my pose and giving me a happy look, not unlike the one he probably sees on my face.
“So, I guess we should go to bed then.” There’s a question, an invitation there, and I think back to my conversation with Grams this morning. Some combo of grandmotherly thoughts and bed tickles my memory...
“Fuck,” I exclaim, sitting straight up. “My sheets are still in the washer from this morning.”
