Page 3 of Make You Mine This Christmas
My eyes bounce between the two, trying to figure out what Blaire knows about me. I’ve never allowed myself to search for Austin online in all the years we’ve been apart until he popped up in a video on the festival’s social media account last year—as a professional Santa, my algorithm is very predictable. From there, I’ve tried to limit the time I spend on his accounts, but there isn’t a lot for us Santas to do over the summer, leaving a lot of time to scroll. Blaire started popping up on his accounts around five years ago, with and without his best friend, Cole. And Cole—he knows exactly who I am.
“Well, okay,” she says, her tone sounding unsure. “I meant to call a short break to introduce you two, but it seems you already know each other.”
Austin’s speaking before I’ve come close to imagining what to say. “Well, I wouldn’t sayknoweach other, but yes, Brody and I have met.”
My eyes close briefly, flashes from ten years ago I’d locked away breaking free. Austin and I laughing together, eating together, being together. The welcome to Winterberry Glen sign in my rearview mirror as I drove away. A deep inhale in, and my eyes open to find Austin watching me, his look of concern quickly morphing back into one of disinterest as soon as our gazes meet.
“Yes. We’ve met,” I say in return, not willing to look away first. The Christmas music and sounds of eager small voices filter in from the other side of the wall. Austin’s blue-grey eyes see deep inside me and look through me all at once, before they blink and look back at Blaire. I follow suit and see her looking between us, wringing her hands.
“I’m too sleep-deprived for this, so if you all are good for today, we’ll go with it. Brody, why don’t you get back out there? Lexie, you can give Austin a rundown of what he needs to know, and then I’ll meet you back in the gym.”
We all nod in agreement. I take a second to be sure my suit is straight and hat is appropriately jaunty before taking a deep breath and heading back to my chair and the waiting children.
I sit down, and a young Vietnamese boy steps up, next in line. Hands tucked behind his back, he keeps shooting furtive looks at me and then looking back down.
“Hi there. What’s your name?” My smile breaks wide across my face, doing my best to be approachable. I lean on my leg to get close to his level, careful not to extend too much into his space. The number of kids who start out excited about meeting Santa and then freeze up when it’s their turn has taught me a lot of tricks over the years.
“Quang,” he mumbles, his gaze meeting mine for longer this time before his cheeks redden and he looks back down.
“Hi, Quang. You can call me Nick, if you’d like.” He looks up in surprise, and I shoot him a wink. His face lights up with the special joy only experienced by children at Christmastime, and he steps closer to me, keeping eye contact as he stands next to my knee.
“Would you like to come up and sit on my knee to tell me what you’d like for Christmas? Or do you want to stay there?”
He nods and breaks into an elaborate description of the art set he’d like. My gaze never strays from him, but I sense rather than see Austin come to stand next to me. I find so much joy in playing Santa for all these kids who still believe in the magic of Christmas, and that’s enough to keep me engaged on a regular day. But knowing Austin’s here now, and will see me in my element? My energy levels rise, and I vow to be the best damn Santa he’s ever seen.
After we pose for photos, I turn back to the young boy clinging onto my red velvet pants. “Thanks for visiting me today, Quang. I hope you have a great Christmas. My friend Austin here will help you get back to your mom.”
Quang sticks his hand out for Austin to take, a different child than the shy one who approached me. Austin reaches toward him, and a whiff of his spicy cologne follows as he crosses into my space for the first time today. I watch for a moment, heart in my eyes and lead in my stomach as Quang regales Austin with the details of his art set too while they walk back to his mom.
A blond girl with long braids steps up onto the stool placed next to my chair to help them settle on my knee, and my attention returns to the task at hand—listening to these kids and giving them their special moment with Santa. I even I direct Austin to help some of the older ones who could walk back to their parents on their own. He never meets my eye, but the whiff of spices I get each time he comes close is too addicting to give up. I catch him smiling and even hear him bark out a laugh before swallowing it when one little boy asks for an underwater trampoline. We fall into a rhythm. Between visitors, a fleeting thought crosses my mind. In all the dreams I had about Austin and me reuniting, I never considered a scenario of him being a part of this with me. Even if I had, and even though he won’t look at me, I don’t know I could have come close to getting it right. Austin Owens is the type of man to burrow deep inside you and, no matter how hard you try to dig him out, will always leave traces of himself behind.
Chapter 3
Austin
If I’m being honest, I expected my time as an elf to crawl by. When I found out the festival’s new Santa was none other than Brody—crusher of hearts and dreams—those four hours should have moved like molasses.
But instead, the time flies by. I’m careful to avoid Brody’s eyes, not wanting him to catch any of my tangled emotions at his being the new Santa, beinghere.I have to admit it, he’s a fucking fantastic Santa Claus. How the hell he went from his dreams of being a high-powered litigator to this, I have no idea. It’s killing me not knowing this about him, but I won’t allow myself to ask. It’s a lot safer if I don’t allow myself to know anything about who he is now.
One of the other elves in the workshop shuts the door behind the last family, sliding the deadbolt firmly in place. Suddenly, the space that’s been full of dozens of people all day feels too small for the two of us to share. I look around, not sure what my role is in cleaning anything up. No one’s paying me any attention, not even Brody, who’s speaking with the elf behind the cookie and photo counter. I take it as my opportunity to slip out undetected, removing my jingle shoes as quietly as possible and sneaking out the back door. It’s dark outside. The lights decorating the festival market stalls twinkle in the cold air with scents of mulled wine and roasted nuts drifting over from across the way. But there’s no time to be distracted by Christmas goodness. I speed walk the distance across the town square to the gym, throwing up a prayer to whoever might be listening I can get changed and out of here before Brody makes his way to the locker room.
No such luck. I have my flannel shirt back on, but I pull down the leggings and long johns right as the door to the locker room opens and Brody makes his way inside, all five feet, eleven inches of him, encased in red velvet.
His eyes dart immediately to the part of my body now only covered by my candy-cane-striped boxer briefs. I fight the urge to cover myself, cursing I didn’t get my pants on faster. He looks away, his cheeks growing a darker pink under the edges of his beard. My own face heats, and I roll my eyes at myself internally. It’s a locker room, and while it’s been a decade, the man who just walked in has seen all of me in much less than what I’m wearing now. I turn my back on Brody, thanking my trainer and his relentless focus on squats. I know that has my ass looking plump. I manage to take my leggings the rest of the way off and step into my jeans.
“Ahem.” Brody clears his throat once I have pants back in place. It seems I’m not getting out of here without some sort of interaction, so it’s time to face the music.
After I grab my coat and jam my feet back into my shoes, I can’t delay any longer. I gather up my costume and face his direction. It’s my turn to take in the parts of Brody’s body he’s uncovered as he de-Santifies himself. He’s removed the coat and pillow popping out of his bowl-full-of-jelly belly, resting them both on the bench next to him. But my eyes trace a rounder stomach than he had the last time I saw him, reminiscent of the photos he showed me of an adolescent Brody. By the time I met him, he had his eyes set on corporate law and held tightly to the notion that a certain type of physique would best serve him to get there. Even now, when my gym time is at an all-time high to fill the empty holes in my schedule, it doesn’t match what Brody would wake up at 4:30 a.m. to do most days.
My hand twitches, longing to stroke the soft curve of his stomach, the magnetic draw between us still as strong now as ten years ago. I give myself an internal shake. The times when I got to touch Brody however I wanted are long gone.
He clears his throat again, and I wonder how long I’ve been standing here silent, taking him in. Whatever he intended to say after his initial attention-getting seems long gone.
“So, hi,” he says. My eyesdoroll now. Ten years and “So, hi,” is what he goes with? I walk toward him, the bells on the shoes stuffed under my arm jingling with each step I take.
“What are you doing here, Brody?” The elf hat I only now realized I’m still wearing, along with the jingling bells probably undercut the impassive expression I’m trying to keep on my face, like the sight of him after all this time doesn’t gut me.
“I’m... I’m here to fill-in for the festival’s Santa.” For someone who argues for a living, Brody looks off-balance at the venom in my voice. Or is it argued? He can’t still be at a firm if he’s here to be Santa for the rest of the festival.
