Page 7 of Make You Mine This Christmas
She hands me a paper cup of coffee and a white bag holding my sandwich. I know I need to let her get back to work, but find myself saying, “I wondered what changed. I remember the Christmas festival, but when I saw it rebranded as the Holly Ridge–Winterberry Glen Holiday Festival, I almost thought somewhere else had stolen your names.”
“You should ask him about it. He was there, he knows all the insider details.”
All the warmth at the mention of Austin goes out at the reminder of my current situation. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m not even sure when I’ll see him again.”
Susie gestures out the window with her chin. I follow the path of her gaze in time to see Austin walk past the café. He’s headed toward the gym. “You never know what those Christmas elves will rustle up for the right person.”
Her cheer and optimism are infectious and the locked-up organ in my chest starts to hope. Maybe this isn’t a foolhardy, overly-impulsive plan after all. I lift my cup in thanks. “Well, I better get this breakfast eaten and get myself ready for another day of spreading cheer.”
“I’ll be sure we have an Eggnog Latte and egg sandwich ready for you at eleven tomorrow.”
I thank Susie again and head back out into the cold, annoyed that carrying my suit means I can’t dig into this sandwich emitting smells from heaven. After pushing my way into the locker room, I peek down a couple of the rows of lockers, not seeing Austin anywhere. I guess he had another destination after all.
With my suit safely hung in one of the lockers, I sit myself down to enjoy my breakfast. A moan even I have to admit sounds a bit orgasmic leaves my lips after the first bite. It’s going to be hard to try any other sandwiches on the menu when the croissants are this good.
“Susie’s are good, but the ones from Buzzed over in the Glen are better.” Austin’s voice startles me so much the sandwich falls out of my hand and lands at my feet. I stare at it, telling myself repeatedly I can’t pick it up off a high school locker room floor and eat it.
“Fuck,” I say, taking my drink and holding it with both hands. I can’t lose two things so closely together.
“Now, would Santa really have that kind of a mouth on him?” Austin says, walking over to stand in front of me. He holds out a white bag, a familiar scent wafting out of it.
“Oh no, I can’t take your breakfast,” I say. “I have some protein bars in the pocket of my garment bag. I’ll have?—”
The bag shakes in my face, the smell increasing. “Blaire gave me this when I got here. I already had one from Buzzed on my way in. I don’t need both, and Santa can’t get hangry. Consider it a peace offering.”
I look up at him, wary. “Just like that?”
He shrugs. “Once the shock wore off, I’m over it.” He keeps his eyes steady on mine. The Austin I knew couldn’t lie for shit and still held a grudge against his next-door neighbor for something from second grade. I take the bag from him.
“You’re over it?” I feel like a parrot, repeating what he’s saying. But yesterday, the looks he shot my way—when he bothered to acknowledge I existed—could freeze Winterberry Lake the whole way to the bottom.
“I’m over it.” Austin’s eyes dart once to his shoes, the same tell he’s always had when he’s lying. His eyes widen once he realizes I’ve caught it, and he whirls around, taking away my ability to read his expression.
“So, what are you doing here?” I ask his back.
“I’ve decided to lean into this new tights fetish I’m developing,” he says, his tone dry. “I took the job. Blaire needs my help; I need the work. Shouldn’t we get ready? Blaire said you wanted to be at the workshop at 11:30 to go over some reports? I’m your elf escort for today.”
“Right,” I catapult myself into action, finishing the last of the sandwich. I go to wash my hands, not wanting to touch my suit with greasy fingers. When I get back, Austin’s leggings are on, and he’s pulling the tunic top over a stomach with abs much more defined than the last time I saw him with his shirt off.
He clears his throat. We really need to stop getting caught staring at each other’s stomachs. “So, uh, you take this Santa stuff really seriously, huh? Uh, what happened?—”
His question is cut off by a few high school aged boys coming into the locker room. One whispers something to the other, which makes the second boy snicker. They move quickly to the stalls at the back of the space.
Austin and I finish getting ready in silence until the outer door shuts behind them again. By then, we’re both ready to go and there’s no sense in delaying any longer.
“After you, Santa,” Austin says, holding the door and ushering me into the gym. I look around at the bustle of activity, something dawning on me.
“Wait, school’s still in session, right? Massachusetts didn’t change some law giving them off between Thanksgiving and New Year’s? How can we be in their gym?”
He holds open the door to the outside, and we bundle our coats against the cold winter wind. “The students use their gym periods during the weeks between Thanksgiving and holiday break to help out with festival stuff—it gives them a community service unit on their transcripts. And besides, if there was a new law, wouldn’t you know about it?” He waves at a few people as we make our way across the square, taking special care to greet the kids who point at us as we walk past.
“Not a lot of call for keeping up with K-12 Massachusetts educational laws in the corporate world,” I say, my tone as bitter as the chill from the cold.
Austin shoots me a questioning look, but lets it go. “The community service thing was Blaire’s idea. They used to coordinate out of a huge tent in the parking lot of the high school, which is not ideal for obvious weather reasons.” He pulls his scarf up over his mouth, his words mumbled. “A lot of this is thanks to her.”
I nod as we reach the back door to Santa’s Workshop, and Austin pulls out a key, unlocking it and letting us inside. We both breathe a sigh of relief at the warmth. “She really seems like Superwoman. Cole’s a lucky guy.”
“Of course he is. An awesome wife and a great best friend. What more does he need? Well, I guess now—” The door opening cuts Austin off. A kid who barely looks eighteen walks in the door.
