Page 35 of Santa's Girl
For a second he just looked at me—long, slow, and something close to dangerous in his eyes—before his mouth twitched into that rare, quiet smile.
“Guess we’re decking the halls then, sugar plum.”
And just like that, the deal was done.
Only later, when I caught him still watching me from across the room, did I realize the bet might’ve been the first round of something bigger neither of us was quite ready to name.
The afternoon slid toward dusk, the golden light outside turning the snow to glitter. I was still basking in my pool-shark glory when the front doors opened and a rush of cold air swept through the clubhouse.
One by one, men came in from the cold—boots stomping, laughter echoing, leather creaking—and with them came women and a handful of kids bundled up like little marshmallows.
I blinked. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, it’s just church,” a blonde woman said, unwinding her scarf.
“Church?” I looked around. “I don’t see a steeple, and no one’s carrying hymn books.”
The woman grinned. “You don’t know much about MCs, do you, honey? Church means a meeting. They’ve got a private room in the basement. Men only. They drop us up here while they talk business.”
“Oh,” I said, trying to sound like I totally knew that.
Two other women joined her, setting trays of food on the bar. “I’m Tasha. That’s Dee.”
“Becca,” I said, smiling. “Just his house guest.”
The moment the words left my mouth, they traded a look, eyebrows shooting up. “House guest?He never has house guests.”
I raised my hands. “Apparently, I’m the first.”
One of them leaned closer. “So are you two?—?”
“Nope,” I said before she could finish. “He caught me hitchhiking up the mountain. I’m just the homeless, jobless, boyfriend-less girl who got stranded in a snowstorm. Merry Christmas to me.”
They laughed. “Honey, you fit right in.”
Then someone said, “Wait—your Aunt Marge isMargie? The Margie?”
“Uh, I guess? If we’re talking about crossword-puzzle champion and pie-baker extraordinaire.”
A cheer went up. “Everyone knows Margie! She’s like the town’s aunt.”
Just like that, I had friends. The married women pulled me right in, swapping stories about Margie’s cookouts and her old patch days. The unmarried ones just looked like they’d bitten into a lemon. Whatever. I was too busy basking in the smell of hot chocolate and bread to care.
Downstairs, the muffled rumble of voices rose and fell. The men were in church. Up here, we had our own kind of meeting.
“So, uh,” I said, “Bear gave me permission to Christmas this place up.”
The room went silent. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“As in… lights? Tree?Tinsel?”
“Full-blown North Pole,” I said, trying to sound serious.
Their jaws dropped. “ThePrezsaid yes?”
“After I beat him at pool.”
