Page 38 of Santa's Girl
Because if I wasn’t careful, this wasn’t going to end with cookies and carols.
It’d end the way it always did for me—me patching up another broken heart while everyone else unwrapped their gifts.
I forced a smile, lifted my beer in a silent toast to myself.
“Merry freakin’ Christmas, Becca,” I muttered under my breath.
8
BEAR
The place was still humming, the lights soft, the smell of pine and spilled beer thick in the air. Everyone else seemed busy laughing, talking, eating. I wasn’t seeing any of it.
All I saw was her.
Becca was at the bar, laughing with one of the old ladies, hair falling over her shoulder, face lit up by the Christmas lights she’d strung herself. I should’ve hated every bit of this—holiday music, fake snow, glitter everywhere—but I didn’t. Couldn’t. Not when she was in the middle of it.
She’d done the impossible. She’d made the clubhouse feel alive again.
She’d made me forget.
Forget the calendar. Forget that this was the time of year when every quiet hour up here reminded me of what I’d lost. The ghosts. The silence.
Now there was laughter instead of emptiness, her voice instead of the wind.
Didn’t even care about the decorations anymore. All I could see was the woman who’d put them there.
All I could taste was the memory of her kiss.
I told myself it didn’t have to mean anything. That maybe this Christmas didn’t have to be miserable.
A little company. A little warmth. That’s all it had to be.
She’d go back to her city life when the snow melted. I’d stay here where I belonged.
No expectations. No promises. No goodbyes that lasted too long.
Win-win.
I repeated it in my head like a prayer, a list of excuses that made it sound simple. She was helping me forget; I could help her do the same. Two lonely people keeping each other from freezing until the new year rolled in.
That’s all.
Except when I looked at her again—really looked—the air went out of my lungs.
Because it didn’t feel simple anymore.
She caught me watching, gave me that small, knowing smile, and raised her glass in my direction.
And right then I knew I was already gone.
Maybe this Christmas wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Maybe a man could let himself want something, just for once.
Just for the season.
By nightfall the place was packed again—engines outside, boots stomping, laughter rolling up through the floorboards. I moved through it all on autopilot. A handshake here, a deal there, a quiet word with a chapter head who’d come up from Georgia. Perfect host, perfect prez.
