Page 11 of The Santa Rules
“You can tell me anything,” I say breathily. What has gotten into me? I don’t come on to my students’ parents and I don’ttypically flirt with men like this, but something about this man has me desperate and needy.
“I fucked up Christmas last year.”
The words are a bucket of ice, extinguishing the lust coursing through me.
“I’m sorry, what?” I blink away the fog.
“It was her first Christmas without her mom. And I fucked it up. Apparently, I didn’t do any of the things that Lydie used to do and everything was ruined. I had no clue half of what she did. I was always out on emergency calls or at the station. She did all the magic shit.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“First, she was upset because Sprinkle McPinkle Pants never showed up.”
I chuckle at the name. “Her elf?”
“Yeah! See, this is what I’m talking about. You just know. How the fuck was I supposed to know what that was? It took me a week to find where Lydie used to hide it and then I still didn’t know what the hell I was supposed to do with it.”
“Lemme guess, you had an upset little girl the next morning.”
“How did you know that?”
“You didn’t make the elf move.”
“How the fuck is a doll supposed to move?” he asks, waving his hands in the air as he speaks. I miss his touch instantly.
“You don’t make it move in front of her, but every night the elf is supposed to report back to Santa on its kid.”
“So, it’s like a creepy spy?”
“That’s one way to look at it.”
“Is there another way to look at it?”
“It’s the magic of Santa! The elf reports back, and when it returns, it usually gets into mischief. And the kids wake up to see what shenanigans the elf got into.”
“I have to let this stupid spy doll trash my house too?”
“There are whole websites dedicated to giving parents ideas about how to move their elves. I’ve seen some of them get pretty elaborate. Luckily my kid was never into all of that, but I will warn you that we usually do classroom elves, so you’ve got a few weeks before he shows up. That should give you enough time to figure out what to do with yours.”
“I appreciate that,” he says with a hint of snark.
“I’m happy to help if you want. I can print a list of ideas you can try.”
“Anything would help. I can’t ruin Christmas again.”
“You say that like there’s more to the story.”
He lets out a deep sigh. “I burnt the cookies for Santa and forgot to get milk. I threw the cookies away after she went to bed, and when I came downstairs in the morning, Avery was sobbing because her cookies were in the trash and she thought Santa put them there.”
I slap a palm to my mouth to cover my laugh.
“I completely forgot about the stockings?—”
“Why do men always forget about the stockings?” I say to the sky in jest like I’m speaking to myself, and I catch him smirk.
“I’ll never make that mistake again. Avery was devastated. I may have mentioned thatIforgot so now I’m worried she’s going to think I do everything, not Santa.”
“Not a problem.”
