Page 4 of The Santa Situation
“To your big mouth.” I clinked my glass against his.
“All in the name of community service,” he said with a straight face before breaking out in an impish-looking grin.
We ate in relative silence for the next few minutes, the sound of our forks scraping over ceramic as we demolished a roast chicken between us.
“So,” Eli said, pushing his rice around his plate. “What’s the plan for tomorrow? Since I know you don’t actuallyhavea Mrs. Claus costume lying around, we’re gonna have to improvise.”
“I have that wig from the year I went as Betty White for Halloween,” I said, trying to remember if I’d seen it recently, and if so, where that might have been. I drew a blank.
“And the actual costume?” Eli asked, shoving a bite of chicken into his mouth.
I hummed as I considered my options, wincing when the “perfect” one hit me. “There’s that red velvet dress from the family portrait we had taken at your dad’s church that one time.”
When Todd Beauchamp and I first met, he wasn’t by any means a religious man, and we’d only gotten married in a church because his mom had insisted. But over the years, he became increasingly conservative, spouting lines about “traditional family values” and citing passages from the bible that were meant to encourage me to be subservient to him. The photo in question—and the horrible outfit Todd insisted I wear for it—had been taken around that time.
“You kept that thing?” Eli’s brows shot up, disbelief written all over his face.
“What? It was expensive.”
“And hideous, Mom. It literally covered everything but the tips of your fingers and your face. The neck wasruffled.” He shuddered dramatically, his whole body vibrating with distaste. “Gross.”
“I thought you liked ruffles?” I teased, lifting a bite of food to my mouth.
He shook his head, scrunching up his nose like he’d tasted something sour. “Not likethat.”
“Well, it’s either that dress, or we pretend Mrs. Claus finally got a much-needed makeover and suddenly wears jeans and boots.” Honestly, that wouldn’t be the worst idea. If the current state of the weather was any indication, it was going to be damn cold out on Cade Murphy’s boat.
“Why’d you tell Maggie I have a costume anyway?” I asked, though a part of me already suspected I knew the answer.
My son’s grin turned sly as he speared the last piece of chicken on his plate. “You like helping people, and Mr. Emerson needed help. Thetownneeded help. I just, you know, sped things along.”
I lifted a brow over the rim of my wineglass. “By lying.”
“By manifesting,” he said, his tone utterly smug.
I tried to glare at him, but the corners of my mouth gave me away. “You’re impossible.”
He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head, the very picture of teenage self-satisfaction. “I’m perfect, and you adore me.”
“Lucky for you.”
He smirked, eyes glinting with mischief. “Speaking of getting lucky … ”
I froze mid-sip. “Eli.”
He pushed his empty plate away, setting his fork neatly on top of it. “There’s this boy.”
“No.” I tossed my napkin at him. “We arenottalking about your sex life.”
He caught the napkin midair and grinned—wide, wicked, and delighted that he’d gotten exactly the rise out of me he wanted. “Gross, Mom. Get your mind out of the gutter. I just meant that I’m lucky to have met him.”
I pursed my lips in an expression meant to convey my dubiousness. “Sure you did.”
He laughed, low and pleased with himself, before ducking his head and tracing the edge of the table with the pad of his finger. “His name’s Gavin,” he said, his voice pitched lower than it was a second ago. “We met through the robotics thing.” A faint flush crept up his neck, turning the tips of his ears pink. “He’s nice.”
He looked so bashful, so utterly smitten, that for a moment I saw the little boy who used to climb into my lap to ask a dozen questions about how the world worked. But since he’d nearly stopped my heart a second ago with that “getting lucky” comment, I couldn’t resist asking, “Does he laugh at all your terrible jokes?”
Eli rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide his grin. “Unfortunately, yes. Which means either I’m charming or he’s got a terrible sense of humor.”
