Page 7 of The Santa Situation
I rolled back over and reached for my phone again without stopping to talk myself out of what I was about to do, typing out, “About the gala …” My thumb hovered over the send button, but at the last second, I backspaced until the screen was blank.Tomorrow, I told myself.We’ll talk tomorrow.
A second later, the screen lit up the dark room.
Charlie: See you then, Jem. Make sure you dress warm. Can’t have one of my best girls getting frostbite.
“Charlie,” I whispered into the dark as the house creaked around me.
I slid my hands beneath the pillow, feeling the old ache in my chest soften. I let myself imagine dancing with him at the gala. Just one song, assuming he asked.
And if he did, I was ready to say yes. To that dance, and—despite my earlier protests to the contrary—to so much more.
three
. . .
Charlie
The daydawned bright and cold, the kind of crisp December morning that smelled like snow and woodsmoke and promised a perfect evening for the kickoff to Mistletoe Bay’s holiday festivities.
On my way back from Dockside Cafe—armed with a box of danishes and coffee—I’d driven down Main Street to make sure everything was running the way it should. With the exception of the Dawsons falling ill this year, Santa’s arrival and the subsequent tree lighting had gone off without a hitch every single year, but it was preciselybecauseof the situation with the Dawsons that I felt the need to double-check now.
Tonight had to be perfect or I’d be forever known as the mayor who blew the biggest event of the season.
I needn’t have worried. Vendors were already setting up their stands, and the tree was beautifully decorated. It was the kind of scene that made this town look like a postcard.
And it wasn’t just the town that was buzzing with anticipation.
For the first time in a long while, I felt that old spark of excitement. Not the kind that came from seeing a plan come together, but something richer. Warmer. The kind that hummed beneath your skin.
My marriage to Vanessa had been good. Solid. Built on respect and routine and a deep kind of caring that never needed fireworks to prove itself. And maybe that’s why it didn’t last.
It was safe to say that what I felt now when I thought about Jemma was different. Not the head-over-heels chaos of falling in love for the first time, but maybe a whisper of it.
All week, I told myself I was looking forward to seeing the town turn out for Santa’s arrival and the tree lighting ceremony, but there was more to it than that. The truth was, I was looking forward to spending time with Jemma in a way that wasn’t about the kids or a PTA fundraiser or one of life’s smaller obligations. To standing on that boat with her as we sailed into the harbor side by side.
But first, I had a costume to locate.
Up in the attic, I tugged open the box marked “Christmas Stuff—Do Not Toss,” coughing as a puff of dust rose into the air. And there it was, the old Santa suit I’d bought the year Maggie was born, back when I still believed in picture-perfect family holidays. I’d worn it exactly twice. The year Lilah was born, their mom had been in Japan for Christmas. By the next year, we were separated, and the suit had been shoved in this box, buried under lights that didn’t work anymore and broken ornaments I was too sentimental to toss out.
I pulled it out and shook it out, examining it to make sure it was even wearable. Thankfully, it was still in decent shape, aside from a small moth hole at the elbow. I carried it downstairs,found a needle and thread, and settled on the couch to stitch it closed.
I’d just threaded the needle when the front door burst open.
Maggie and Lilah tumbled inside, their cheeks flushed from the cold, arms full of shopping bags.
“Hey, girls,” I said, glancing up from my mending.
They kicked off their boots and collapsed onto the couch across from me, exchanging a glance that immediately put me on alert.
I knew that look. Those overly wide, nearly identical smiles meant trouble.
Specifically, trouble forme.
“What?” I asked warily.
“Nothing,” Lilah said far too quickly.
Maggie leaned forward, setting her elbows on her knees. “When was the last time you had a girlfriend?”
