Page 5 of In Stockings
“You’re sure?” Samson asks.
I nod.
“And have you been a good girl?” Santa asks.
Lyra peeks towards her dads.
“She’s been a very good girl, Santa,” Archie says.
“How about you, TwinkleToes?” Samson asks. “What do you want for Christmas?”
What do I want?
Several things come shooting into my mind. None of them I can express out loud.
My cheeks heat. I pray they can’t tell in the cabin’s dim light. I pray they can’t read my dirty mind.
“Some new socks,” I finally blurt out after an awkward pause. “Mine have holes in them,” I explain to Lyra.
“Oh,” Lyra peers at my feet with an empathetic look in her eyes. “My daddies will buy you some new socks, won’t you?”
“Depends,” Samson’s eyes seem to darken, “has she been a good girl?”
I leap off Santa’s lap like I’ve been stung on the bottom.
“Santa …” I prompt at the man now examining me and the three alphas.
He coughs. “Now, remember to leave me out a snack. And one for the reindeer. It’s hard work on Christmas Eve, and we get very hungry.”
“I’ll leave you one of Pop’s chocolate cookies and some carrots for Rudolph.”
“Sounds delicious.” Santa lifts her from his lap and onto the floor. Immediately she grabs my hand again.
“We’re going for pizza next,” she tells me.
“After we’ve done a bit of shopping first. We’ve got to buy gifts for your grandmas, remember?”
“Wanna come?” Lyra asks me.
“Shopping?” I ask.
“No, silly. For pizza.”
“Oh,” I keep my eyes fixed on the little girl and not her three dads hovering around us. “I’ve got to help Santa and the other elves pack up, and then we’ll be flying home to the North Pole.”
“We’re not flying home for another three days, Twinkle,” Santa says.
“Of course,” I knock the heel of my palm against my forehead while throwing Santa a dirty look. “I forgot, but you’ll need my help –”
“I’d say you’ve worked very hard today, Twinkle,” Santa says, ignoring the message I’m telegraphing with my eyes, “You deserve the evening off. Merriweather and Grumps will cover for you.”
I glare at Santa, and he grins back.
“Pleeeeaaaaase!” Lyra begs, tugging on my arm.
“It depends what your daddies say.”
“What time are you finished here?” Craig asks me.
