Page 454 of The Parkers' Handsome Holiday
I giggled behind my hand. “Smooth, very smooth.”
“Do you think he knows I was trying to get rid of him?”
“Honestly? No, but that’s just because Hugh is clueless on a good day. That was a good tip you gave him by the way, about the waitress.”
Chadwick leaned back in his seat and smoothed out his suit. “The kid needs all the help he can get. Now come here.” He patted the empty seat beside him. “I didn’t go to all that work to sit by myself.”
Smiling, I took the seat beside him. He draped an arm over my shoulder and pulled me close. With his other hand, he pressed two fingers under my chin and lifted my face to his for sweet kisses.
“The driver,” I whispered.
“I can pay him to keep quiet if he sees anything.”
“How romantic.”
“Don’t start with me,” he breathed between kisses.
We arrived at the market all too soon. We checked in with the event organizers once we got through the gate, who led us promptly to the middle of the square, where a makeshift Santa’s village had been set up. The freak storm left enough snow to make it all very convincing. It still clung to the roof of what looked like Mrs. and Mr. Claus’s house. Real live reindeer chewed on carrots in a pen near the line, where parents waited with their excited children for their chance to take Santa photos.
The event organizer, a middle-aged woman named Carol, fumbled around in the many pockets of her knit coat. “Aha!” She withdrew something white and fluffy from an inner pocket and handed it to Chadwick, who turned it over in his hands, trying to make sense of what he was looking at. Carol snatched it back, flipped it over, ran her hands through it, and presented it more clearly for what it was: a Santa beard.
I turned away and snickered into my shoulder.
“Quiet, elf,” Chadwick barked. His voice softened as he spoke to Carol. “This isn’t mandatory, is it? I mean, why would you want to hide all of this,” he gestured at his face, “behind this monstrosity?” He held up the beard.
Carol clicked her tongue at him. “These parents expect Santa photos, Mr. Bamford. Naughty Santa? Well, I’ll admit that I’m a fan, but today you’re here for the kids, and kids don’t care about fancy suits and chiseled jaw lines.”
Chadwick balked.
Carol handed the beard to me. “Help him with this. You two are to be in that chair in five minutes.” With that she bustled off and called out orders as she went. Volunteers and market staff scrambled to do as she asked.
Chadwick stared at the beard in my hands like it was a rabid dog hellbent on biting his hand off. “Do I have to?”
“Yes, I’m afraid you do,” I said, holding it up. “I think it just hooks behind your ears and should stay in place on its own. Oh look, a little chin strap to keep it in place. Someone’s thinking.” I secured the beard and stood back. I could feel my lips stretching in a smile.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” He stroked his beard. “It feels bad.”
Grinning with sheer joy, I shook my head. “It could be so much worse. But you know what I’d call this?”
“Don’t say it.”
“Karma. This right here is a big fat serving of karma. I have to wear this stupid tutu for a whole month, and now you get to wear that scratchy, ridiculous beard for a day. Consider yourself lucky it’s only for today.”
He grumbled and already started scratching at his chin. “You’re less cute when you’re smug.”
I took his hand and pulled him toward Santa’s throne nestled in the middle of the village that I realized was the North Pole. Parents saw us coming and pointed us out to their kids, who waved and called out to Santa Claus. I was about to tell Chadwick to slap on his jolly face and make nice with the kids, but he beat me to it.
He gave them all a grand wave and bellowed, “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!”
It was so loud I almost jumped out of my skin.
“You’re all on the Nice List for waiting so patiently for me,” he cried as he settled down in his giant red chair with candy cane arms. “Who’s first? You there!” Chadwick pointed to a young boy at the front of the line and beckoned him forward with a curl of his finger.
I stood with a hand on Chadwick’s shoulder, unsure yet how to make myself useful.
The boy, who couldn’t have been more than six, shuffled forward, his boots plowing little bits of snow forward. His mother ushered him forward and whispered for him to be brave while his father hung back and snapped pictures.
Chadwick held out his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, the boy took it and let Chadwick lead him forward and gracefully pull him up onto his lap.
