Page 12 of All I Wank for Christmas

“What happens when you get onto a high building?”

“I puke. I even get sick on airplanes if I’m near the window. I don’t suppose you have barf bags in this thing?”

“Just look straight ahead. It’ll be a nice view. Promise.”

We rise off her roof several feet and then zip right at about forty miles per hour. It’s not the fastest speed we can go, but Holly still screams and grips my arm and the bar in front of her, holding on for dear life. “Has any Santa ever died on Christmas?”

“Not by falling off the sleigh. There was the Santa that got shot during the Civil War. That was in 1863, and they came up with the suit idea then. Other than that, a dog mauled my great-grandfather.” I shudder at the thought. I was raised to be afraid of big dogs because of the family trauma surrounding that incident.

She takes deep breaths through her nose, and tears form in her eyes. “You have to give me a minute. I learned Santa’s real and that I spit on his son’s dick today, female reindeer pull the sleigh, and I’m currently a hundred feet above my neighborhood. Talk to me about something mundane. No magic allowed.”

I nod and turn the sleigh to the right again, setting off in the direction to start delivering my packages. At least, I think I’m going the right way. I want to take a few minutes to get Holly used to the sleigh. If we fly around for a few minutes, maybe she’ll relax.

“You’re probably wondering why I chose rural Pennsylvania,” I say, trying to keep it mundane like she asked.

“Good. Let’s start with that.”

“I’m an Eagles fan. Huge. I was here for the last game since Dad got me season tickets last year, and I just went for a ride outside of Philadelphia. I’m not used to big cities, even though I love my football team. So, I got in my rental car and just kind of drove around, sipping coffee and thinking. I ate at a truck stop and drove further down the interstate until I saw a rickety old sign with your parlor mentioned. I guess I thought getting a massage would help me with the stress. I certainly didn’t expect…” I trail off and look at her. Damn, I want to kiss her cheeks. They’re so pink in the cold. “Well, I didn’t expect you and didn’t expect what happened.”

She tentatively looks over the side of the sleigh and quickly moves back to sitting up straight. She looks ahead and takes a deep breath through her nose as she closes her eyes. “Do you know everything about me?”

I don’t want to scare her. “I know enough.”

“What does that mean?”

“Let’s just say, I could probably dive into your past enough to avoid some of the awkward first date questions you may not want to answer.”

She looks at me, curious. I’m just glad she’s not barfing or hyperventilating. If I can keep her talking, maybe she will relax and help me. “Elaborate,” she says.

“I know your dad did a runner a few years back. You pay for Helena’s school. By the way, she’s on the nice list. Your whole family is, so I know you have a nice family.” I turn the reins left and open the console compartment with packages of cocoa and a hot pot full of water. I hit the hot pot button to get the water boiling. “I know you have an accounting degree that you don’t use, and I can kind of piece together why. It’s the little things I don’t know.”

“Little things?”

“Your favorite food. Your preferences about certain things. Basically, anything that happens in your head. I can’t see that. I can only see things you do. Actions.”

“So, you really have no idea what I’m thinking right now?” she asks, squinting hard like she’s sending me a telepathic message.

“Nope. Is it hotdogs again?”

She blushes and licks her lips but turns to face the console, suddenly interested in the cocoa packets and mini marshmallows. She picks up a mug and taps it, waiting for the water to be done heating. “Not hotdogs, but it’s in the universe of wieners.”

“What’s your favorite color?” I ask, changing the subject to something mundane. I’ll get a stiffy if I think about her thinking about wieners.

“Blue. Let me guess yours. Red?”

“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “Eagles green. What’s your favorite food?”

“My mother’s spaghetti. She adds a smidge of hot sauce to the sauce. Nobody comes close to getting it like hers. Yours? If you tell me candy canes, I’m going to have you turn this sleigh around simply because of your twee bullshit.”

“Toast.”

She sputters a laugh. “You’re Santa’s son, and your favorite food is toast?”

“I never claimed to make sense. There’s nothing like crispy toast with butter on top. Peanut butter on toast is also nice, but I have to be in the mood.”

She smiles again, and I could stare at it for a week. It’s like the time I was delivering toys with Dad in Italy and we stopped in Florence to seeDavid. It was such a beautiful piece of art. I have the same thoughts about Holly – a beautiful piece of art. Precious and priceless.

“So, it’s the suit that’s magic? How does that work?”

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