Page 4 of Naughtying Up St. Nick

I watch her head over to Maddie, who smiles brightly and launches into some dialogue I’m too far away to hear. They aren’t the only ones from the core group I’ve known for four years having a rough time this Christmas. Frankie’s dad was diagnosed with cancer at the start of school. Taylor’s mom lost her job just a couple weeks ago. And George always has a tough time as a foster kid. One year he didn’t even show up here until late because his new foster family wasn’t interested in spending time with him. They just wanted the checks for having him live with them.

The last time I saw him, he was about to be put with a new family, but that was back in the summer. I hope it was with a good one. He deserves to be with people who care about him.

I go back to fixing the garland, listening to the squeals of delight from kids and the stern voices of parents trying to keep up with them. It’s definitely different from how I grew up. We celebrated Christmas, but we never went to things like this. It was treated as just another day. Maybe it’s why I like working here so much. But I bet it’s not why Jackie chose to be here.

Automatically, I look around for her, but my gaze lands on Calvin instead. He’s up on the big, red chair at the head of the line, leaning close while the little girl on his lap whispers something into his ear.

When he pulls back, he gives her a smile and a mini candy cane before she hops down to her waiting parents. Just like back in high school, my heartbeat quickens when I see Calvin. And just like back in high school, I push the feeling away immediately. Calvin was always headed toward something bigger. Something…more.

I would’ve only gotten in his way.

Three

Calvin

I can’t believe I’m even considering talking to Harlow about this. Maybe I’m more desperate than I thought. But I know Harlow. He’s always been kind of wild, but he’s also good. And I need to do this with someone I trust at least a little. Harlow’s always been brutally honest. If anyone can help me, it’s him.

I don’t get a chance to talk to him about it because the line of kids waiting to talk to Santa is long, and I don’t want to rush any of them. They’re all so cute, and some of them look like they rarely ask for anything.

Most of the parents look tired but happy to see their kids so delighted. There are a handful of others who are clearly irritated at having to be here. A part of me wants to take longer talking to their kids, but something tells me that would piss Jacklyn off.

They close the line at five, but we see every kid that made it in before then, so we’re not done until around seven. By the time I’m finally able to peel off that red suit and get back into my normal clothes, it’s properly dark outside, and it’s freaking cold. After being on the west coast for four years, I’d forgotten how fucking cold it could get in Idaho.

I pull my jacket tighter around me and stuff my hands in the pockets for warmth. That suit kept me mostly protected from the weather, but now it’s like I can feel every bite of the wind down to my bones.

I hurry out of the back room I changed in and start for the parking lot. I’m heading for my car when I see Harlow at the same pick-up truck he had in high school, the driver door open.

I have to do it before I lose my nerve.

“Harlow.”

He glances up when I call his name. “St. Nick. What can I do for you?”

“I, um, I…” What little bit of confidence I may have once had shrivels up and dies. What am I supposed to actually say?

Harlow’s eyebrows lift. “Look, I’m about to meet someone so…”

“I want to have sex with you.” The words fly out of my mouth at an embarrassingly high volume, but I don’t look around to see if anyone else is around. I’m mortified enough as it is.

Harlow’s quiet for a second, his face a mask of shock under the glow of the streetlight. Then he asks, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Don’t make me say it again.” I can feel the heat climbing up my neck, spreading to my cheeks. To my horror, tears of embarrassment are stinging my eyes. What the hell was I thinking?

“I’m sorry,” I say suddenly. “I don’t…I just…I’m sorry. Please forget I said anything.”

I start to turn away, but Harlow grabs my hand. His are gloved, and the warmth around my fingers is instantaneous.

“Wait,” he says. “Come get in my truck for a minute. We’ll talk.”

“It’s fine.” I try to pull my hand free, but he holds on tightly. “Harlow, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Well, you did. So come on.”

I really don’t want to prolong this, but I guess I owe it to him after what I blurted out. So I round his truck and climb into the passenger seat.

He gets in beside me and starts the engine to fill the cab with heat. “Out west four years and you already forgot to dress for the weather?” he asks, leaning over me to open his glove box, where he pulls out a pair of black gloves that he hands me.

I take them gratefully, hoping he thinks the shaking in my hands is from the cold and not nerves.

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