Page 16 of Peppermint Bark

Grace glared at the meddling staff. She waved goodbye and took my hand to tug me down the corridor.

But I guess I was getting into the Christmas spirit after all, because I planted my feet and twisted her back into my arms. My hand ran along her cheek, pushing a strand of escaped hair beneath her awful cap. Her eyes widened as I murmured, “The kids want a show, darling.”

Her gaze flicked to the nurses, then Ruby, then met my eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, her fingertips brushed my waist behind the pillow and her lips parted.

So I grazed my lips over hers for half a second. It was so chaste, it would barely qualify as a kiss. It was a kiss about gratitude and appreciation, about the joy of the moment, about Christmas and warmth and comfort.

It was the most meaningful kiss of my life.

Even though our lips only skimmed, the way the kids — and the nurses — cheered might have made it the most enjoyable. I touched my forehead to hers and whispered, “Thank you, Mrs. Claus.”

Her eyelids fluttered open as those hazel eyes locked on mine. Her fingertips touched her lips and she broke into a charming laugh before declaring to the kids, “His beard tickles.”

As they applauded, I felt a rush of euphoria from their satisfied reaction. Nothing to do with the tingle of peppermint on her lips.

I gave a final “Ho Ho Ho,” and tugged her towards her office.

Once the door was shut, she removed the shower cap to release a cascade of caramel hair around her shoulders. She wiped off the line of sweat along her forehead, finger-combed her hair into a ponytail, and started to unzip her jacket. She suddenly stopped and arched her brow. “Turn around.”

“What? I don’t get to watch my wife undress, Mrs. Claus?” I shot her a grin, the one that supposedly made her knees weak. I guess it didn’t work, because she turned around, removing the jacket to reveal a modest tank top and knee-length black skirt. For a second, I couldn’t look at anything but the curve of her ass. She pulled a long cardigan over her shoulders, belted it at the waist, and flicked her ponytail over the neckline.

I guess I’d been standing there staring and she wanted me out of her office, because she gestured to my costume, near the belt. “You need help with that?”

Fuck if I didn’t suddenly have a fantasy of Mrs. Claus dropping to her knees in some perverse Santa porn, and I was deeply grateful for the belly pillow covering my groin.

Thankfully, her finger made a twirling gesture. As I turned and unbuckled the belt, her hands smoothed over my shoulders, sliding the jacket down my arms. After shrugging it off, her hands roamed over my undershirt, pulling off stray threads, brushing my shoulders smoothly like her hand was a lint roller, and my muscles relaxed under her warm palms.

I couldn’t remember the last time someone other than my tailor touched me like this. When I got back to San Francisco, I would tell Connor to book me into a monthly massage. No, weekly.

“You did great, Alex."

“Once I got my head out of my ass."

“You said it, not me. You ever want to do it again, let me know.”

“Can I buy my own suit?”

She laughed. Wow, what a laugh. “If you can get it by Monday, I need a Santa for the pediatric hematology patients.”

Her eyes, how they twinkled when I answered, “It’s a date, Mrs. Claus.”

Chapter 6

Grace

Two Weeks Until Christmas

When I left this morning, I’d snow brushed the first flakes off my truck, planned to clear the rest after teaching the Sunday morning yoga class and grocery shopping. But when I returned instead of snow in my driveway, there was a sweaty man wearing a wool jacket and Burberry scarf too nice for manual labor, looking rosy-cheeked and grouchy.

Alexander stood to his full height, rested his elbow on the shovel handle, and hollered. “When said Mom would need my strength, this wasn’t what I pictured.”

“That wasn’t what I meant and you know it.” I put my hands on my hips as I hollered back. “What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He lifted the shovel. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

“No, my aunt and uncle live here.” He said like I was dense. I concealed laughter at the implication I could afford to live in the dreamy six-bedroom Victorian, instead of the studio apartment above their detached garage.

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