Page 20 of Mistletoe Face Off

“Surely you have your own thoughts on who should take over from you? Someone with leadership qualities?” I prod and he smiles.

“There are a couple candidates but I'm not at liberty to say who right now. I suggest you ask Coach Newton that question toward the end of the season.”

He's not giving anything away. I try a different tact. “Can I ask you another question, Dan?”

“Shoot.”

“Will Harrison Clarke be joining us here today?”

Dan looks over my head—which, let's face it, isn't hard for a guy his size—and smiles. “How about you go ask Santa that?”

“The Santa from the ice?” I ask, my pulse quickening, right on cue. I’m pretty sure he’s the same guy from the Community Center, and the figure skating sure would explain all those muscles I caught on camera. Even though he was wearing his Santa costume the whole time and I didn’t get to see what he looks like under the wig and beard, I know I’d like to get to know him better.

“Not a bad figure skater, huh? Did you catch his moves?” Dan says.

“I sure did.” I swivel around and catch Santa’s eye, and his fluffy white beard lifts into a smile. I know it's all kinds of wrong to feel things for Santa, but a bunch of butterflies begin to flap their wings in my belly as our eyes meet.

“Who is that Santa?” I ask Dan.

He smiles at me and says, “Why don't you go work it out for yourself? You’re a journalist, right?”

“Sure, but that doesn't mean I can work out who the figure skater in the Santa suit is.”

Dan laughs. “Are we done here?”

I notice he has yet to answer my question.

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Good luck with your article,” he says before he makes his way over to a pretty blonde girl and greets her with a kiss.

That must be the small-town girl he's dating. Keira, I think her name is? But it doesn't matter. There's no story there—other than a love story, and readers tend to be a lot less interested in happily ever afters than scandals. It’s a sad indictment on our culture.

I need to find Harrison Clarke and ask him some uncomfortable questions, but right now, Santa is making abeeline for me, and those dang belly-dwelling butterflies begin to flap their wings once more.

“Fancy meeting you here,” I say.

“Well, it is a Christmas event, and I am Santa Claus,” he replies with a chuckle, his green eyes sparkling.

“A figure skating Santa Claus by the looks of things. Where did you get those skills?”

“From a long time ago. I'm a little rusty, as you could probably tell, and this belly?” He pats what I know to be padding around his mid rift. “It tends to be more of a hindrance than anything else.”

“I bet. But seriously, where did you learn to skate like that?”

“I learned it as a kid back in Portland. That’s where I grew up, before my mom and me moved to Chicago.”

“Is your mom still here?”

“Yup. She lives not too far from me, in fact. I see her all the time.”

Even though half his face is obscured by a white beard, I can tell he loves his mom. A guy who loves his mom and isn't afraid to say so? I think I just swooned. Seriously. Could this guy get any more perfect? Now, if only I could see beneath that beard…

“That's sweet,” I say, trying to get a hold on myself. I can't go swooning over guys when I'm working, especially not ones dressed as Santa. It’s all kinds of wrong.

“How did you enjoy the show?” he asks.

“It was fantastic. Macy loved the figure skaters in particular.”

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