Page 5 of Mistletoe Face Off

Holding the pants up I see they’re Santa sized, and I’m glad I threw a pillow into the bag for belly padding.

I slip off my own jacket, sweater, and T-shirt, then my jeans and shoes, so I’m standing in the tiny room, freezing my butt off in just my boxers and a pair of socks. Quickly, to avoid frostbite, I pull the pants up, the elastic at my waist snapping into place.

With my skin threatening to turn into permanent goose flesh, I unbutton the Santa jacket. Just as I’m about to slide an arm inside, the door to my little changing room flies open. Standing in the doorway are Chase, Hunter, and Casey, all staring at me as though… well, as though I’m standing in a box room in a pair of Santa pants, a beard, wig, and fake nose, and not a lot else.

“Is that you, Harrison?” Casey asks, his brows pulled together as he stares at me.

“Can’t you tell?” I reply, peering over their shoulders at the gathering crowd in the hall.

“What the heck happened to your nose?” Chase says. “You meet an angry Thunderwolf after the game last night or something?”

“It’s a good look, man,” Casey says with his characteristic laugh.

“Is this shirtless thing a new spin on Santa? I’d say a sexy spin, but by the looks of that nose…” Chase says, and Casey laughs once more.

“Yeah. What is that?” he asks, reaching toward my face.

I bat his hand away before he gets the chance to touch my new fake nose, or worse yet, pull it off.

“Now, remember, Harrison. Wobble your belly like a bowlful of jelly,” Chase says, laughing at his own joke.

“Leave the guy alone,” Hunter grumps as he herds the guys from the room.

“Thanks,” I say.

He lifts his chin. “See you out there. Santa.” The corners of his lips twitch.

Was that… asmile? Fletcher isn’t exactly known for his easy, breezy disposition, and he sure as heck doesn’t throw too many smiles around.

That’s when I see her. A pretty woman with long dark hair, in a white bobble hat and matching scarf, and a dark blueovercoat. She looks my way, and I see something cross her face. Immediately, she picks up the camera that’s hanging around her neck, aims it right at me, and snaps my picture, half-dressed in my Santa suit and half… well, half not.

Quickly, I reach for the door and slam it shut, hoping she didn’t get her shot, and wondering who the beautiful woman behind the lens is.

Chapter Two

Holly

I lower my camera and watch as the door through which I spotted a half-dressed Santa only seconds ago slams shut.

Did I really just see Santa without his shirt? Scratch that. Did I really just see a totally buff Santa without his shirt, revealing an enviable set of pecs, abs, and shoulders almost too wide enough to fit through doorways?

I pull up my recent shots on my camera to check I’ve not started hallucinating all things Christmas, which is a risk you can run at this time of year when you’re told by your boss to cover every single Blizzard Christmas event out there.

Yup, there he is. Santa in all his buff and burly glory.

Huh. Who knew Santa was packing such an impressive rig under his shirt? Maybe I should alert the elves? Ask them about Santa’s gym routine for my next article?

Maybe… not.

Maybe instead I’ll do the job I was sent here to do and stop checking out the poor schmuck who’s been roped into playing Santa for the kids at the Hawksworth Community Center’s annual Christmas party. Which, incidentally, involves me not only covering the event, but, thanks to Raj, my photographer, calling in sick only a couple hours ago, also involves me taking the photos.

If I haven’t said it before, I’ll say it now: I am one lucky reporter.

As I flick my camera back into action mode, I feel a set of arms wrap around my leg, a face buried in my open jacket.

Oh, and take care of my eight-year-old daughter on the day my ex was meant to have her but, as he so often does when he’s in town, he let her down, coming up with some flimsy excuse I didn’t even bother reading on my phone.

“What’s up, honey?” I ask, petting her soft blonde hair, much like my own when I was her age, the blonde that was over by the time I hit puberty, giving way to my chestnut locks.

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