Page 43 of Santa Loves Curvy Girls

Dear Secret SantaCommittee of Garland,

My name is Nick St. James. Also known as this year’s Secret Santa. But you already knew that.

I’m writing to you today for two reasons.

One, to say thank you. I never would’ve guessed that I would be selected and have the honor of doing this job. It changed my perspective, and I’m truly grateful for the experience, knowing I got to participate in one of Garland’s most sacred traditions. Seeing how happy it made the children in town was worth more than any present I could get under the tree.

Two, I want to ask for a favor. I want to break the rules and tell one very special person that it was me behind the beard and the suit. Please allow me to explain why…

I exhaled and kept writing.

Before long, I was on my way to the post office, my letter carefully folded and sealed in an envelope. I couldn’t help but think that my letter probably sounded stupid. Maybe they wouldn’t even get it, but I had to try and hope my mom was right—that there was a way for Belle and me to be together.

My hands were cold and so were my ears. I’d been so focused on getting this letter to the post office that I’d forgotten to grab my hat and gloves.

I stood outside the brick building, in front of the blue metal letter drop box, hoping Mr. Long would know how to get my letter to the right place. I looked at the front of the envelope one more time. It was addressed to the Secret Santa Committee ofGarland. There was no return address. They would know it was me. They would know how to get in touch. But hopefully, this letter actually got to them in the first place. Otherwise, I had no idea how else I could reach them.

Finally, I dropped my letter in, shoved my hands in my pockets to warm them up, and made my way back home.

The whole time I kept thinking:Where was Belle now? Would I get to tell her the truth?

28

BELLE

Isat at my favorite booth inside Cocoa Corner, the same one Santa and I had shared, a cup of hot cocoa in front of me. Even though it was my favorite drink in the world, I could hardly stomach it. Being here brought up too many happy-turned-painful memories, which I hadn’t realized until sitting down.

I sighed and stared out the window. A cute couple walked past, hand in hand. So much for my wish. Maybe some people got to have that sort of thing and others didn’t.

It had been a couple days since I’d handed Mom the letter, and so far, nothing. Pretty sure Mom was already tired of me asking her if she’d heard back yet, only to answer and say she hadn't.

But as I sat here, in this place where he once made me feel so special, a new fear washed over me… What if he’d already moved on?

I hadn’t seen or heard from him since Christmas, as Santa or his real self. But while I’d been spending all this time mourning what could never be, maybe he hadn’t thought of me at all. That ate me up almost as much as knowing he could pass by me on the sidewalk without me ever knowing.

The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I had even done the right thing by sending the letter. Even if the committee said it was okay, would he want me to know? And if they said okay and he didn’t come forward… I didn’t want to think about how that would feel. It was too late to go back now.

I got up and went to the restroom, thinking it was probably time for me to go home. Maybe start baking the next batch of cookies for Scrooge. If word got around, who knew? Maybe I could have a few more customers like him.

Not too many since I still had school, but the idea of socking away money for a future bakery really lit me up. That’s what I had to hold on to, as much as it hurt to remember everything that had happened. Even if it had led to this.

When I got back, I was surprised to find a letter next to my still-hot cup of cocoa. I glanced over at the counter, seeing one of the owners of Cocoa Corner, Jack Lumi, wiping down the espresso machine.

I went over to him, holding up the crisp, creamy white envelope with a bump in the middle. It felt expensive. “Hey, is this from you?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. I was in the back.”

“Hmm,” I said, looking around the shop. Everyone there seemed to be involved in their own conversations or computers.

I glanced down at the envelope again, turning it over to see if there was a return address or something as I walked back to my booth. But as I sat down, all I saw was “Belle” on the front in curling black calligraphy.

I wondered what was inside just as much as I wondered who left it.

I peeled back the envelope flap, finding a silver sleigh bell in there. I turned it over in my hand, hearing the soft, metallic tinkle of the bell. Setting it in front of me, I pulled out the letter inside.

It was just a small card, telling me to be at Cider Center in front of the Christmas tree at 3 p.m. today.

My brow furrowed. It didn’t say why or who this was from. I checked the back of the card. Nothing.

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