Page 53 of Her Secret Santa

“Is Nora Sanders here?” I ask, trying to keep myself calm.

I remember her name and the nursing home from the PI’s report, but I can’t recall her room number, and I doubt she’d have any idea of who I am. It’s probably not the best idea to burst in unannounced in my current frenzied state.

Instead of the receptionist, a voice behind me answers.

“I certainly am.”

I whirl to see a frail old lady in a wheelchair. A maroon blanket sits over her lap, a young man stands behind her, hands on the handles of the wheelchair. He glances between me and the receptionist, but I pay him no mind. I walk up and hold my hand out to Nora, ignoring the way I’m trembling with nerves. She grasps my hand, her skin weathered and worn, chilly in the way that old people’s fingers usually are.

There’s not a lot of strength to her grip, but I can see a glint of steel in her eyes.

“I’m Zade Hawthorne,” I say, dropping her hand. “I’m in love with your granddaughter. Can we talk?”

It’s a hell of a way to introduce myself, but I’m too keyed up to worry my way through pleasantries and small talk.

She seems to appreciate it, approval glimmering in her rheumy blue eyes.

“Why don’t we go to my room?” she suggests. “You can tell me all about where you messed up.”

I follow her and her aide down the hall, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Her room isn’t far, and the aide leaves us after helping Nora into a plush armchair. She invites me to sit in the other one beside her, and I launch into my story.

I tell her about my past, the mistakes I’ve made. I tell her about the goal of playing Santa, about how it wasn’t supposed to be announced until after Christmas, how it was supposed to be somethinggood, even if I hated it at first. I tell her how Clara has changed my life, about the selfish, ungrateful asshole I’ve been as an adult, and how I had never seen someone give as much as Clara did to the world around her.

“It probably seems like I’m just throwing money around to try to smooth things over, but there are things that I can offer that Clara doesn’t have access to,” I say, hoping to hell Nora will understand. “The media is painting my feelings for her in a really disgusting light, and worse, her feelings for me. I don’t know ifthere’s any way to fix that, or if she’ll be able to trust me again. Either way, I want to help where I can.”

It’s a half formed plan at best, but I tell her about my idea for the children’s home and the nursing home, for the charities and donations I plan to set up in Clara’s name. Her smile goes from kind to overwhelmed, and I take it as a good sign. There are a million different things I could—and would—do for Clara, but I want to do something that’s as important to her as she is to me.

“I want to say, Zade,” she says when I finish my rambling, “you’re a good man. My dear Clara spends her whole life making other people happy, and all I’ve ever wanted for her was someone who could see that and would makeherlife easier. My girl deserves to be loved and cared for, and she deserves someone who will make her realize that she deserves it.”

“She deserves the world.” It’s odd to hear my own thoughts echoed so precisely out loud, but it soothes a large part of my anxiety. “I just want to give it to her.”

Nora smiles at me, reaching over to pat my knee in an approving, affectionate gesture.

“Call it grandmotherly intuition, but I have a feeling you’re exactly what she needs,” she says. “I may not know you very well, but I think she might be just what you need too.”

It’s nice to hear it out loud, especially from someone who knows how much Clara does and how much she’s worth.

“She’s changed my entire life.” My voice is raw with emotion, and I smile at Nora. “Thank you for all of this. I just want to give her something that matters, even if she doesn’t want me.”

“You’re a worrier too,” Nora says with a chuckle. It’s not something that anyone else has ever called me, but maybe I’ve started changing without even realizing it. If it’s Clara I’m worrying about, I don’t mind it. “I’ll help you see this plan through. Clara deserves it, and you deserve to give it to her. My granddaughter can be stubborn as a mule, and she’s not going totalk to you when she’s hurt like this. Let’s do things my way, let me ease her into the idea. Things will be just fine.”

I don’t know if it’s quite as easy for me to believe it, but it’s certainly good to hear.

Things will be just fine.

All I can do now is hope.

Chapter Twenty-Three

CLARA

“Up and at ‘em!”

I groan, burying my face deeper in the pillows on Allie’s couch. I spent the whole night crying, and I’m not in the mood to open my eyes, much less go through a day of Christmas festivities.

“Nope, I gave you last night to be humiliated and sad,” Allie says ruthlessly, tugging at my arm and forcing me to sit up. “Moping time is over, it’s Christmas.”

I shoot her a truly pathetic glare, my eyes red from crying and lack of sleep, my hair a rat’s nest of blond tangles. I’m wearing her pajamas and sit bundled in a candy cane striped blanket. I whine at her like a kicked puppy, silently pleading for more time to hide away from the world.

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