Page 8 of Wrong Number, Right Santa

“Because I’m Santa. Now, I have some more bad news for you.”

“I know, you said no dragon.”

“And I’m also going to say no sewing machine.”

Her dad, standing in the back, gave me a thumbs up.

“You need to be older for one of those. But I do think I have something for you here.”

I reached into the pile of toys and pulled out her present. When she opened it up, sure enough, it was her bunny-unicorn.

“Santa, Santa, Santa, you’re the best!” She hugged me tight, the stuffed animal squished between us, then ran off to show her dad.

Once again, Dario walked by, and once again, I was distracted. So much so that I didn’t notice when a little boy, Vinny, was standing by my leg until he grabbed my pants.

“Hey, did you want to tell me what you want for Christmas?”

He shook his head.

“Do you want to sit on my lap?”

He shook his head again. I leaned in and whispered, “Are you here for the presents?”

He smiled brightly and nodded.

It wasn’t long before I pulled out his gift—a brand-new tractor. He gave me a fist bump and then ran to his parents. That’s when his words came—the little guy was so shy around me, but he made his happiness known with those he trusted. And that was more thanks than I could ever ask for.

Chapter 7

Dario

The cookies were intact—all of them. The crowds weren’t in an uproar.

But there weren’t enough paper cups, and the guy who made the cookies insisted his baked goods tasted better with a hot, sweet drink.

Thank gods I’d prepared for this, and I hauled out a box of paper cups from the storeroom.

“Crisis averted.” The guy gave me a thumbs up.

I didn’t move, waiting for someone else to present me with a problem, but for now at least, all the fires had been put out.

Can we go see Santa, now, please?

Stay where you are. If he shifted in the midst of the crowd, some of whom were human, it would be a catastrophe. I’d have to move to another town and give an explanation to the shifter council, and they’d have to come up with a solution for the humans who’d witnessed it. Pretend it was a trick, a sleight of hand.

I crept out of the community center, expecting a hand on my shoulder before I escaped outside. The brisk breeze bit into my cheeks, but the sun was out and the snow glistened in its thin light.

My gaze went immediately to Santa. The line of kids waiting for him curled around his house, but as I watched, he was very attentive to each child, engaged them in conversation, and didn’t hurry them along.

But in among the laughter and squealing, my superior shifter hearing picked up a distinct sobbing. I swiveled, peering around, and pushed my way through throngs of people until I discovered a young boy, clinging to a man.

The kid was holding a carrot and wailing, “They’re not here.”

Assuming he was lost, I rushed over to the pair. “Can I help?” I kneeled in the snow.

The boy turned his tear-stained face toward me and choked out, “Santa doesn’t have his reindeer.”

Reindeer?My beast perked up at the mention of his kind.

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