Page 1 of Pining for Christmas

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Santa Baby

Description

We’re messing around when we call our boss Santa. But the truth is, I’d die to sit on his knee.

Jack is burly and bearded, with silver in his hair. He’s generous and kind, and healwaysknows when we’ve been bad.

But the storybook Santa rides a sleigh, not a motorbike. And he runs the North Pole, not a whiskey-soaked bar.

Jack took me in when I was a runaway. He gave me a job and put a roof over my head. He’s given me so much already, but now… I want more.

Please, Santa. I knowexactlywho I want this year.

Clara

The front door opens in a swirl of snowflakes, three locals stamping their boots before they enter the bar. I wave at the new-comers from behind the pump, pulling a dark, glossy ale into a pint glass. The bar is crammed, like always, each booth and table and scrap of floor space packed tight with laughing bodies. A fire flickers in the grate on one wall, and the sound of carols mingles with the hubbub of conversation.

It’s always busy at Jack’s, but tonight is Christmas Eve. Every grown adult in the town has made the pilgrimage here, to laugh and drink and be merry before the marathon that is Christmas day.

And tomorrow morning, the town’s parents will nurse throbbing hangovers, questioning their wisdom as their kids squeal and tear open gift paper. The holidays are a wonderful thing.

“Watch yourself.”

My best friend Gina bumps me with her hip. Gina’s worked behind this bar for almost ten years—way longer than I have—and she’s still looking out for me, even when I should know better by now. Her long dark hair tumbles over her generous curves, and her kohl-lined eyes stare pointedly at my hands.

I jolt, slamming the pump off a split second before the glass overflows.

“Thanks,” I mumble as I hand the ale over and take the man’s money. “Jack would kill me if I spilled beer everywhere again.”

Gina snorts, tugging the dishwasher open. “No, he wouldn’t.”

No, he wouldn’t.

Jack may own this bar, may pay all our wages, may be my freakinglandlordon top of all that—but our boss is no tyrant. If anything, he’s too forgiving. Kinder than we deserve.

It only makes me want to please him more.

The glasses clink as we unload the dishwasher, moving in swift, practiced movements to restock the shelves below the bar. We’ve done this dance a thousand times before, and it’s soothing to fall into a rhythm. To not speak to customers for a few minutes.

Look, I love the regulars at Jack’s. I like meeting new people too. But sometimes, it’s exhausting to beonfor hours at a time. After my longest, busiest shifts, I feel like barricading my door and never speaking to another human being again.

No one except Jack, maybe. I can’t imagine ever not wantinghimaround.

“I got Jack a present.”

Gina’s words bring an ugly pinch to my chest. Jack and Gina are friends. There’s no reason to be jealous, and even if there were—what right do I have to that feeling? None. Jack sees me as a worker, nothing more.

“Oh yeah?” I slide the last glass on a shelf and close the dishwasher with a thump.Be normal, Clara.“What did you get him?”

Gina grins and tugs a drawer open next to the cash register. Balled up inside is a red Santa’s hat, edged with white and finished off with a pom pom.

“Oh my god.” I stare down into the drawer. “Youdidn’t.” A woman leans over the bar, waving for service, and I go to meet her. Gina’s cackles float after me, and I huff a reluctant laugh before greeting the woman. “Hey there! What can I get you?”

A Santa hat. ASanta hat.I bite my lip against a smile as I pour the woman’s wine. That’s pretty cheeky, even with a super sweet boss like Jack. I can see where Gina’s coming from—Jack is burly and bearded. There’s silver threaded through his hair, and there’s something all-knowing about him too. Healwaysknows when we’ve been bad.

But Santa in the stories is a jolly, grandfatherly figure. And Jack is…

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