Page 3 of Santa Daddy, I'm Not the One

He strolled through the aisles, intently studying each toy before moving on to the next. The way he inspected each item, I knew he was trying to figure out the price, but we didn’t add any to the items. That way, I could change their price on a whim.

Leaving the shelf where I had just put out a fresh stock of limited-edition collector dolls, I strolled after the man, righting each item he touched. He seemed lost among the rows of extravagant train sets and lavish dollhouses that probably cost more than the cardboard box he lived in.

“Can I help you find something?” I asked, making no effort to hide my annoyance. In fact, I wished he had gotten all my hints and had left my store. I had no time to waste with people like him. People needed to know what they could afford and save me the embarrassment of having to tell them they should check the secondhand toy store across the street that would close down permanently next week.

It’d taken me two years to run them out of business.

“I’m looking for a particular doll,” he said. “A coworker told me you had them, but I’m not seeing any on the shelf.”

Ah, he wanted Annabelle.

“Perhaps you should check the store across the street,” I said.

“I already did, and they also told me your store is the only one in the city that hasn’t sold out of the doll.” He grimaced. “Usually, I don’t put so much stock into things, but my daughter’s obsessed with the show and insists she must have the doll for Christmas. She asked Santa for one at the mall, so now Santa has to deliver.”

“How old is your daughter?” I asked.

“Coralie is eight.”

“Eight?” I raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t she a bit too old to still believe in Santa?”

“Well…not really. We’re going to let her believe for as long as she finds it convenient.”

“I’m sorry, but why should a fictitious old man take all the credit for their parents’ deeds?”

“It’s no problem. We want her to believe.”

I shrugged. “Suit yourself. We have the Annabelle doll, but it’s rather expensive.”

“I know. I saved up my bonus to purchase it.”

Stupid man. He needed someone to teach him a lesson. Why spend his Christmas bonus on a doll when he needed it to feed his family? “Okay, then. Come this way, please.”

He followed me behind the counter where I kept the more exclusive items. I pulled out a dark wooden, glass-fronted box and placed it on the counter. Inside was Annabelle, the doll with strikingly detailed features and clothing that were the mirror image of the character from the popular TV show of the same name.

The man laughed, his tired eyes lighting up. “That’s the one! You actually do have it.”

“I specialize in toys you won’t find elsewhere.” I pointed to the doll on the counter. “That’s the reason for the cost. They’re in demand. Just business.”

“Don’t worry. My coworker got one here yesterday. The price is a little steep, but anything for my Coralie. She’s a good kid.”

He pulled his wallet out, and I told him the price. His head shot up. “Excuse me?”

“Did you not hear me?” I repeated the price.

The color drained from his face, and a mixture of shock and despair appeared in his eyes.

“That’s…that’s,” he stuttered, struggling to form a coherent sentence. “That’s my whole Christmas bonus. Are you sure that’s the price? That’s not what my coworker told me.”

“I’m the boss, so of course I know the price.” I plucked the box with the doll from the counter and returned it to its secure display case. “I take it you can’t afford it.”

“Not at that price, I can’t.”

“Each day the price goes up. It’s the price for exclusivity. I’m sorry,”—not really—“but I’m sure you can get another doll at the shop across the street.”

His gaze shifted between the toy and the door. “I can’t… I’m sorry.” With a heavy sigh, he turned and left, his empty hands speaking louder than any words.

I sighed. “A waste of my time.”

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