Page 9 of Santa Daddy, I'm Not the One

“We assure you, Santa is very real,” Pix said earnestly. “And you’re here because… well, we thought you believed.”

“Believed?” I glowered at them with a cold, hard stare. “In what?”

“The magic of Christmas.”

Oh God, I was trapped with two deranged people who thought they were elves. “I stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago. In fact, I can’t remember a time when I believed in Santa, so it’s obvious you have the wrong person, so I’ll be on my way.”

I stormed toward the door, determined to leave this ludicrous fantasy behind. Pix and Dix scurried after me, their tiny feet padding against the snow-covered floor.

“Please wait for Santa!” Pix pleaded, his voice edged with desperation. “He’ll explain everything.”

Ignoring their protests, I threw open the door, which banged against the wall. And walked right into a block of wood. No, not wood. An enormous man towered over me, looking like a lumberjack with broad shoulders and muscles that strained against his red-and-white shirt. His beard, while long, was well groomed and nowhere near the cascading white waterfall in pictures of Santa. His dark chestnut hair was tousled as if he ran his fingers through it several times during the day. But it was his eyes that caught me off guard—a deep, intense blue with flecks of snowflakes, piercing and captivating. My mouth went dry, and my heart pounded. I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Who…who are you?” I stammered, stepping back.

“Santa, you’re here,” Dix said.

I peered up at the man, disappointment snowballing into my gut. For a minute there, I had hoped…but no, he was one of them. A figment of my imagination. He certainly looked the part of the Daddy I’d always dreamed of, but why was he dressed up as Santa Claus, boner killer extraordinaire? There was nothing like the memory of the disappointing being who had never visited me once on Christmas. I hadn’t even been worth coal in my stocking.

“Ah, the elves didn’t mention that you were actually Santa Daddy.” I rolled my eyes. “I think you missed the memo about the beer gut, the long beard, and the whole ‘old’ thing.”

He furrowed his brow, and a frown settled on his too-handsome face. “You’re definitely from the naughty list, all right,” he said, his voice deep and resonant. “I can smell a brat a mile away.”

“Exactly, a brat. What are you going to do to me? Banish me to work in the coal mines?”

“No. But brats do require a firm hand.”

A shiver ran up my spine. I dropped my gaze to his big hand. Was he talking about a spanking?

“I’m not staying.” I ignored the unsettling flutter in my stomach. This man, this Santa, was attractive, and it was throwing me off-balance.

Santa studied me, his gaze piercing. “Believe me, there’s nothing we’d like more than to have you return to where you’re from. We don’t need your kind in Twinkle Glen, but you’re stuck here until the Yuletide Crossing reopens. I suggest you make yourself comfortable and stay out of sight until then.”

“Stuck? No way. There’s got to be another way out. I refuse to be a part of this… this Christmas charade.”

Santa’s expression softened slightly, but the authority in his stance never wavered. “I understand this is difficult to grasp, but you’re at the North Pole. And while you’re here, we need to find out why you were brought here, especially since you seem to lack the Christmas spirit. Are you sure you don’t believe?”

I crossed my arms, trying to mask the effect his presence had on me. “Do I look like I believe in the Christmas spirit? I don’t do Christmas, and I certainly don’t do make-believe North Pole and a Santa who looks like he belongs on the cover ofMen’s Vogue.”

My cheeks burned, and I slapped a hand over my mouth. Stupid. Stupid. I hadn’t meant to use those words. Now he probably knew I found him attractive.

Santa let out a low, warm chuckle. “Well, Landon, whether or not you believe, you’re here. And we have two weeks to sort this out. In the meantime, maybe we can rekindle that lost spirit of yours.”

I turned away from his disarming smile. “Never had it in the first place, so good luck finding it. What am I supposed to do now?”

“You be a good little boy and stay in this room.” He gestured at the elves. “Since these two are responsible for your predicament, I’m leaving them at your beck and call. Whatever you want, you ask them, and they will do it. I just have one condition.”

I licked my lips. “And what’s that?”

“You don’t leave this room.”

“So I’m your prisoner?”

“No, you’re my guest—”

“Who can’t come and go as he pleases. Hence the definition of a prisoner.”

Santa cocked his head to the side and frowned. “Do you ever stop talking, or will I have to mute that sassy little mouth of yours?”

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