Page 14 of The Goalie and Santa's Little Helper

“You don’t have to get up for a while. You’ll be fine.”

He exhales into the curve of my neck, reigniting the goose bumps I just tamed. The fingers on his left hand dig into my hip, and his other hand covers my folded ones above my knee. Hecoaxes our tethered hands upward, stopping at the hem of my short skirt right at the curve of my hip.

“Will you be fine?” he hums.

“Okay, look up here. And smile, you two,” Norris says, barely breaking through the bubble I’ve formed around Noah and me.

I force my mouth into a wide smile and brighten my eyes, which desperately want to flutter closed again now that Noah has shifted his legs and pressed himself directly against my aching center.

The flashes blind me, but I wouldn’t have been able to see straight anyhow. Because no—I’m not fine. I’m far from it. And I’m kind of okay with that.

5/

frankie

The first weekof the photo booth is usually slow. Kids are just getting out of school, parents are balancing holiday duties with work duties, and grandparents aren’t in town yet. Normally, our first customers are couples looking for cute holiday photos, or older couples reliving their youth and getting into the Christmas spirit.

But now that the booth has been around for a few years and word has spread, our opening day was one for the record books. I can’t tell whether Noah is exhausted or regretful that he signed up for a rigorous unpaid job during his break. Anthony told me that a few of the other guys they graduated high school with got home today, and they plan on watching the Bears game at McGinnie’s tonight with all-you-can-eat wings and pints. I’m sure Noah’s anxious to get out of here. He hasn’t let those cracks show to the kids, though. Not once.

“Ho ho ho!”

My cheeks ache as I smile. I can’t help it. From the first time Noah put on the voice and practiced his belly laugh, it’s sparked a massive grin on my face every time. I never would have guessed, but he’s really good at this.

“And what’s your name?”

It’s the last kid for the night. I hung the closed sign by the rink entrance. I think Noah’s really putting on a show for this kid since he waited for nearly an hour to see him.

“I’m Conner,” the kid answers, a faint whistle capping off his words thanks to the slight split between his two front teeth.

“And how old are you?” Noah asks, tilting his head to the side and giving Conner a good look. We came up with this trick about halfway through the night.

“Wait, don’t tell me. I remember you.” Noah runs his hand over his beard as a skeptical smirk inches up Conner’s face.

“Oh, yeah?” the boy says. He’s six. I know because I got the details from his dad and passed them on to Noah through the earbud I buried in his Santa hat.

“You’re Conner Graham. And you are pretty tall for a six-year-old,” Noah says.

Conner’s mouth falls open, and I hold my fist against my smiling lips. This will never get old.

“Thanks for that,” Conner’s dad says at my side.

“Of course! We like raising money for the community center, but we love making kids smile even more,” I say.

“I’m pretty thankful for both. That Christmas Eve dinner is going to be a bright spot for us this year.”

The man sinks his hands into his jean pockets as he hikes his shoulders in a shiver. The breeze has kicked up so much that I took Norris up on his offer to wear his bowling league jacket. I think it’s more than the cold eating at Conner’s dad, though. And since Noah has Conner talking up a storm right now, I breathe in a deep dose of courage to pry into things that aren’t my business.

“Things are tight?”

I keep my voice low so Conner can’t hear us talk. His father nods, his gaze dropping to the ground, and he kicks at the wet spots on the mat from our long night of customers.

“They furloughed at my company, and my wife is only part-time right now since our daughter just turned one.” His shoulders hike with a short, breathy laugh, the kind not meant for something funny.

“She earns just enough to cover the daycare some weeks. It all feels kind of pointless.”

I reach into my apron, retrieve the ten dollar bill he gave to me a few minutes ago, and move to hand it back. He shakes his head, however, taking a half step back and lodging his hands deeper in his pockets.

“No, ma’am, that donation is what I can afford. And we’ll eat plenty at the community dinner,” he says, his smile struggling to reach his eyes.

---