Page 24 of Ewan

I bring my hand to my head and press my sweaty forehead into my palm.

Who is this man?

Frantically, I look around.

Where did I leave my purse and my phone? I spin around and make a beeline for the armchair where several employees have left their things.

Maria remains pinned where I left her while I reach inside my bag and pull out my phone. I swiftly find Elisa’s number when some weird voice in my head tells me to wait.

My eyes go to the man again.

What should I be asking Elisa?

If she knows whether Colley’s nineteen-year-old cousin has grown into a thirty-year-old man with a rear that makes me sweat?

Have I ever seen a butt like that?

Not in real life.

The way he swaggers gives me a hot flash.

And he cares about nothing and no one as he stops in front of the bench and drops his fake gift bag to the floor.

A sexy Santa with an attitude?

Sounds like a big improvement––insert snark––from the earlier Santa who’d been picked up for a DUI.

What has the world come to?

I look at him, frozen, his V-shaped back and the width of his shoulders giving me palpitations.

That suit must be itchy in all the wrong places.

The pants mold to his rear and athletic thighs, and I can bet he barely squeezed his goods in.

Luckily, he’s still studying the gifts under the tree. I can’t tell what he’s thinking––his back is still turned to me––but from his laissez-faire attitude, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was contemplating a quick exit.

He looks like someone who hates his job, someone showing up for community service, and I can’t have that.

I don’t know who this man is, but he has found the address, taken the time to put on his Santa suit––albeit with a struggle––and now he's checking the premises, which makes me believe he’s up for the task, however difficult it may prove to be.

I suck in a long breath to calm my nerves, postpone calling Elisa Rivera––I wouldn’t do it unless it was a catastrophic emergency––and move in his direction, phone clutched in my hand, just in case.

SCARLETT

“Hi,”I sing song with my hand outstretched, waiting for the man to react to my sweet voice and turn around.

My neck hurts from keeping my head tipped up, waiting for his gaze.

I’m ready for anything, but little do I know… Little do I know.

The man takes his time mustering a reaction.

Eventually, he does glance over his shoulder, a washed-out, blue-gray gaze tinged with a smidgen of green slashing through me like a scalpel.

Everywhere his gaze goes, firefighters are needed to put out the fire.

It doesn’t matter that he wears a crooked, comical beard. It doesn’t matter that his hair is hidden under his plush Santa cap. It doesn’t even matter that I don’t see his face.

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