Page 23 of Sexted By Santa
7
CHRISTIAN
Saturday came too soon, and with it, another obligation to don the red-and-white suit and attempt to find my holiday cheer. After last time, I wanted to do better. A homeless shelter was next on the agenda—which meant families,children, who probably didn’t have a lot to look forward to this holiday season…
Except a visit from me.
Now, there was a scary thought.
I ran lines through my head as I dressed, then fed the spoiled evil minion named Sir Elton John his wet dog food, because dry kibble was for plebeians. He thanked me by trying to start a tug-of-war game with my furry cuff and made me doubly glad I’d never put on the fake white beard. By the time I’d extricated myself, some of my nerves had disappeared—replaced by exasperation for the furry penance who lived with me.
“I should have taken you to the shelter,” I said without heat.
Sir Elton batted his eyes at me, and let’s face it: I never could resist a pretty face. With a resigned sigh, I patted his head, collected my bag of donated gifts, and headed out the door. I’d just hit the driveway when I heard a high-pitched giggle and caught a glimpse of dark hair in my peripheral vision.
“You’re Santa, right?” a little girl called from her front yard.Jaxson’slittle girl.
I glanced past her to the front door, which stood wide open. I cringed to think of Jaxson’s energy bill.
“Should you be out here without your dad?” I asked.
She shrugged but glanced guiltily back toward the house. “I just wanted to talk to you. You leave so fast!”
I hesitated, torn between wanting to escape and thinking of the disappointment on Jaxson’s face when I’d refused his daughter before. If I couldn’t handle being a decent Santa—a decentman—to one little girl, how would I ever manage a handful of families looking to me to brighten their season?
I still didn’t like Christmas. It was a season filled with commercialism, empty sentiment, and annoyingly chipper people. I was not a good choice to play Santa.
But that didn’t mean I had to ruin other people’s joy. I didn’t want to be that guy.
So I resisted the urge to flee and crouched down to eye level. “Hi, I’m Santa. You’re Tori, aren’t you?”
Her eyes widened. “You know my name?”
“Well, sure I do. I keep a list.”And eavesdrop on my neighbor calling to his daughter in exasperation on fairly frequent basis.“Naughty and nice.”
She looked nervous. “Which list am I on?”
Just then a bellowing voice came from the front door. “Tori Marie Hicks! What have I said about—”
Jaxson stopped short when he saw me. I wished I could say he looked encouraged to see me talking with his daughter, but wary would be a more accurate description. He was worried I’d be rude, or perhaps ruin her belief in Santa, and after my previous refusal and pathetic performance at the nursing home, could I really blame him?
“You’re on the nice list, Tori. Don’t you worry.”
She gave a gusty sigh. “You’re sure?”
“Of course. Santa always knows.”
She smiled, and it was a beautiful thing. Warmth bloomed in my chest. I’d finally done something right.
I straightened, suppressing a groan as my knees creaked, and met Jaxson’s serious gaze. “I’m afraid I have to be going.” I glanced toward Tori. “Official holiday business, you understand.”
She nodded eagerly.
“Thank you for making time for us, Santa,” Jaxson said, his gaze searching, as if he were looking for some truth inside of me. I didn’t know what exactly he was after, but he smiled—and it was just as beautiful a sight as his daughter’s.
Maybe more so—because it took my breath away.
I jerked a thumb over my shoulder toward my car. “I, uh…I have to…”
