Page 89 of A Not So Merry Rescue
The white beard affixed to his face.
The overstuffed red coat with a black buckle holding it in place.
Thejollyexpression.
It’s Santa, alright. Beckett as Santa.
Why am I so astounded he’s dressed as Santa? The clues were all there this week. AJ Hart would sass me so hard right now that I didn’t see this coming.
All I can do is laugh.
A hearty laugh, one sounding a lot like Santa’s, pulled deep from the pit of my stomach. It’s been so long since I’ve laughed like this. I can’t remember the last time.
Joy radiates through me, the excitement making me giddy. It invigorates me, eclipsing every doubt I had that I’d ruin this for other people.
I’m glad he didn’t tell me, and I’m also delighted I decided it was important to come. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this.
“Of course he’s Santa,” I state aloud, still reeling with laughter.
When I seek Beckett out again, his back is to me, waving tothe crowd on the opposite side of the street. He hasn’t noticed me yet, but when he shifts toward the driveway, ecstasy pours off him in ripples. His smile widens, his eyes sparkle. That’s the only way I can describe how bright they are. Our gazes lock, and my smile grows.
A week ago, the thought of being near Santa would have crippled me, sending me running for the hills. Instead, here I am, wishing I could jump into the back of the truck with him.
Sure, it’s not “Santa” I’m interested in so much as Beckett. A guy who’s turned my life topsy-turvy in a matter of days, including making me a believer again. I don’t know when it happened, but he worked his charms, and here I am.
His arm swings wildly yet controlled. “Ho, ho, ho,” he croons. “Merry Christmas.” My arm raises to return his wave, my excitement not contained. He bangs on the top of the cab, calling out, “Hold up a minute.” Slowly, the truck rolls to a stop, and Beckett jumps from the bed, strolling my way, not forgetting the part he’s playing. His hands splay his round stomach, and he saunters more than strolls, his focus not leaving me.
My stomach leaps, wondering what he’s up to, why he’s stopped the parade to find me.
About two feet in front of me, he halts, his eyes never leaving mine. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.” I shake my head. “Santa!”
A tinge of red stains his cheeks. Not like the “rosy cheeks” in the song, but from self-consciousness. “Glad you made it. Worried for a second you’d miss all this.” He reaches an arm out, motioning to the surrounding crowd.
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” The truth gushesout, the words genuine and frank. The only reason I’m here is because of Beckett. I owe it all to him. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to show my complete gratitude for how much he’s helped me this week.
“I have something for you. Hold on.” He breaks our trance, returning to the truck, reaching into the window of the cab, notonce breaking character. He doesn’t ignore the cheers of “Santa” on his way back, giving his fans a wave. When he reaches me, his hands are behind his back, but his smirk tells me he’s up to something.
“Whatcha got there, Santa?”
“Close your eyes, Willa.” His demand is gentle, softer than his usual tone. I don’t bother fighting it, fluttering my eyes shut. He removes the wool hat I’m wearing, replacing it with a different one. “Okay, open.”
My eyes open, and I’m met with his phone’s camera in selfie mode. A Santa hat has taken the place of the winter one, but I can’t get a word out before he pulls me flush against him, instructing me to smile when I’m where he wants me. The screen reflects our bliss, and I only hope the picture accurately illustrates it.
“Do you trust me?”
“Wholeheartedly.”
A devilish gleam in his eyes, he wraps his hand around my wrist and pulls me to the other side of the hedges. I don’t have to wonder for long what he’s up to when his arms clasp around my waist and lean me backward. A flurry of butterflies kicks up with the comprehension of what he’s doing.
“Beckett,” I squeal, as he crashes his lips to mine, my protest dying.
During the Hallmark movie the other night, we talked about how the hero sweeps the heroine off her feet—metaphorically—and dips her back for the grand finale of kisses.
And what a finale it is.
Fireworks explode in front of my eyes.
