Page 9 of Saint Nick
“I look ridiculous,” Nick growled. “And this beard itches like hell.”
Brooke swooped in, carrying a tray of hot cocoa like somekind of Christmas angel in leather boots. “You look perfect! The kids are going to love you.”
He glanced toward the corner where Sandy stood by the makeshift photo booth, camera in hand, her blond hair falling over one shoulder. She’d traded her usual button-up and pencil skirt for a red sweater that hugged every curve and a plaid skirt that was definitely a weapon of distraction. Her thigh-high black leather boots had him nearly swallowing his damn tongue.
“Yeah,” he muttered, not really paying attention to Brooke or Mace while he watched Sandy.
Brooke followed his gaze and smirked. “She’s sweet, isn’t she?”
“Too sweet,” he said automatically. “She doesn’t belong here.”
Brooke’s smile softened. “Maybe that’s exactly why she does.”
Before Nick could answer her, a group of kids rushed him. “Santa! Santa! Can we sit on your lap?” He froze, staring down at the sea of tiny faces looking up at him in awe. His chest tightened in a way that scared the hell out of him.
“Uh—sure,” he managed. “Line up, one at a time.” Mace chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. The fucker had lied to him, telling him that kids were usually on their best behavior a few weeks before Christmas. They had two and a half weeks to go until the real Santa made his ride to deliver the toys to all the good kids, but these kids were acting like it was a done deal. Most of them were hyped up on sugar and running the bar like they owned the place. He wanted to point out that if they weren’t good, they wouldn’t get a visit from him on Christmas Eve, but Brooke had already warned him that wouldn’t fly with her or the kids’ parents. Shereminded Nick that pissing off his biker friends wasn’t going to earn him any points—not that he cared about shit like that.
The first little girl climbed up onto his lap and looked at him with wide brown eyes. “I want a puppy,” she said.
Nick blinked. “You sure about that? Puppies chew shoes and pee on everything,” he warned. The little girl’s father, Chrome, stood in the corner with his hands crossed over his chest. He didn’t know the guy very well, but from the look on his face, he wasn’t happy about his kid wanting a puppy from Santa.
She frowned. “Santa’s not supposed to say that,” the little girl chided, causing Brooke to giggle. She shot him a warning look, letting him know that his telling a kid that Santa didn’t approve of their request wasn’t an option. Nick sighed and forced a smile. “Right. A puppy. I’ll see what I can do, kid.” The girl giggled, clearly unconvinced but happy enough to grab her candy cane from the disgruntled elf and skip off.
By the time he made it through the line of kids, his cheeks hurt from fake smiling, and his heart felt like someone had wrung it out. These kids had no idea how good they had it—parents, laughter, a real home. They didn’t worry about not getting a present for Christmas. He’d never had any of that. Hell, he stopped believing in Santa when he was just six years old. That was when he figured out that the big guy wasn’t real because even the best-behaved kids in the foster home never woke up to presents under the tree on Christmas morning.
When the last kid waved goodbye, he started for Mace’s office and ripped the beard off, shouting, “That’s it. I’m done.”
“You sure?” came a teasing voice from behind him. “Because I was about to tell you how good you looked in red.” He turned to find Sandy leaning against a candy-cane pillar inthe hallway, grinning like she’d just caught him doing something illegal.
“You taking pictures or stalking me?” he asked, trying to sound irritated and failing.
“Bit of both,” she said, stepping closer. “You were actually kind of amazing with them.”
He snorted. “Yeah, sure. I think I made one kid cry.”
“But you made three smile,” she countered. “That’s a pretty solid average.”
Nick glanced toward Mace, who was busy handing out gifts. “I wasn’t sure that you were going to make it today,” he admitted. She was about thirty minutes late, and when he went back to Mace’s office to change, he was sure that she wasn’t going to show up. But then, he walked out into the bar as Santa and saw her standing against the wall, talking to Brooke. God, she took his damn breath away.
“Sorry about that,” she said. “I had a flat tire and had to wait for AAA to come help me change my tire. I didn’t have a jack in my trunk. I guess I never noticed that it was missing. You know, you don’t miss something until you need it kind of thing?”
“You should have called me,” he insisted. “I would have come to help you out.”
“And give you an excuse to get out of playing Santa? Not a chance. Besides, I’ve been taking care of myself and changing my own tires for years now. But I appreciate the offer,” she said.
“You get what you need for your article?” he asked.
“Almost.” She tilted her head. “There’s just one more thing I’d like to include.”
“What’s that?”
“A quote from Santa himself.”
He sighed. “You never quit, do you?”
“Nope,” she quickly answered.
She raised her phone like a microphone, pretending to be serious. “So tell me, Santa, what does Christmas mean to you?”
