Page 3 of Santa's Little Elf

Now how am I supposed to face him when we cross paths? What’s the alternative? Apologizing? Who’s to say he would want to listen? I mean, he didn’t even want any of my cookies yesterday, and that was without the whole screaming at him thing.

After swallowing down some toast and coffee, I put on my coat and head outside to see if any damage was done last night. I smile up at the sky, happy to find everything in working order without so much as a burned-out bulb that needs replacement.

So, you caught him before he had the time to ruin anything.

That cynical voice in my head is forgetting something: why would he do something like that when I was right there in the kitchen with the light on? It would have been pretty ballsy and very stupid to pull any tricks at that time.

I cringe when his garage door swings open right at that moment. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him carrying a ladder. He doesn’t say anything, ignoring me while he sets it up at the rear corner of his house. He’s not hanging decorations up now, is he? I mean, it’s less than a week until Christmas.

No, there’s no way. He’s got a bunch of tools on his back porch, and he grabs a drill before climbing the ladder. I should say something, shouldn’t I? I feel like a dumbass for freaking out on him.

Turns out, he’s thinking the same thing ’cause he breaks the silence first. “Everything in one piece?”

“It seems to be. Look, I’m—”

“I’ve been meaning to mount this camera since I moved in,” he explains without waiting for me to ask. “This is a safe enough neighborhood, but you never know.”

“I see.” I want to ask if this has anything to do with me, but I’m afraid to. I don’t know why. He’s already intimidating enough, so big and muscular, and his chiseled profile with thick, dark hair has already caught my eye more than once over the past few months. In other words, he usually leaves me tongue-tied as it is.

But something else is going on now. I’m embarrassed, yes, but his energy has my heart pounding, too.

I’m not used to people not liking me. I guess I need to grow up, but right now, what matters more is getting him to come around. “I would really like to make up for my embarrassing behavior. Would you be interested in coming over for dinner tonight?” Jeez, where did that come from? It just fell out of my mouth before I knew it was coming.

He finishes drilling holes into his siding before lowering the drill and casting a look my way. Those eyes of his pin me to the spot—I feel flushed and breathless though I have no reason to be either. “Dinner?”

“You know, the meal you eat at night?”

“I’ve heard of it.” Is it my imagination or did his lips twitch like he was trying not to smile? No, I must have been imagining things because he’s back to scowling.

“I’m a pretty good cook. And it’s the least I can do to make it up to you. I shouldn’t have assumed anything last night.”

“You don’t have to try so hard.”

“Who said I was trying hard?”

“Is this you taking it easy?” My heart sinks, and it must show itself on my face since he frowns and clears his throat. “All right. I’ll come by for dinner. Seven o’clock sound okay?”

Funny. That’s what I was just going to say. “That would be perfect. I’ll expect you then.” And then I practically fly into the house. I can’t say anything stupid if I’m not in front of him.

* * *

It’squarter to seven by the time everything’s ready. There’s garlic bread in the oven, and the baked ziti I prepared is cooling on the stove. I made a big salad and broke out a bottle of wine for the occasion. I even made a chocolate cake with peppermint buttercream for dessert.

I’m trying too hard. I know I am, and I hope he doesn’t call me on it. I don’t know what it is about him. He captured my imagination the day he moved in alone. I know for a fact every single woman on the block—and a few not-so-single—beat a path to his front door within the first few days once word got out he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

By the time the last of the women tried and failed to get a date with him, they all wrote him off as either oblivious or gay. Either way, not somebody they were going to be successful with.

I don’t really care about that. Well, maybe I do since he’s gorgeous, and it feels like there are butterflies in my stomach whenever he looks at me. But more than anything, he seems sad. Lonely. There’s a difference between being alone and being lonely. I should know since I’ve been alone for a long time. But I’m not lonely, and I’m not unhappy. It makes me sad to think he might be.

I was extra careful with my hair and makeup tonight, but that’s just because I want to make a good impression. Not because I hope anything else will happen, even if there’s a big part of me that is kinda-sorta hoping it does. At least, I wouldn’t exactly be unhappy if it did.

A knock sounds at the back door at precisely seven o’clock, and I rush to answer it like he might disappear if I don’t get there right this second. “You didn’t have far to go,” I point out with a laugh, stepping aside to let him in.Seriously, that’s what you say?I give him a once over, trying my best not to stare. He looks good, more than good, in a gray turtleneck that sets off his thick biceps and barrel chest.

“It smells good in here.” I catch him eyeing the tree and can’t tell if he’s scowling because it’s in the way or because he thinks it’s stupid to have a Christmas tree in the kitchen. I guess it’ll be better for me not to ask since I’m not trying to start a fight and already feel myself bristling against what looks like disapproval at first glance.

“I told you, I’m not a bad cook.” I pull back the foil covering the ziti, and he whistles, which leaves me flushing with happiness.

“I haven’t taken a bite yet, but I’m pretty sure it beats a frozen meal any day of the week.”

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