Santa Material Read online

  “No.” Mac only says the one word before he folds his massive arms over his chest.

  “Aren’t there sites just for older men? Sugar daddy something?” I snap my fingers. This is brilliant. Mac snatches my phone out of my hand.

  “You’re not going on a dating app,” he grumbles. The grumpy look on his face has me pulling him down for a kiss. I’m glad I’m not the only one around here getting jealous.

  “Are you jealous of the idea of me on a dating app?”

  “Yes.” His answer is instant. “You’re mine, and I don’t share.”

  A thrill runs down my spine at his possessive words. He leans down and grabs the Santa hat off the couch. I watch as he puts it on. We both stand there and wait for something to happen. Some sort of wild magical explosions or bursts of Christmas energy. Nope. Nothing.

  “I don’t think you’re old enough? Or gray enough,” I point out. He looks too sexy to be Santa. “Maybe I could try it on Carl when he brings the mail tomorrow? If he brings it.” I glance out at the falling snow. “Or we could, I don’t know, go to the diner and try it on every old guy who walks through the door. Or maybe we—” The doorbell rings, making me let out a small scream of surprise.

  “It’s only the door, lil bit.” He chuckles and drops a kiss on top of my head before he walks over to the door and looks out the peephole. “No one’s there.” He flips the lock and pulls it open. A bunch of white boxes sit on my porch. First the sacks of letters and now this. I’m going to run out of room in my house at this rate.

  “They’re addressed to Santa, but there isn't a physical address on them.” I look up and down the street to see who dropped them off, but there’s no one in sight. Mac pulls the lid off one of the boxes. I reach in and grab the paper on top that says The List in big bold letters. It’s then I see all of the names in neat lines underneath.

  “That little prick Johnny Greenwood isn't getting anything.”

  I turn my head to look up at Mac who’s reading the names on the list over my shoulder. “Tomas is good to go this year. Think he learned his lesson from last year.”

  “You know them?” I ask. Mac opens his mouth and then closes it. I put my hand over my mouth. “Santa?”

  15

  Santa

  “That was just a lucky guess.”

  “Two lucky guesses?” Jocelyn looks up at me. “Do you know any of the other names?”

  I glance down at the long ream of paper, one of many in the boxes on her front porch. Yes, I know every name I see. In fact, I have the distinct urge to take a pen and mark through the naughty children, ensuring that I don’t accidentally include them on the Nice list.

  “Mac?” She reaches up, her hands going to my dark hair.

  “Yeah?” I flip through some more pages, still recognizing every name. “This can’t be right,” I mutter.

  “Your hair.” She strokes through the strands.

  “Hmm?”

  “It’s turning white.”

  “What?”

  I tear my eyes away from the list and find her. “White?”

  “Yeah.” She nods slowly. “Come on.” She takes my hand and pulls me into her house, then points at the mirror in her entryway. “See?”

  “Holy shit.” I swipe the hat off my head and watch as my hair turns silver, the strands almost metallic. My beard does the same, filling in with silver as we both stare, open-mouthed at my reflection.

  “Finally!” A shrill voice cuts through our amazement, and we turn to find a small man with a sharp nose, velvety green vest and short pants, and sparkling red shoes upturned with bells on the tips. “Santa.” He gives me a deep bow.

  “The fuck?”

  He snaps back to a standing position. “Your predecessor was fond of salty language, too.” He tweaks his nose with a knowing grin.

  “Predecessor? You mean Santa?” I have to kneel to get a better look at the guy. He comes to my knee.

  “You’re Santa now. I need you to report to the North Pole immediately. The workshop needs marching orders. The reindeer are restless. Time is ticking away. Christmas is almost here!” His singsong voice is like a needle in my ear.

  “I’m not Santa.” I shake my head.

  “You are.”

  “No, I’m a retired bruiser with a long line of mistakes behind me. And now I’ve finally found the one good thing in my life—”

  “Yes!” the elf exclaims. “Being Santa is a good thi—”

  “I’m not talking about Santa!” I bark. “I’m talking about my lil bit.” I take her hand. “I’m not Santa. I belong here.”

  She beams at me, her eyes watering. “Really?”

  “Really.” I rise to my full height. “I love you, lil bit. I’ll never love anyone else but you.”

  “Mac!” She throws her arms around my neck, and I lift her as she buries her face in my neck. “I love you, too.” She laughs as I spin her around, and when she almost kicks Cinnamon in his sharp nose, I smirk. But more than that, my heart seems to beat double time, because this amazing woman in my arms said she loves me. I’m not letting that go. I can’t. She’s part of me now.

  “I’m not Santa.” I put her on her feet and kiss her. “I’m your man.”

  Cinnamon clears his throat and holds up a finger. “Apologies, Santa. But you put on the hat. It chose you. That can’t be undone. The hat always chooses the Santa.”

  “What the fuck is this? Hogwarts? A hat can’t choose shit.” I keep my arm around Jocelyn.

  Cinnamon blinks. Hard.

  I suspect the prior Santa may have been ‘salty,’ but I’m a damn salt mine in comparison.

  “Santa.” He takes a look I’m reasonable tone. “You have to come to the North Pole. This isn’t a responsibility you can avoid. This job—your job—is extremely important to all the people of the world. The children need you to show them that magic exists, to give them hope, to be that extra bit of miracle in their year to get through the next.”

  “Sorry, but you have to find someone else.” I mentally kick myself for ever putting that stupid hat on my head. I never thought it would actually mean anything. After all, like I told the elf, I have a checkered past, to put it lightly, and I’m no miracle worker for children. Hell, it’s all I can do to take care of Sylvester, and all he does is lounge around on his cat trees and snack all day.

  The elf swipes his hat off his head, revealing blond hair sculpted into a peak with a twist and curl at the end. “Santa, there is no backing out of this. There is one Santa called whenever the previous Santa is…” He glances at Jocelyn. “Retired.”

  Her cheeks heat. “It was an accident.”

  “I know.” He nods. “I know. But that doesn’t change the fact that there is only one person in the entire world who can be the next Santa. The hat has chosen.”

  “The hat can choose again.” I shrug.

  “That’s not possible,” Cinnamon says sadly, some of the wind leaving his sails as his nose starts to quiver. “Santa, please.”

  “Oh my God.” Jocelyn kneels. “Are you crying?”

  “No.” He pushes his chin up. “Of course not.”

  “Look, I’m sorry I put the hat on.” I hand it to him. “But I’m not Santa. Not even with the weird white hair and all the rest.” All the rest currently encompasses my knowledge of all the naughty and nice children in the world, the care and feeding of flying reindeer, and the down to the millisecond schedule required to deliver all gifts before sunrise Christmas morning, plus stocking fillers. But that’s not important.

  “Mac.” Jocelyn rises and faces me. “Maybe he’s right.”

  “What?”

  “Maybe you are Santa.” She runs her fingers through my beard, sending a tingle down my spine. “Maybe all this happened so the hat would come to you.”

  “No.”

  “Yes,” Cinnamon pipes up. “That’s exactly right.”

  “I’m not Santa.” I tilt her chin up so she meets my eyes. “I’m yours. I belong here with you.”r />
  “Well, maybe I could come with you to the North—”

  “Absolutely not!” Cinnamon chirps. “We’re already behind schedule. We need Santa desperately, and humans are not allowed at the North Pole. You’d die of the cold without Christmas magic to warm you.”

  She frowns. “Mac’s a human.”

  “No, he’s magical. The hat has given him Christmas magic.” Cinnamon edges closer, his hopeful eyes on me. “You can feel it, can’t you? You know who’s naughty and nice. You can feel Christmas approaching. Can’t you?”

  “That’s not some Santa power.” I shake my head. “Everyone knows Christmas will be here in 23 days, 1 hour, 12 minutes, and 31 seconds.” In the back of my mind, I feel a strange itch. It’s never been there before. But it’s like a calling. And I get the sense that I’m a compass pointing straight at the North Pole. I fight that sensation, trying to bury it deep. “I’m not Santa.”

  “But you are.” She strokes my white beard again, then swallows hard and steps back. “Mac, he’s right.”

  “No, he’s not.” I follow her step and pull her against me. “I’m not leaving you.”

  Her eyes are already tearing, wetness flowing down her cheeks.

  “No, lil bit. Don’t cry.” I wipe them away.

  “You have to go.” She sniffles.

  “No, I don’t.” I keep her in my arms.

  “But think of all the disappointed children. We can’t do that to them.”

  “The parents buy the presents. There’s no Santa.”

  She shakes her head sadly and gestures at Cinnamon. “I think we’re past the point of denying the existence of Santa and magic.”

  My heart starts to squeeze at the look in her eyes. “Lil bit. I’m not leaving you.”

  “You have to.” She wipes at her tears, but more keep falling. “It’s all my fault.” She bursts into tears, and I scoop her up and hold her as she cries.

  “No, shhh.” I kiss her tears away. “It’s not your fault. I won’t leave you and Sylvester.”

  “Oh, Sylvester is already at the North Pole,” Cinnamon says brightly. “Cats are inherently magical and always welcome at the Pole, so we took the liberty of—”

  “You stole my cat?” I grit my teeth.

  “He’s having a great time. You’ll see when you get there.”

  “For the last time, I’m not—”

  “Mac.” She says my name so softly I almost miss it. But I don’t, because I hang on every word from her lips.

  “Lil bit?”

  Her eyes are still watery as she kicks her feet, telling me to put her down.

  I do.

  “Go.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “You have to go.”

  “No.” I reach for her, but she steps back.

  “Mac, I’m serious. Leave.” Her eyes harden. “Go with Cinnamon Stick. I’ve already killed Santa. I’m not going to ruin Christmas for innocent children. You have to be Santa.”

  “Lil bit, please.” My heart constricts even more, and that call to a distant, snowy land grows louder in my mind.

  “I have to let you go.” She takes another step away from me, and when I try to go to her, she shakes her head. “Go. Get out.”

  “I’m not leaving without you.”

  “Yes, you are.” Her chin wobbles, but again she moves away from me.

  “Lil bit.” I can feel myself falling apart on the inside, my heart sinking and ripping to shreds. “Please don’t do this.”

  “Go!” She shouts and turns away. “Get out of my house.”

  “There has to be another way to—”

  “There’s not!” She straightens her spine. “Get out. Now. Go to the North Pole. Be Santa. If you don’t give the world the magic it needs at Christmas, I never want to see you again. Now go!”

  It’s as if she struck me. The heft of her words is like a fist to my gut.

  “I’ll be, um … outside …” Cinnamon backs onto the porch.

  “I mean it, Mac. Go or I’ll never forgive you.”

  I reach for her and rest my hand on her shoulder.

  She shrugs me off. “Get. Out.”

  I let my hand drop and stare at her, desperate for her to turn around, to tell me she wants me to stay.

  But she doesn’t. Not even when I walk onto the porch as the snow falls heavy and thick. My heart is destroyed, but I won’t ignore her wishes. I’d do anything if it meant I got to see her again, to hold her.

  “It’s the right call,” Cinnamon says softly.

  I glare down at him. “Let’s go.”

  16

  Jocelyn

  The ache is getting worse. I rub my hand over the center of my chest. The pain grows every day. I miss Mac terribly, and no matter how busy I keep myself, I can’t escape it. I thought time was supposed to heal all wounds. Mine’s just getting worse.

  I roll over and hug the pillow to my chest. I need to get up. I never stay in bed this late. I’m always up early and moving about. It's a little after ten, and I haven't moved from this bed. I haven’t gotten a lick of work done, either.

  I made a promise to myself last night that I wouldn't lie in bed all day again. That I’d get up and finish putting up the rest of my Christmas stuff. That bit of bluster is dying as I contemplate another day with no Mac.

  My phone starts to ring, and I jump up, grabbing it quickly.

  “Hello?” I rush to answer.

  “Morning, Jocelyn.” Ted’s voice comes through my phone, and my heart drops. I want to kick myself for getting my hopes up that it would be Mac on the other end.

  “Hi, Ted.”

  “You got a couple packages down here that were returned. I wanted to double check the addresses with you if you don’t mind.” As much as I don’t want to get up, I know that I need to make sure the people who ordered from me get their packages. Ted is going out of his way and saving me a trip by calling. It would be easier to fix it over the phone.

  “That’s sweet of you. Let me get my laptop.” I get out of bed and head for the kitchen. I pull up my orders and Ted fixes the addresses for me.

  “Are you okay?” Ted asks once we get everything squared away. The question hits me hard. No, I’m not okay. I feel as though my heart has been ripped out of my chest. I glance over in the direction of Mac’s house. I miss him so much that sometimes it’s hard for me to breathe. Even though I know I had to let him go. That it was for a greater good. None of those things comfort me late at night when I’m left alone with only my thoughts. I don’t say any of that out loud to Ted though.

  “Jocelyn. You there?”

  “Sorry. I’m here.”

  “You want to grab lunch?” My stomach growls at the mention of food. When was the last time I ate something that didn't have chocolate in it? It’s been days. Maybe it will do me some good to get out. Fresh air might be just the thing I need. Maybe a bacon cheeseburger with a side of steak fries and a strawberry shake would help, too.

  “I would like that actually.” Going out will be good for me.

  “I’ll pick you up in a little while?”

  “I’ll meet you. The diner?”

  “Yeah, I’ll see you in an hour.” I agree before hanging up the phone. I make myself shower and get dressed. I put on some makeup, too, hoping it will make me feel better, but it doesn't. Now I’m just a sad girl with fresh makeup. Great.

  When I pull out of my driveaway, my eyes linger on Mac’s house. I don’t only miss Mac, but I miss Sylvester too. He’s no longer in the window watching us all and silently judging us.

  I wipe my cheeks when I feel wetness hit them. I’m not sure I can stay here. The idea of waking up and having to look over at Mac’s empty house every day sounds like torture. I’ll never be able to heal if I stay here. Part of me wishes he’d never told me he loved me. I think it would make this less hard. For so long I’ve wanted that man, but to know he wants me back as much as I want him, even though we can’t be together, is the worst kind of pain.

  I final
ly pull up to the diner and park my car. I take a deep breath before I pull down the visor and take a look at the damage my little crying episode had on my makeup. I do a quick touch up.

  I let out a scream when a knock sounds.

  “It’s me.” Ted holds up his hands.

  “Sorry.” I open my car door.

  “Jocelyn.” Ted says my name softly. “Are you okay?”

  “Do I look that horrible?” I let out a small laugh.

  “No, you never look horrible.” He puts his hand on my back. “You look sad. Let’s get some food in you.” He guides me toward the diner. We snag a table in the back and order our food at the same time as our drinks. “Do I need to go over and beat his ass?” He gives me a half smile.

  “He’s not there for you to beat his ass.”

  “I heard he’s putting his house on the market. I thought you two might be moving in together.” He gives me a somewhat sly glance.

  Mac’s selling his house? I swear those words are like a blow to my gut. I swallow the lump that forms in my throat. He has time to call and put his house on the market, but he can’t give me one stupid call? He can’t spare one second to check and make sure I’m okay?

  “He got a job offer he couldn't turn down. I pushed him to take it.” How horrible is it that I kind of regret that? It’s for the best he hasn't called me. It’s better to have a clean break, because I’m weak when it comes to him. I know I’d break down and beg him to come back.

  “Nah. He’s a dumbass then.” Ted stares at me and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Jocelyn, but he is. If I got you to love me, nothing could get me to leave.”

  “That’s sweet of you to say.” The server stops by and drops our plates off.

  I manage to get some food down and actually feel a bit better. “Thank you. I needed to get out of the house for a little.”