“Yup. We’ve cordoned off the route, and I’ve got cruisers at both the Dockside Cafe and the Harbor Walk to make sure no one parks there. You’d think folks would know the drill by now, but every year we have to tow some?—.”
The knock on his office door cut me off.
Rory, Charlie’s assistant, poked her head in. “I just got off the phone with Jack and Marjorie Dawson’s son, Gabe. They have food poisoning, and it’s bad. He said there’s no way they’ll be better for tomorrow. I hate to break it to you, Charlie, but we’ll need to find a new Santa and Mrs. Claus.”
Charlie’s face fell before she even finished.
I muttered a low curse under my breath while Maggie and Lilah’s heads shot up, matching looks of horror on their upturned faces nearly undid me.
Perfect. Just what we needed.
Because how easy could it be to find a new Mr. & Mrs. Claus with just twenty-four hours, or less, to spare.
While Charlie and Rory went over the short list of back-ups, I drummed my fingers on my thigh and tried to think of who I knew that might be able to help out.
“I can’t think of anyone who might have a Santa suit just lying around,” I told my friend.
“Wait,” Lilah quickly sat up. Her face lit up with excitement and a hint of mischief that I recognized. “You have one in the attic, Dad!”
“What are you—” Charlie paused, while I tried not to laugh. “I haven’t worn that since you were like three years old. Pretty sure it doesn’t fit anymore.”
“Says the forty-five-year-old who looks better now than he did at twenty-five,” I snorted.
I was no stranger to Charlie’s workout regimen. He bested me more than once at the gym in the last few years.
Charlie may not have realized it yet, but he was already committed. Mistletoe Bay had just found its fill-in Santa.
“Okay,” he nodded.
Sucker.
“I can cover Santa. But we’ll need a Mrs. Claus, too.”
His assistant shifted back and forth. “Gabe said he can drop off his mom’s costume in the morning, but I really don’t think it’ll fit anyone.” When Rory glanced down at her chest and back up, her eyes seemed to bug out.
“Eli says his mom can do it,” Maggie called out, not even looking up from her phone as her fingers flew across the screen. “She has a costume she wears for the wreath-making workshop every year.”
“Did Eli actually ask Jemma if she can do it, or are you two just volunteering her?” Charlie asked.
Maggie looked up from her phone. “I … uh … Ithinkhe asked her.”
My brows raised as Charlie shot me a look. That was quite the development. And Charlie’s reaction to the news was even more priceless.
Charlie stood. “All right. Let’s swing by and ask her. Rory, don’t mention this to anyone until we hear what Jemma has to say. Nathan, I’ll text you when we have everything covered.”
Pushing to my feet, I gave him a nod and wished him good luck.
He was going to need it.
By the time I leave his office and head back through town, the sky is sliding toward dusk, that perfect hour where everything glows. The pre-lit garlands along Main Street glittered in the fading light, the air hums with laughter, and for one quiet second, I almost forget why I’m annoyed.
Then I see her.
She’s in the middle of town square, kneeling in the grass with her camera in hand, laughing with a couple of volunteers as they wrestle a wreath into place. Cheeks flushed pink, blonde hair catching the last bit of sunlight.
And damn it, if that sight doesn’t tug something unexpected deep inside me.
She looks alive. Radiant. And exactly like trouble, in more ways than one.
