He slides off one glove and takes my hand in his. His grip is warm and firm, swallowing my cold fingers. “Nice to meet you, Meredith.” His mouth quirks. “Tonight I’ve also answered to Santa, Saint Nick, and ‘Hey, Christmas Dude.’”
A short laugh escapes me, steaming in the frosty air. “‘Christmas Dude’? That’s a new one.”
“Teenage boy in a hoodie who pretended he didn’t care about getting a photo,” he says with a shrug. “He cared.”
He lets my hand go, and I’m annoyed at how much I notice the absence of his warmth.Focus.I nod toward the reindeer. “Well, Christmas Dude, think you can help me keep Rudolph from spontaneously combusting?”
“Lead the way.” He gives a mock salute.
We crouch on opposite sides of Rudolph. Jerry politely retreats a few steps, but I can feel his eyes on us. Tomorrow, the entire staff will know I spent Christmas Eve fixing a reindeer with Hot Santa. Whatever. Let them talk.
I pull a small flashlight from my coat pocket and click it on, angling the beam toward the panel hidden under Rudolph’s belly. “He was acting up earlier too,” I say. “Thought I fixed it, but apparently he was just biding his time.”
Nick kneels across from me, his knee almost brushing mine in the narrow space between Rudolph and a giant candy cane. Even with layers of fabric between us, I’m suddenly very aware of how close he is. He smells faintly of something woodsy, pine and smoke, like a campfire someone left banked for the night. It's equal parts comforting and dangerous.
“What was wrong before?” he asks, leaning in to peer into the nest of wires.
“Loose nose bulb,” I say, pointing at the unlit red orb. “It wasn’t turning on. I changed it, tightened the socket, and it behaved for the rest of the afternoon.”Snow globe. Cabin.The memory flickers uninvited, the little dome on my counter waiting for me to look at it again. I shove the thought aside. “If it started flickering and then died, we’re probably dealing with a short or a blown fuse.”
“Here.” He reaches into the panel, fingers careful around the wires. His sleeves are pushed up just enough to bare strong forearms dusted with stray snow. A thin pale scar cuts across the back of his right hand before disappearing under his cuff. “Wiggle that cable,” he says, nodding toward where my flashlight is pointed. “Yeah, that one by your thumb.”
I adjust my grip and gently move the thick cord. A tiny spark crackles where his fingers are. I yelp, jerking back.
“Got it,” he says, pulling his hand free. “See there?” He points with the tip of one gloved finger. “Insulation’s worn off. Red and green wire are rubbing.”
I lean in, squinting. Sure enough, two wires show small stripped sections where plastic’s been chewed away, probably from months of vibration. “Perfect,” I mutter. “Rudolph out here trying to burn the place down.”
Nick laughs softly. “Santa’s lawsuits. Not as fun as Santa’s lists.”
I can’t help it; I smile. “Hand me the tape?” I nod toward the toolbox Jerry dragged out from the maintenance closet. It’s sitting on a nearby bench.
Before I can stand, Nick stretches across the narrow gap, arm reaching past my lap. His shoulder brushes mine for a heartbeat, solid heat through all the layers. My heart does something ridiculous in my chest. I go rigid, pretending I’m totally fine.
He grabs the electrical tape and passes it to me, I can't help but like the way he lets me do this instead of trying to do it himself.Our fingers brush. That little static tingle zips up my arm again. Maybe it’s the cold. Maybe I’m touch-starved. Both, probably.
I busy myself wrapping the exposed wires, sealing off the dangerous bits. Nick holds the flashlight steady for me, the beam bright and making me nervous. I can feel his attention on more than just the wiring—like he’s cataloguing me. The thought makes warmth creep up my neck. It doesn’t help that I’m pretty sure I have grease on my cheek. Very glamorous.
“All set,” I say, tearing the tape and pressing it down. “We’ll see if that did it.”
“I’ll grab the power,” Jerry says behind us, already turning. “Breaker’s in the shed.”
“Thanks, Jerry,” I say. He trudges off, eager to be useful and probably more eager to get home.
Nick and I stand, straightening stiff knees and brushing snow from our coats. We both face the reindeer like it’s going to salute us.
“So,” Nick says, breaking the quiet. “Called back to work on Christmas Eve. Living the dream.” His tone is teasing, but not unkind.
I huff out a small laugh. “Someone has to babysit the herd. At lease we won't be getting sued or for burning the city down. And the kids would be horrified tomorrow if this place is nothing but ashes.” I nudge him lightly with my elbow. “You did pretty well with the chaos today. Even if you are suspiciously fit for the role.”
He presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I’ll admit I retired the padding and beard the second my shift ended. Those things are torture devices.”
“I can imagine.” I study him, curious. “I don’t remember seeing you at the hiring event. Last-minute addition?”
“Sort of.” He shrugs, gaze flicking away for a beat. “Buddy of mine was slotted to do it. He got sick, agency called to see if Icould fill in. Easy money, I figured. Couple of days of Santa duty. How hard could it be?”
It’s a neat story. Too neat, maybe, but I’m the one who thought a handmade snow globe from my nightmares was “probably a weird joke.” My gut’s been off all day.
“Do you actually like working with kids?” I ask. “Or did the agency leave that part out?”
