“It’s more like I’ll combust,” she countered in a strangled voice. Her body was on fire. If Jake wasn’t there and likely to walk in the room any minute, she’d wrap her legs around Andor’s waist and demand he carry her to her bedroom. Forget Thanksgivingdinner.
She twined his ponytail around her hand instead and kissed his neck in the same place he’d tickled hers. He groaned at her touch and squeezed her harder. “I’m not very patient,” shesaid.
Andor slowly peeled her off him, his breathing shallow and a blush riding the high ridges of his cheekbones. His eyes had gone that same cobalt color she’d seen earlier. “Call it Neanderthal or antiquated, but I don’t want to share you with someone else,Claire.”
Her cheeks heated at that. “Not a problem, since you’re the only guy I’ve dated in almost threeyears.”
“I want to be the only one for the nexttwenty.”
Claire hoped she didn’t have a coronary brought on by sheer excitement. “That’s rather fickle of you, don’t you think?” She winked and was rewarded with Andor’s deep laughter. She gave his arm a light stroke as she passed him on the way to the bedrooms. “Get the wine; I’ll get Jake. While we’re growing hot, the food is growingcold.”
* * *
Dinner was a feast,and Claire was certain she’d be eating enough leftover turkey to sprout feathers. And that was after she sent most of it home with Andor. The weather outside had gone from dreary to miserable, with a steady drizzle making a murk of the last bit of daylight. A damp cold hung in the air, defying every attempt to layer up and keep it from seeping through clothing and skin. Claire disliked such days when she had to get out in it to go to work or run errands. Today, however, she loved it. Her house was warm and smelled of coffee and pumpkin spice. She sat on her comfortable couch, sandwiched between Jake who played his favorite game, Dumb Ways to Die, and Andor, whose acerbic commentary about Santa’s outfit in the movie they were watching on TV made herlaugh.
“I hate that red leotard. Nicholas was a bishop. He would have wornvestments.”
Claire gave him a puzzled side-eye and tried not to nestle too hard against the arm wrapped around her shoulder. Who knew someone got that worked up over a Santa suit? “I thought it was a Kriss Kringle thing. It’snot?”
“No. Kriss Kringle is the Anglicization of the Austrian and German word Christkindl. The red suit is a modern element. Saint Nicholas is a lot older than that. A bishop of Myra, now Demre in Turkey. He was Greek. Some called him Nicholas Wonderworker or Nikaolos ho Thaumaturgos. He’s the patron saint of sailors, children andpawnbrokers.”
Claire almost choked on the coffee she just swallowed. “Are you serious? Santa protects pawn shops?” Somehow that just didn’t fit with jolly, merry and ho, ho,ho.
Andor’s expression was enigmatic as he stared at the TV screen. “Saint Nicholas is a lot more interesting than the rotund man we think of now in the redsuit.”
“I’ll say. I’m guessing you came by your Santa knowledge while working on an exhibit?” God knew she’d stumbled across all kinds of bizarre and interesting things during her researchprojects.
Andor danced around her question. “You’re an archivist. I’m sure you’ve discovered unusual things in yourresearch.”
Claire casually slid one hand over Jake’s ear and nestled him close to her side to muffle his other ear. He’d put up with that for all of four seconds, so she spoke fast. “Oh, yeah. So I guess when I say I don’t believe in Santa, I need to qualify that since he didexist.”
Something flickered in Andor’s eyes. It spoke of melancholy and regret. “When did you lose yourbelief?”
She released a squirming Jake and shrugged. “I don’t remember exactly. Later than a lot of kids. I think I might have beentwelve.”
“That is later. Most areyounger.”
That was true. She’d held onto her beliefs, even in the face of the cynical scorn dished out by her peers. Her certainty that Santa existed had been fueled by more than her mother’s assurances. “I think it was because I had this really vivid dream of meeting Santa one Christmas Eve. I was sure it was real and that I was wide awake. He was standing by this sad little tree my mom bought at a garage sale. I loved thattree.”
She frowned, clawing at the hazy memory of a childhood she’d put behind her long ago. “He was wearing long robes.” She glanced at Andor, who no longer stared at the TV but watched her with a stoic face. “Bishop’s vestments I bet. He was standing next to an elf. A really tall one wearing armor of all things.” She shook her head. “I thought Santa’s elves were little like the Keebler elves. And they don’t go in armed to the teeth.” She was getting a headache and tucked the memory back into the recesses of her mind. “Then again,” she joked, “if Santa is the patron saint of pawn brokers, he probably needs a bodyguardelf.”
Her smile faded when Andor didn’t return it, and his eyes had a faraway look. She really needed to stop making jokes. She sucked at it. Serious was more her speed. “When did you stop believing?” sheasked.
He came back to her with the question. His tempting mouth curved into her favorite expression. “Ihaven’t.”
“Haven’twhat?”
“Stoppedbelieving.”
Claire eyed him suspiciously. “Really?”
“Really.”
Andor was handsome, intelligent, funny and good with her son. He was also a little odd about all things Christmas. Claire celebrated the last. Finally. The guy wasn’t perfect. She leaned into his side. “That’s nice. I like that you believe inmagic.”
Andor’s fingertips combed through her hair. “The world is filled with magic, Claire. Jake is proof of that. You just have to look a littledeeper.”
Claire was falling hard for him. Falling hard and fast. She almost broke the sound barrier at his words. She had chosen so badly with Lucas. Did she actually get it right this time withAndor?
