Jolly Santa nodded. “That sounds very nice. I’ll see what I can do. Would you like a picture? You can sit in my sleigh or stay there, if you’d like.” He patted the seat.
Maxie tentatively slid onto the cushions, so I figured it was safe to prep the next kid, but the dad stepped out to block my path. “Hey, you’re great with kids.”
“Thanks. I’ve been told I have a youthful spirit.” I gestured to his daughter, who clung to his hand. “You seem like a good dad.”
He jerked his chin at me and smiled. “What’s your name?”
“Sugarplum.” It was on my nametag. I started to cross my arms, but forced them down to my sides. The North Pole was supposed to be a happy, welcoming place.
“Can you take a picture with us?” he asked.
“Sure.” I skipped over and made a silly pose next to Santa’s sleigh-throne. “On the count of three say, ‘candy.’”
“Candy,” they obliged.
Afterwards, the dad reviewed the photos on his phone. “Thanks for that. We look great. It’s rare I get to be in a picture withtwogorgeous girls, especially as a single dad.”
My lungs tightened at the compliment. “Oh, how about that? Thanks for letting me be in your photo today.” I waved and walked towards the next guests, but the dad followed, his hand on my back to steer me half behind the poinsettia plants.
“Hey, what’s your handle? I can tag you in it. Plus, it’d be nice to have a form of contact in case we need to ask you about Santa.” He winked and leaned close so his daughter couldn’t hear. “Or I could take you to dinner.”
Oh no.
I patted his arm and backed away, my stomach twisting in knots despite my easy laughter. “Thanks, but we’re much too busy with Santa’s schedule for anything like that. Happy holidays and thanks for coming in.” My social media was mainly for mindless browsing. Plus, I wasn’t about to randomly give it out to a customer and be someone’s personal elf 24/7. Kids were great in certain contexts, but I wasn’t ready to date anyone who had them. I just hoped he wouldn’t leave a bad review for us.
“Okay, well, here's my card if you change your mind.” He slipped me his business card, took a candy cane, and strode off with his daughter, who fixed him with a glare. Did he hit on random women often?
I didn’t want to throw out his card in front of our other guests, so I tucked it in the waistband of my skirt and danced up to the front of the line. “Who’s ready to see Santa?”
A woman with medium-length blonde hair glared at me. “We were. But this is ridiculous. My family and I aren’t paying to sit around and watch you flirt.”
I raised my hands. “I wasn’t–”
“I’d like to talk to your manager.”
Those seven little words punched me right in the gut. I sucked in a sharp breath. “Okay, I can get my Head Elf, but first, let me introduce you all to Santa.”
“Youdothat,” she snapped, dragging her kids by the scruff of their clothes.
The kids’ lower lips quivered. I couldn’t tell if it was because of their mom or me or a mix of mall adventures gone awry. My voice wavered during the meet-and-greet conversation.
The blonde lady hauled her kids up into Santa’s lap. “Be sure to tell him what you want, kids, because next year, we won’t be back.”
I blinked back stunned tears.
She’d ruinSantafor them?
I walked off to grab our Head Elf/manager on staff this shift, Mr. Hoynes. He was big enough to fill in for Santas if they called in sick, but he worried too much to take the mantle up permanently, so he mostly stuck to tallying Nice points for our bonus and finding 'personal goals' for us every day.
I sucked in and straightened my spine as I stood before him. “Hey, we have a lady in need of holiday magic.”
Mr. Hoynes’ features pinched. “What, why?”
“She got tired of waiting. And I guess she thought I was flirting? But I was just being our normal friendly and this dad came onto me and–” My throat closed.Don’t cry. Apologize.“I’m sorry.”
With a heavy sigh, Mr. Hoynes lowered his clipboard. “I don’t know why people expect to meet Santa within fifteen minutes on a weekend.” Mr. Hoynes dabbed his sweaty forehead and frowned at my shallow breathing. “Are you crying?”
I shook my head and wrung my skirt in my hands, not trusting myself to speak.
