He slumped against the poinsettia planter. “Oh, great, so I get to be the bearer of bad wait times?”
“The guardian of a good time.” I winked and nudged him with my hip.
Most of the day, I was too busy to register how many 'lasts' were happening. Then, Santa signed to a hard-of-hearing guest. She beamed and excitedly gestured back. It was so pure and sweet. I sniffled.
Hoynes gave me an exasperated look. “Sugarplum, go check on the trees.”
“Okay.” I wiped under my eyes and slipped into the nook. Dozens of ornaments glittered around me. Here, I had everything, a million tiny miracles. At home, I’d have a few days of exhausting, happy bonding, and then I’d be empty.
Wait, no. Not empty.
I had the poinsettia plant. Dates planned. Harvey.
A box from the Bern sat atop our little cubby. I lifted the note.
“Thank you for your hard work and happy holidays. Love, ‘Santa.’”
What a great gesture. The box had a dozen baked goodies. One was a heart cookie with three 'sizes' outlined as if it had been growing. Did Harvey make that one for me? I bit into it, savoring the sweetness. My tears dried up the more I chewed. Love. It made everything better, whether that was love for my job, my man, or my family. Even if I’d said it early, and it wasn’t the most romantic slip-up surrounded by soft lights and a tree, I was honest, and that was the important thing.
I skipped out and tapped Chestnut on the shoulder. “Did you see the snacks from Santa? Talk about the spirit of generosity.”
“Yeah, I sampled one already. Too bad they didn’t sneak coffee back there," he said.
But theycouldsneak boyfriends. I scanned the trees for an olive cap, but didn’t find anything. “Where’s Harvey?”
Chestnut frowned. “He didn’t deliver those.”
“Who did? Mario?” I frowned in contemplation. “Did Hoynes get it on break?”
Chestnut scoffed. “I doubt it’s part of our bonus.”
“Did you get them, then?” I was getting tired of guessing–and his low-key grumpiness. I gasped and clutched his arm. “Was it anactualspirit of Christmas?”
He chuckled and shook me off. “I’m pretty sure it was Frosty Santa.”
“Pretty sure?” How could he not know? Why would he even guess that? Frosty Santa didn't give us snacks.
“I don’t know. He had the same beard, but without the suit… You probably wouldn’t recognize me out of this thing.” He plucked at his green tunic.
“Especially if you were smiling. Are you cheerier outside of these cutoff pants?” I teased.
He raised his chin. “Come on. I doubt you’re this cheery without the polyester.”
“Oh, I am. I just sing less.” I giggled and twirled around, still high off my sugar rush. “Don’t pretend you don’t love costumes.”
He leaned against the poinsettia planter. “I do in the right role.”
My chest tightened at the idea of never knowing another side of him. “You’ll invite me to your next show, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Because I might be able to convince Mario to come with me and Harvey.” I clasped my hands and bounded in place.
For once, his face lit up, even if he still scoffed. “That’d be a miracle.”
“Today is a miracle,” I decided. “At least a little one.”
Chestnut shrugged. “If those existed, we would have gotten a paid holiday off.”
