What do I really want for Christmas? What would I choose if I allowed myself to go after what I want?
I’d choose Piers. But I have to believe I deserve to be with him. That would be a real Christmas miracle. But you know what? ’Tis the season.
Beard Man is waiting for an answer. Even the reindeer look curious. Except Rudy. She looks bored.
“Actually… I’m sorry you came all this way, but I don’t need to leave. I’m going to stay.”
He raises a bristly brow. “You want to spend Christmas with your boss?”
“He’s not my boss anymore, actually. I quit. And… I kind of like it here. With him.”
A grin splits the Beard man’s face. “All right then, Wellesley. If you change your mind, just call down to the town. Ask for Nick.” With a wink, he leaps back in his sleigh, jiggles the reins, and gets the reindeer moving again. Within a few seconds, they disappear down the hill.
My mouth is hanging open again.
Did that just happen? And is that a faint “On Dasher, on Dancer?” I hear with the faint sound of jingling bells?
Maybe I’m still drunk.
“Wellesley?” Piers shouts from the deck above. His voice sounds hoarse.
“I’m here. Down here.”
“Thank Christ.” He sticks his head over the deck. His hair is mussed, his face taut. He’s twisting something between his fingers. “I woke up and couldn’t find you. I thought… I thought you’d gone.”
“I thought about it.” I glance back the way Beard Man went with his reindeer. “I think I just met Santa.”
“Have you been drinking again?”
I laugh, a big, bright laugh that bounces off the mountains.
He comes to the top of the stairs, and I realize what he’s holding. It’s the second Santa hat. “Darling, it’s freezing. You’re not dressed for this weather.”
“I have my HoudZou,” I say, spreading my arms. My face is cold, but the rest of me is toasty warm. The hoodie-mumu is amazing; I should really buy stock in the company. “And you have a hat.”
“You need to come up here and get back inside.”
“You’re not the boss of me,” I sing-song.
“Wellesley,” his voice sharpens.
“Put on the hat, Piers.”
“What?”
“Please? For me?”
He shakes it out with a frown but puts it on. He looks good, in his own scary-sexy Dread Lord sort of way. “There. Are you happy?”
“Esctatic.”
“Is that all you want?” He glowers down at me from the top step.
“Not even close. Why did you buy the Thrusters?”
His face goes blank.
“My mother’s favorite football team, and you bought them, even though they haven’t won a championship in ten years. You made sure I could watch every game if I wanted, and from the owner’s box. From anyone else, it would be a generous gift, but you pretended it was an investment. And then there was the unlimited clothing budget. And all the meals—dining out or from your private chef.”
