She nods and kicks her feet a couple times. “I guess if you talk to the real Santa, you could tell him I want art supplies.”
“Absolutely. I’ll let him know.”
Slowly, she untangles her hands and sets one in mine. She seems to steel her spine, but her cheeks wobble as she says, “And if he can talk to my mom, can you tell her to get better soon so I can see her?”
My chest caves in, all the air rushing out at once, but before I can respond, she hops off the sleigh and goes to stand by Shannon’s side, staring at the ground beneath her little feet.
This suit is suffocating me. I can’t wait to get out of it. For every step I take toward the bakery, I say a silent prayer that nothing else is required of me once we get inside.
I managed to have a conversation with Shannon after my chat with Julia. Even though I was dressed as Santa, it gave me a chance to talk to her about how things were going at home and if she needed anything now that I was back in town.
In addition to a new job with Auggie, helping Shannon is a big incentive for me to move to Juniper. She doesn’t know about it yet, but I’m excited to be around to help her more. Since her husband died, things have been difficult, and I know my financial help isn’t making up for her loss, but at least I feel like I’m relieving some of the burden.
As my boots hit the steps of the bakery, my hopes of getting out of this suit are immediately destroyed as Joe waves me over. The deck is crowded with people as he beckons me to where a porch swing sits on the edge with a cameraman positioned in front of it.
I stifle a groan. I’ve let at least forty kids sit on my lap today, and while most of them were wonderful, if I have to spend one more minute in this suit, I might be stripping out of it right here in front of everyone.
But kids are lining the porch, so I put on my best Santa-like smile and wave to them. I guess it’s convincing, because these kids beam up at me like they’re watching a Disney Princess walk by.
Joe puts a hand on my arm and leans into my ear when I reach him. “I can tell you’re over this,” he says for only me to hear. “But I need a picture of you and Mrs. Claus for the newspaper.” He winces a smile. “Please? I’ll make that gluten-free chess pie you liked last year?”
Fuck, that pie was good. I tilt my head like I’m thinking it over, but Joe sees right through my bullshit as usual and shoves me toward the bench with a laugh.
As I settle into my assigned spot in front of the camera, Lena snags my gaze. Her broad smile lifts the apples of her cheeks as she walks through the crowd toward me, patting children’s heads along the way.
They all preen under her attention.
She has this magnetic ability to bring everyone into her orbit, and sometimes I want to succumb to it. I want to stop fighting and let her drag me in.
She almost had me in that closet a few hours ago. I was drowning in the tension andso closeto giving in to it.
“Can you sit down with your husband?” Joe wiggles his brows at Lena, and her cheeks pinken, the blush flooding down her neck.
My skin tightens as I pat the spot beside me. “Here you are, my wife.”
Her teeth dig into her cherry-red bottom lip as she sits beside me and sets a hand on my thigh. “My husband.”
It takes every ounce of self-preservation I have left to not think about that hand being inches away from my cock. We areliterallyin front of a camera and a bunch of children, but the pressure growing in these stupid red pants doesn’t seem to give a single fuck.
Lena turns her head, blinking innocently as her fingers clench on my thigh.
My stomach bottoms out when I register her expression.
She’s doing this on purpose. The little menace is fucking with me.
I hold her gaze as we both paste on a smile, and I hope mine borders on the side of sinister. A warning to stop testing me in front of these people.
But her smile only grows bigger. More devious.
“If you could both look this way,” the cameraman calls, drawing our attention.
As I grin and he clicks his camera, I repeat a mantra in my mind.
Ignore her hand. Do not get hard.
The cameraman peeks from behind the lens. “Santa, can you put your arm around Mrs. Claus?”
With a stiff nod, I move my arm up and around her shoulders, and she scoots closer under the protection of it. But, fuck my life, that readjusts her a bit closer to—
