“You said part of the reason you stayed in town was to keep an eye on Howard.” I’m not sure when we ended up standing so that the fuzzy cuff of her sweater brushes my hand. “Was there any other reason?”
Her tongue darts out to wet her pretty lips, and for one insane moment, I hope she’ll say it: “You. I stayed because of you, Wyatt.”
Instead, she gives me that challenging, infuriating smile she wields so well.
“The Crimson Lounge. You don’t find someone like Diesel in any old strip club.”
Then she spins away, snatches her wig from the floor, and saunters out of the room.
Ten
December, Three Years Ago
CJ
* * *
“Solo dad at eight o’clock.”
I groan. “Not another one.”
Em waggles her eyebrows at me as she maneuvers a wayward toddler back into the line to see Santa. She dragged me along with her to help control the chaos at Santaland, and she’s spent our whole shift pointing out every possibly single man who’s here with a child clutching a wish list. As it’s the last Saturday before Christmas, that’s amounted to a lot of possibly single men.
“Ope, false alarm. A woman just joined him.” Em tsks. “Shame. He’s hot.”
“Really?” Over the past two hours, my happily married mother-of-three yoga friend hasn’t commented on the attractiveness of any of the guys she’s pointed out to me, only their singleness. “This I’ve gotta see.”
I glance over my shoulder, perform a cartoonish double take, and slowly turn back to Em as a wave of inevitability rushes over me.
“Right?” Em’s eyes travel over my shoulder. “Hot.”
“You have no idea.”
As Wyatt and Reese head toward us like misery-seeking missiles, I shoot Em a kill-me look, mutter, “I’ve gotta start requesting out-of-town assignments for the final weeks of the year,” then paste on a smile and face the enemy head-on.
“Hi there!” I say in my hap-hap-happiest voice. “Who’s ready to see Santa?”
Wyatt’s been talking to the three kids, but his head whips up immediately. It’s impossible to miss the long-suffering glance he exchanges with Reese.
“I know,” I say, spreading my arms wide in a theatrical flourish. “What are the odds?”
He scowls. “Since I clearly angered some kind of trickster demon who’s dedicated to punishing me, I’d say pretty good.”
Three pairs of eyes widen as they look up at their older brother uncertainly, and I rush to change the subject with an excited clap of my hands.
“So! Santa!” I’m dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a plain green sweatshirt, but I have a trick up my sleeve. Crouching in front of the littles, I flip my hair over my shoulders and wait.
“She’s an elf,” whispers Sophia.
It hurts my heart how much she looks like her big brother, almost as much as it wounds me to see her clinging to Reese’s hand like a lifeline. Still, I tilt my head so she can touch the pointed tips of the latex elf ears I borrowed from the cosplay nut down the street.
“Who else would be Santa’s helper?” I wink. “He’s been asking when you’d get here, Sophia.”
“He has?” she squeaks.
“He has.” I nod, all business. “He’s also been asking about Kai and Tristan.” I turn to the two boys who’ve each grown at least half a foot since I saw them along the parade route last year. “And hey! Here you are!”
Tristan pumps his fist, and Kai, who’s breathing like he’s about to faint, blurts out, “Tell him we’re getting in line right now, okay?”
