She taps her finger against her lip. “What about a Wendy playhouse?”
The mum shakes her head again. “Sweetheart, we don’t have anywhere in the yard to build an outdoor Wendy playhouse.”
“How about a doll?” Nick asks.
The little girl stares at him with a pouty lip.
“Or a car?” I say with a smile.
The mum comes to the rescue. “We discussed this, Sienna. If you’re a good girl, maybe Santa could bring some Lego.” She rubs the baby’s back as she sways side to side. “She likes Lego.”
“I can do Lego,” Nick says. “If you’re good for your mama.”
Sienna holds out her hand. “Deal.”
Nick shakes her hand just as the mum thrusts the baby into his large arms.
She steps back, pulling her phone from her jeans pocket. “Can I get a photo? Smile, Sienna.”
Nick grimaces again, awkwardly holding the baby in one arm.
“Shall we have one with the elf, too?” The mum waves me into the picture.
I rest my hand on the back of Nick’s broad shoulder as I lean my head close to his for the photo. He bristles under my touch. I rub my palm down his back. “Relax and smile nicely for the picture.”
He side eyes me as the mum snaps a few photos.
“What do you say to Father Christmas, Sienna?” she says, slipping the phone in her pocket.
The little girl jumps off Nick’s knee. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Nick holds the baby up, ready to pass back to the mum, but not before the little thing burps, followed by a waterfall of white milk all over him. “Ahhh, shit.”
The little girl gasps. “Santa swore, Mummy.”
The mum swoops in and takes the baby from him. “I’m so sorry, Santa.” She takes hold of the girl’s hand. “Let’s find Daddy.”
“No problem,” Nick says through gritted teeth as he wipes his glasses, the milk still dripping from his beard.
I hand the girl her present. “Merry Christmas.” I wave as she runs to her dad, waiting with the pushchair. When I turn back to Nick, I can’t stop the laugh that rocks through me. “You’re gonna need another beard.”
“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” He groans, stepping out of the grotto through the side curtain.
“Santa will be back soon,” I tell the crowd as I follow him to the staff restroom. He takes the glasses off and the beard, running it under the hot tap.
I pull out some paper towels to wipe the suit. “We’ll have it cleaned in no time.” I run a paper towel under the water, then wipe the front of the velvet jacket, making my way down to his trousers.
Nick stands with his fists digging into his sides, a pained look on his face. “I can do that.”
“It’s okay, I got it.” I rub the fabric on his trousers again, then something twitches underneath.
“Joy.” The apple of his neck bobs as he swallows. “If you keep rubbing like that, you’ll be cleaning up more than milk.”
I freeze as I realise what he’s talking about.
It moves again underneath the fabric, as if I’ve awoken it from hibernation.
“Damn, I’m sorry, Joy. That was inappropriate. It has a mind of its own.”
