“They did that, like, two years ago.”
“What about aTop Chefkind of thing?” Nora asked. There was only one couple ahead of us in line, plus their adorable gray pit bull. It wouldn’t take long for us to see Santa. Not that I was in a rush to get out of here and back to my six hundred square feet of torture. “You know, like a tasting menu or something at a swanky restaurant. There are plenty of those to go around in L.A.”
“That might work. Whatever happened to the simple stuff like caroling and decorating gingerbread houses?”
Nora shrugged. “Late-stage capitalism.”
“I knew I liked you, Nora.”
As it turned out, I wasn’t the only one struggling to come up with a seasonal surprise. Leighton had no clue what to get Killian, and understandably so—the guy was loaded. He had everything he needed, more than he wanted, and unlike most folks, rich or not, he hardly ever asked for anything.
“Honestly, Leigh,” I told her. “I’m pretty sure you could wrap yourself up naked with a red bow and Killian would be happy.”
Her small smile and rosy cheeks told me that she probably already had.
“What about Mom and Dad?”
I stared back at her, puzzled by the abrupt subject change. “By all means,pleasegive Killian our parents.”
“No, I meant what are we going to get them?”
“Beats me,” I said, answering honestly. “I haven’t even begun to think about Christmas gifts yet.”
“Next, please.”
There was no more time to talk about gifts and parties after that. The three of us stepped forward with Banger in tow. I had to give the pet store credit; they had done a hell of a job transforming the small space into Santa’s workshop, complete with staff dressed as elves, toys—of the rawhide and squeaky variety, that is—and of course, Santa.
And what a Santa he was. It was official. My libido had run rampant. I was lusting after a fictional toymaker. A tall, thick, and tattooed toymaker with chocolate-brown eyes and—
Wait a second.
“Austin?”
Santa’s eyes flared. “Janelle.”
Leighton pointed over her shoulder and whispered, “Santa?”
“Boss?”
That last one had come from what could only be described as the goth elf behind the camera. Her nails had been painted to match her jet-black hair and lipstick. She might as well have had “don’t fuck with me” tattooed across her face.
I liked her already.
“I think I finally understand that déjà vu feeling my Aunt Millie used to always talk about.”
Austin blinked.
“Babe, I think that was just her third cocktail talking,” my sister said, wrapping her arm around my shoulders.
The dark elf snorted. Nora and Austin both laughed. My life had officially become a comedy of errors, only this time, everybody was laughing at me.
“So, you do this Santa thing a lot, then?”
“When I can.” He gestured toward the elf behind the camera. “Sloane is my assistant photographer, and we both adopted our cats from this store, so—”
“You have a cat?”
“Three.”
