“Want another one?” She takes my glass and sets it on the tray with the other empties.
I actually do, although I should probably pace myself. “Maybe later.”
We go back to watching the pool game, and after awhile I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. When I return, Hugh is coming in with a full glass of Sprite from the bar.
“Having fun?” he asks.
“I am. Everyone is so great.”
“Mm, they’re a good bunch.” He casts his gaze over the group with an affectionate tilt to his lips. His eyes return to my face and he asks, “Would you care to sit with me for a moment, Ivy? I don’t want to take you away from the others, but I’d like to talk to you.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. His expression tells me he’s not attempting to flirt. I ignore the tiny voice in my head thattsksand says it’s a shame because I wouldn’t mind a guy like Hugh flirting with me.
“Nothing serious,” he adds. “I usually have time to get to know the new recruits, but it’s been a week since you started and this evening was our first time talking.”
Ahh yes, so nice to be reminded about our encounter in the alley. I nod and follow him to one of the round two-seater tables on the far side of the room. Once we’re seated, we simply stare at each other. I’ve never been good at small talk or starting conversations with people I don’t know.
“I’m sorry about this afternoon,” he says finally, leaning forward. When I mimic the gesture, I tell myself it’s because he’s speaking low and not because of that same magnetic pull I felt earlier today. “When I saw your distress over figuring out who I was, I realized we hadn’t met properly yet and you hadn’t seen me without the costume.”
“There’s also the accent,” I say. “When we were talking before, you didn’t have an accent.”
One side of his mouth inches up. “Well, I am in fact Scottish, just to make that clear. I hide the accent when I’m working, because who ever heard of a Scottish Santa? You’d be surprised what sticklers for details some of the kids are, especially the older ones who are questioning if Santa is real or not.” He pauses and takes a sip of his drink. “You’ve heard of method acting? Actors staying in character even when they’re not filming? I attempt to do that whenever I’m wearing the Santa suit, even during private conversations. Kids are curious, so wherever I am they watch and listen. Eyes and ears everywhere, I’m telling you.”
The way his eyes sparkle as he speaks makes some of the tension ease from my shoulders.
“Anyway, I don’t want you to be embarrassed about what you told me. It’s perfectly normal. The things adults wish for are a lot more complex than the things children wish for. Usually.”
“Usually?”
The last traces of a smile slip from his face and his eyebrows dip slightly. “It’s gotten harder the last few years. There are more broken families than ever before, and a lot of children are confused. Kids tell Santa all they want for Christmas is for Daddy to come home or for Mommy to stop being sad all the time. They want their families mended, or a loved one back from the dead. It’s truly heartbreaking at times.”
Even though I never visited Santa as a kid, I can imagine asking for my parents back. Or asking for a loving family instead of my cold aunt and my indifferent uncle. Longing for normalcy and love and affection, and thinking Santa—the man who possesses enough magic to travel the entire globe in the span of a night in a sleigh pulled by flying reindeer—could grant that type of wish. “How do you do it?”
His attention settles on something beyond me, his eyes shifting out of focus slightly. He seems lost in thought until one corner of his mouth lifts a fraction. “I love children. I love what I do. The look of joy on their faces as they’re waiting to see Santa. The palpable excitement. Their innocence and frankness.” His gaze returns to mine. “The moments of heartache are worth it. Even occasionally getting peed on is worth it.”
An unexpected laugh bursts out of me. “Gettingpeedon?”
He chuckles, the low sound warming every inch of me. “It happens. Some kids get overly excited. Or nervous. I’ve learned to always have a spare pair of Santa trousers in my dressing room.”
Laughter rolls out of me until I’m hunched over the table. His honesty and humor make it easy to understand why he’s popular with kids and adults alike. He watches me, his eyes lit with amusement.
“Why don’t you let me get you another drink?” he says when my giggles have subsided.
I glance at my watch, surprised to discover we’ve only been here for a little over an hour. I wonder what time they typically clear out, especially since Hugh and some of the others have to work in the morning. I, however, donothave to work tomorrow, so I accept Hugh’s offer and watch as he walks away and disappears through the door into the main pub area.
Meredith startles me when she appears at my table and plops into the seat Hugh vacated. “All good?” she asks. Her blond curls have been mostly corralled into a high ponytail, and her hairline is damp. While Hugh and I were talking, I noticed her and a few other girls break apart from the pool tables and start dancing in one corner of the room.
“All good,” I reply. “I’m glad you convinced me to come tonight.”
“Me too! This place is great, right? And everyone is amazing.” She cups her chin in one hand and gazes around the room. This is the first time all night I’ve seen her without a drink in her hand; I think my merry little friend is on her way to being drunk. Her eyes return to mine and her smile widens. “A certain hot Scot seems to have taken a liking to you.”
“What? Who? Hugh?” I sound like a demented owl. “He’s just being friendly. Like he is with you and with all the others.”
Her answering smirk makes me wonder. Before I can say anything else, Hugh returns, carrying two glasses. He sets them on the table, pushing one toward me and the other toward Meredith.
“Noticed you’d finished your drink,” he tells her.
She jumps up from her seat and plants a kiss on his cheek. “You’re too good to me.”
