My favorite elf said, “Don’t sweat it. You’re not even the first person to puke in line today.”
I smiled weakly and excused myself to go rinse out my mouth. In the bathroom, I stared into the empty mirror and touched up my makeup, as if I could see myself. My stomach growled from thirst.
As soon as I was back, an elf called out, “You’re up, VIP! Time to tell Santa what you want!”
“Hi, Dylan,” I said, as Santa and Tyrone gave each other a fist bump. “Thanks again for saving my house.”
“Just doing my job, ma’am.” He patted his knee and winked at me. “Tell Santa what you want for Christmas.”
Something about the way he called mema’am…I don’t know why, but it was working for me.
Lowering his voice, he said, “Take a seat, li’l lady, and tell Santa what you want for Christmas.”
“Hey, Santa,” Tyrone barked, “stop flirting with my girl!”
But I was into it. I climbed onto Santa’s lap and he wrapped his arm around me, ostensibly for the purpose of helping me balance.
“You don’t want to know what I want,” I said in a throaty whisper. His red velvet Santa coat was unbuttoned at the collar, and I could feel his blood pulsing, calling to me. “Why don’t you tell me whatyouwant?”
Dylan snorted. “I can’t do this. It’s your turn, Ty.”
Tyrone came over and sat on his other leg. “This what you meant, Dylan?”
“Get off my lap, you two,” Dylan said, shoving us off. With a grin, he said, “I don’t recall you winning Biggest Flirt in school, but man…you’d give Stacy a run for her money.”
I shrugged. “Christmas is about sharing. I’ll take two Santas to go.”
“Jesus, Tiffany.” Tyrone shook his head. “Santa, just give her some decent snow tires. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Next, we made our way over to the bonfire. A few teenagers were clustered around the flames toasting marshmallows. Tyrone ordered twohot chocolates from a quaint little stand staffed by some more teenagers.
“Careful, this is hot,” he said.
With cups clutched in mittened hands, we walked away from the Christmas chaos and into a stand of trees, lit only by ground lights that made it feel like the aisle in a darkened theater. The steam from my hot cocoa curled upward into the cold night air, and the trees seemed to stretch on forever, a never-ending path into the darkness. I focused on the little marshmallows on top of my cocoa.
“You look like you’re going to cry,” Tyrone said.
I shook my head, willing away the swell of emotion in my chest. “It’s just so beautiful here. So perfect. Everyone looks so happy.”
“Good. Christmas was magical for me growing up. I wanted that for the fair.”
St. Nicholas Farmswasmagical—for everyone else. I was the only one struggling, trying not to bite Santa, scaring the horses who pulled my sled, puking in Santa’s goodie bag.
“It’s perfect here,” I said.
While I pretended to sip my hot chocolate, he walked to the edge of the tree line and retrieved an ax and a hand saw from a stand. “I didn’t get you flowers. How about a tree?”
“Are you going to carry it back for me?” I teased, the ember of Hallmark hope in my heart sparking back to life with Tyrone’s kindness.
“I don’t think I have to.” He eyed my biceps, probably remembering that time I deadlifted a casket in front of him. “Which tree?” He gestured toward the entirety of the forest, like he was offering me the whole world.
I imagined where in my smoke-damaged, condemned house I would put the tree.
Tyrone stopped at the biggest tree. “How about this one?”
“I do like them big.”
“Is that right?” He side-eyed me. “Well, I can deliver on that request.”
