Perhaps that would solve his problems.
Santa held out gloved hands, beaming. If this man was creeped out to see an almost thirty-year-old come to sit on his lap, he didn’t show it.
Quinn had seen this type of video before.
Wondering if he was being pranked, he was relieved to see a vacant armchair in front of Santa, and he breathed a sigh of relief that the only seating option was not Santa’s knee.
‘Well, well, well, it has been a long time since I last saw you, my boy!’
The voice had a perfect European slant to it. Not that Quinn would know the regional dialect of the North Pole, but he figured this Santa’s voice might be it. It seemed to sing yet talk a melody that made Quinn relax his shoulders.
‘Yes. When was the last time? When I was, what, eight?’
He had a horrible realisation that one year he’d sat on Santa’s knee for the last time, and never realised it. Nowthatwas depressing.
‘I believe you were ten.’
‘No, that can’t be right,’ Quinn spluttered. ‘Iknew you weren’t real when I was seven.’
Santa tapped his crooked nose, where half-moon spectacles glimmered in the twinkling lights. ‘I beg to differ, my boy.’
‘Santa knows best.’
Oh, god, not the flirting. Why was he flirting?
Truthfully, there was something a little sexy about this rugged, authentic Santa Claus.
Oh, God, do I have a Santa fetish?
‘What’s on your mind, boy?’
One hundred per cent a Santa fetish.
‘I have a lot on my mind.’ Quinn said, adamant that he wouldnotlet this man know that he was having a Santa sexual awakening. ‘I don’t know if you know, but I am going to lose my shop today.’
Santa rubbed his long beard. ‘Yes, I know all.’
‘Of course,’ Quinn said.
‘And what is it you want this year, my boy?’
Stop calling me my boy. I can’t contain myself.
‘Well, the truth is, Santa, I need a Christmas miracle. I hear you’re good in that department.’
‘That’s right!’ Santa gave a jolly laugh. ‘You are talking to the right being.’
Quinn couldn’t help but smile. There was something magical about all of this. He wondered why it was so frowned upon for adults to still visit Santa, to still receive a gift and feel something again.
‘My wish this year is that we will save my shop.’ Quinn said.
Santa seemed to think about this for a while, and then he reached for a leatherbound book under his chair. Quinn hadn’t noticed it, but he watched Santa open the heavy pages and trace a gloved hand down them.
‘Ah, here you are,’ Santa said. ‘Quinn Oxford. Owner of Kings & Queens.You’ll be pleased to know that you are on the good list.’
‘How thehelldid you know my name?’ Quinn was impressed, wondering if maybe this was some spy operation, and the elf at the door had direct communication to an earpiece hidden under Santa’s jolly red hat, as well as being an MI5 secret service agent.
‘I’m Santa, of course!’
