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Big Santa

Page 47

by Kat Baxter

And when my husband looked at me for the first time, the best I could come up with was oh.

While wearing an apron that said Santa’s Favorite Ho.

I’m going to kill Dottie. Lovingly. But thoroughly.

My phone buzzes in the pocket of my leggings.

Josie: WELL???

Josie: Is he home??

Josie: You said his flight was at noon. It is 3:17. I have been patient for an UNREASONABLE amount of time.

I slide down the shelf until I’m sitting on an upside-down bucket of rice.

Me: He’s home.

Josie: AND???

I stare at the screen.

How do I even begin to explain?

Me: He’s tall.

Josie: That’s it? Noelle. I need more than tall. Tall is a basketball player. Tall is a ladder.

Me: He’s very tall.

Josie: I’m going to drive to Big Woods.

Me: He has gray in his hair. At the temples. More than on FaceTime.

Josie: Oh no.

Me: And he has these forearms.

Josie: OH NO.

Me: His sleeves were pushed up when he caught Shiloh and I forgot my own middle name.

Josie: It’s Rose.

Me: Thank you.

Josie: Is he as grumpy as his texts?

I think about the look on his face when he walked into the kitchen.

Me: He walked in and Shiloh launched himself off a bar stool and Maverick caught him. Like he didn’t even have to think about it. And then he closed his eyes.

Me: Josie, he closed his eyes.

The dots appear. Disappear.

Josie: Okay, that’s not fair.

No. It really isn’t.