A Gift For Santa. Beth Carpenter

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СКАЧАТЬ she finished.

      He reached for his beard, but she slapped his hand away. “Let it dry.”

      “This stuff does wash out, right?”

      Marissa snickered and started smearing petroleum jelly across his forehead.

      “You have to do my hair, too?”

      She pushed a stray lock away from his face. “No, the wig and hat will cover that, but Santa can’t have red—excuse me, brown—eyebrows.” She used to tease him about his hair when they were together. She’d run her fingers through the thick waves and say she was jealous.

      Her own hair was perfectly straight, a warm brown that glowed even under the fluorescent lights of the closet they were using as a dressing room. He knew if he reached out to stroke it, it would feel like satin ribbons under his hand. She’d changed surprisingly little in ten years. Only the easy smile, the confident optimism, was missing, but that might have more to do with the way they’d parted than the years that had passed.

      She was still beautiful, no doubt about that. He’d been drawn to her from the first moment he saw her, laughing as she helped a group of schoolchildren release salmon fry into Chester Creek. He’d interrupted his hike to listen to her explain the salmon’s life cycle. Once the teacher herded the children back onto the school bus, Chris saw his chance. He’d helped Marissa pack some gear into her car, and struck up a conversation. By the time she’d closed the trunk, he was hooked.

      Smart, energetic and laugh-out-loud funny when she wanted to be, Marissa had fascinated him. A year later, she’d let him put a ring on her finger. But at twenty-four, Marissa was a woman who knew what she wanted, and wasn’t about to let a little thing like love interfere with her carefully laid plans. A month before the wedding, she’d called the whole thing off.

      Maybe he’d dodged a bullet. He hadn’t had a relationship since Marissa that lasted even six months. Sometimes he suspected she’d done him a favor when she broke the engagement, saving them both the agony of a bitter divorce. He wondered how those plans of hers had worked out. Last he heard, she was doing some sort of research on the Gulf Coast. A quick glance reaffirmed the absence of rings on her hands, so maybe the devoted husband and two-point-four kids hadn’t materialized. Not that it mattered to him one way or another. Their relationship was ancient history.

      “Eyes closed.” Two puffs on his eyebrows and she started wiping the grease off his skin with a tissue. “Okay, that does it for the dye. So, here’s the routine. I’ll organize the kids and bring them to you one at a time. You set them on your lap, ho, ho, ho a little and ask what they want for Christmas. Then I snap your picture together, you give them a candy cane and we send them on their way.”

      “Okay.” Chris nodded. “That sounds straightforward enough.”

      “Be enthusiastic, but not too loud. And if they start screaming, don’t force them onto your lap.”

      Was she serious? “Screaming?”

      Marissa nodded and dipped a fluffy brush in a powder pot. “Imagine if somebody told you to sit on a bearded stranger’s lap. It can be scary.” She reached for his face with the brush. “Hold still.”

      Chris pulled away. “Santa wears makeup?”

      “Just a little powder so your nose won’t shine in the pictures. Man up.” She tickled his nose and cheeks with the powder. “There. I’ll leave you to get into your costume. The pants are waterproof.”

      “I’m afraid to ask why.”

      “Like I said, sometimes the kids are scared.”

      “So they pee? What are they, puppies?”

      She gave a maniacal laugh. “You should hear some of Oliver’s stories. A friend of his from Santa school had a diaper leak all over his lap.”

      Now that was disgusting. The only child Chris had spent much time around was his little sister, and he couldn’t remember her doing anything along those lines.

      He grimaced. “You know, I never graduated from Santa school. I don’t want to get in trouble for practicing without a proper license or anything.”

      “Too late now. The children are counting on you.” Her grin was pure evil. “Besides, you promised Becky. Get dressed. I’ll check back in a few minutes.”

      Fifteen minutes later, Chris examined himself in the full-length mirror leaning against the wall. Amazing. Santa Claus looked back at him, blue eyes twinkling beneath white eyebrows. Padding filled out the plush red costume under the wide black belt. Fortunately, he’d worn black snow boots, because he never would have fit his feet into those patent leather booties.

      He looked the part. Now the question was could he play the part? No one had ever taken him to see Santa when he was a kid, so he didn’t have that experience to fall back on. He’d been to a few parties where Oliver was working, but never paid much attention to how he did his job. Oliver just seemed to treat the kids with the same gentle enthusiasm as he did everyone, and they adored him. He loved playing Santa. Poor guy. He must be down with a nasty flu or something to miss the biggest party of the year.

      Chris wrinkled his nose and patted the stiff plastic lining of the pants, hoping he wouldn’t need it. Surely Marissa was exaggerating. All those stories were just to torture him for defying her and agreeing to Becky’s request. No doubt if he’d declined, Marissa would have held that against him, too. There was no winning with her. She expected the whole world to fall in with her plans. You’d think she would have outgrown that by now.

      If it were just Marissa, he’d take the hint and leave her to solve the problem on her own, but Becky deserved better. She and Oliver had made Chris feel truly welcomed from the very first time they met, when Marissa had brought him home to meet the couple who’d raised her. Even after the split, Chris would run into them now and again, and they greeted him like a long-lost relative.

      A knock sounded, and the door opened a crack. “Are you decent?”

      Chris glanced toward the mirror again. “Only my hands and eyes are showing.”

      Marissa walked in, wearing white tights, a red dress trimmed with white faux fur, and a matching stocking cap with a jingle bell on the end. More bells jingled from the turned-up toes of her shoes as she stepped into the room. Chris grinned.

      She shot him a look. “Don’t say a word.”

      He chuckled. “For an elf, you’re awfully bossy. Come on. Let’s get jolly.”

      * * *

      THEY’D BEEN AT it for two hours, but it looked like they’d finally worked their way to the end of the line. Chris watched Marissa climb the step of the platform and deposit another child on his lap. He’d lost count along the way, but it felt as if he’d interacted with a thousand or so little people so far. They’d had a few meltdowns, but Marissa was good at assessing whether they wanted her encouragement to approach him or just needed to put some distance between themselves and the scary man with the beard.

      He smiled at the girl on his lap. “What would you like for Christmas?”

      She just stared up at him, her little mouth forming an O, her dark eyes wide. Chris tried again. “You’ve been a good girl, haven’t you?”

      “Yes.” СКАЧАТЬ