Their Festive Island Escape. Nina Singh

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      Even under the bulky, stuffed red flannel suit, it was clear the man who wore it was no regular Santa. No, this man was definitely not old, rotund or particularly jolly. Though Celeste could tell he was trying hard to fit the part. Couldn’t the resort have found a better-fitting actor to play the role? Even from this distance where she sat on her lounge chair, she could tell Santa was tall and fit. His piercing dark eyes held no jolly old twinkle, though they did seem to catch the sunlight as he shifted his gaze from one child to the next as he handed out presents from his burly, oversize sack. An odd sensation of déjà vu nagged at her. Something about the pretend Santa seemed oddly familiar. Probably just her imagination.

      The kids didn’t seem to notice how ill-suited he was for the role, they were all laughing loudly and scurrying to open the gifts they’d just been handed.

      Celeste flipped the page of the paperback she’d picked up at the airport and returned her attention to the story. Or she tried to, anyway. The kids were pretty noisy. The scene before her was charming and sweet—Santa sent to the beach to entertain and bestow gifts upon the youngest guests. It reminded her of everything she’d once so foolishly longed for. Exactly the kind of scene she was trying to get away from when she jetted out to the Caribbean every December. She was here for warm and tropical. Not stark reminders of all she’d lost three years ago when the man she’d loved, the man she’d dreamed of having children with like the ones currently in front of her, had so callously deserted her at the worst possible moment.

      This resort was definitely geared more toward families than the one she was used to. She might have to find a more remote section of beach in order to avoid such scenes for the rest of her stay. Her heart couldn’t take it.

      A shadow suddenly fell over the pages of her book.

      “Ho-ho-ho.”

      Santa appeared to be strolling the beach closer and closer to where she sat, the children following close behind him. Now they all stood just a couple of feet from her chair. She watched as St. Nicholas leaned down to tousle the hair of one particularly excited young boy who’d clearly just received some type of toy car based on the wrapped shape.

      It was futile. There was no way to even try to concentrate on her romantic suspense novel now. As charming as the children were, and they really were adorable, she couldn’t take much more Christmas cheer. Glancing down the expanse of sand, she searched in vain for another empty beach chair farther away from this main part of the resort. They all appeared taken. With a resigned sigh, Celeste dropped the book and stood, wrapping her silky sarong around her midsection. Might as well get another cup of coffee or perhaps a latte until all the commotion quieted.

      A squealing toddler darted past her to get to the faux Santa and she nearly toppled over in her effort to avoid the collision. This was so far from the relaxing morning she’d envisioned. Not that the kids weren’t cute. They really were, with all their excitement and near tangible anticipation to receive a present. They were just so…loud. Loud, boisterous reminders of all she’d be missing out on in life. Look at how her one attempt to start a family had turned out; nothing more than an abject lesson in humiliation and hurt.

      No, she wouldn’t be having children. Or her own family. The one she’d been born into took up more than enough of her time and emotional energy.

      She leaned down to retrieve her flip-flops from beneath the lounge chair and stopped short when she straightened. A wall of bright red topped by a cotton white beard suddenly filled her view.

      “Ho-ho-ho. Well, hello there, young lady.” Santa smiled at her.

      “Um…hi.”

      “We appear to have disturbed your morning, miss. A big jolly apology for the nuisance.”

      His words were cordial enough. But Celeste had the clear impression that he was somehow mocking her.

      “No apology necessary, St. Nick,” she said with a slight salute, then tried to step around him, only to have him block her path. Of all the nerve.

      The smile grew wider under the thick fake beard. “Really? I mean, you practically have a circular thought bubble above your head that screams ‘bah humbug.’”

      The same strange sensation of familiarity nagged at her yet again. He was clearly deepening his voice for the role but something about the tone and inflection rang a bell. And the eyes. As she studied their golden depths she couldn’t help but sense that she’d somehow gazed upon those eyes before.

      Had she met him before in a professional capacity? Her position as VP of marketing for a luxury goods firm had her regularly working on advertising campaigns with various agencies. Maybe Santa had done work previously as a character actor for a project she’d worked on in the past.

      What were the chances?

      Not that it mattered. Right now all that mattered was that she find some peace and quiet.

      But St. Nick seemed to have other plans.