With the officers gone, I reentered the house and closed the door behind me, leaning against it. She hadn’t locked it, I noted with a smile. Not that it would have stopped me if she had.
“Maybe we should try again,” I began, offering my hand to the bewildered Crystal. “I’m Santa, but if you wish, you may call me Yule. I’d ask your name, but I already know it’s Crystal Angelina Turner and that you are thirty-one years old. Your birthday is March eleventh, and you were born in Orange County, California. Your parents’ names are Maria and Nicholas Turner. Your mother is Hispanic, and your father was Italian.” I offered up the little information my father had given me.
Her eyes narrowed, and she refused my offered hand, stepping closer to peer at me with narrowed eyes. “Who are you? How do you know all that? And how did you get those asshole cops to leave?”
“Simple.” I shrugged. “I told them the truth.”
“What truth?”
“That I’m Santa, and you are my Mrs. Claus.”
I could tell she was about to lose it again as she turned away from me and refilled her discarded glass of wine. I watched her pink lips close around the rim as she downed the contents in one large gulp. And I managed to duck before the glass hit the door and shattered mere centimeters from where my head had been.
“That’s some arm,” I chuckled. “I like your spunk. I’m going to be a very lucky man to have you as my Mrs. Claus.”
“Will you stop saying that?” she shrieked. Her gaze darted around the room, and I could see she was looking for something else to throw.
“Okay, okay, okay.” I put my hands out in front of me in a gesture of surrender. “Let’s start over again, okay?”
I eased away from the door and gestured to the small table in the nook of the kitchen. “How about we sit down and talk? I’m sorry for scaring you and for the way I went about it, but I really do need to talk to you.”
She didn’t pick up any new objects to hurl at my head, nor did she make a move to lunge at me, so I took her nonanswer as acceptance and slowly made my way to the table, sitting down and waiting for her to take the seat across from me. When she did so, I smiled.
“I don’t suppose you have any hot cocoa? Cookies and milk?” I asked, grinning hopefully. I could have made some appear, but I was saving my magical influence for the more important stuff. Plus, I wanted her to offer hospitality. If I could get her to do so, it would make her more amenable to my presence.
At the moment her mouth was set in a thin line, and her expression seemed to say, “Are you for real?”
“I have wine.” That was all she said.
“Beer?” I asked hopefully.
She rolled her eyes and heaved a disgruntled sigh but got up from her chair and stomped toward the fridge, returning in a minute with a bottle of imported ale, a bottle opener, and a fresh glass of wine. Wordlessly, she shoved the beer and the opener across the table at me.
“Thank you,” I said, popping it open and taking a hearty swig. It was cool and refreshing and did a lot to calm my nerves as I silently cursed my father for his harebrained ideas. Spanking her had been fun, but spanking her into submission? What had I been thinking, listening to that archaic advice in this day and age?
She sipped her wine then set the glass on the table, twirling it between her fingers as she stared at me.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” I said again. “I’m sorry I just appeared in your living room with the halfcocked idea that I could spank you into believing in me. That was stupid and certainly not any way to start a relationship. Although, to be fair, it did work for my parents.”
“We are not starting a relationship,” she deadpanned.
“We have to,” I countered quickly. “It’s destiny. I have until Christmas Eve to make you my Mrs. Claus. If I fail…” I furrowed my brow in confusion as I realized I didn’t really know what would happen if I couldn’t make this feisty woman mine. “If I fail, something very bad will happen to Christmas. It could ruin the holiday forever. Surely you don’t want that on your conscience.”
“Ruin the holiday forever?” she scoffed. “Is that all you’ve got? That’s pretty vague, and not at all convincing. And newsflash, dude. I don’t really care. Christmas is a commercialized holiday made up by toy companies to exploit parents’ love for their children. It’s complete and utter bullshit.”
I had to keep my mouth from falling open in shock as she continued her holiday-hating diatribe. Holy holidays. She wasn’t just a nonbeliever. She was a straight-up Christmas hater. This was going to be a lot harder than I’d thought.
“You’re telling me that you don’t celebrate Christmas, like, at all?” I sputtered, nearly choking on my beer.
“Not at all,” she confirmed. “And that’s not going to change because some Christmas-loving yahoo shows up in my house in a Santa suit and candy-cane-striped boxers and tells me I should.” She sighed. “Listen, dude, besides the assault thing, you’re actually pretty nice. I don’t know what your deal is, but I can’t help you, and even if I could, I don’t want to. Please leave.”
I rubbed my eyes and tried to dull the pounding in my head. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, and I definitely had worn out my welcome. But I couldn’t leave. I had accomplished nothing, made not even the slightest amount of progress.
“I’ll go soon,” I promised. “I only want to talk. Let’s finish our drinks.” As I said this, I winked, ever so slightly, and magically refilled my beer to a line just below the brim to buy myself some more time.
“Tell me why you don’t celebrate Christmas. Have you ever? When did you stop? What’s your favorite Christmas memory?”
“What is this—twenty questions?”
I smiled, and took a sip of my beer. A very small sip.
“I’ve never celebrated Christmas. I was raised by a single mom who worked hard to make ends meet. My father was killed when I was a baby. On Christmas, of course, and because of that, we didn’t celebrate or acknowledge the holiday in any way. At least not as long as I can remember. I was only one the year he died.”
I nodded sagely as my gut twisted for her pain. “Did you ever want to? You were just a child, and your friends must have celebrated.”
She nodded. “A few times, I wanted to, I’m sure. What kid doesn’t want a day of presents for absolutely no reason? But I had a good childhood, and though we struggled, my mom made sure I had everything I needed, and a lot of what I wanted. But it came from her, not some fictional fat guy in an outdated suit.”
Her description left a sour taste in my mouth, and I took another sip of beer before answering. “Okay, I get the no Santa, but Christmas is so much more than presents and a jolly guy in a red suit. What about the rest of it?”
“Like what?”
“A Christmas tree? Cookies? Christmas carols? The season of giving? Candy canes! Reindeer! Elves!”
“I’ve gone this long without those things. I’m pretty sure I can survive without them now. It’s just more commercialism. Why let the toy companies have all the profit? All those other guys wanted in on it, too, and Christmas got bigger and bigger and more over-the-top as the years went by and everyone fought for their piece of the pie.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as I mentally acknowledged the truth in her explanation. She wasn’t entirely wrong. Christmas had been growing more and more grandiose with each passing year, and the commercialism had gotten a little over-the-top in the last decade or so especially.
“But, the magic,” I argued lamely. “There’s no replacement for it. You have to experience the magic of Christmas.”
“I assure you, I’m fine,” she repeated. “Besides, why do you care so much anyway? What does it matter to you if I believe in Santa or celebrate Christmas or experience the so-called magic of the season? What’s it to you?”
“It’s everything,” I stated simply, and it was. Listening to her jaded views on the holiday had me twisted up inside. I could barely stand the thought of her sitting in her house on Christmas day with nothing but a glass of wine and an adorably yappy dog while the rest of the world sat beneath a Christmas tree, opening presents, sipping eggnog, and munching on brightly decorated Christmas cookies.
I finished my beer and stood. “Crystal, listen. I know you don’t understand, and I know you don’t care, but this is really important to me. Would you please just consider letting in the possibility of change? Could you just open your heart the tiniest bit to the magic of Christmas and see what happens?”
She said nothing.
Son of a nutcracker.
It was a risky move, but I knew what I had to do. I had to leave her something to remember me by.
I snapped my fingers, and a tree appeared in the corner of the living room, covered in colored lights and adorned with red-and-green glass balls. The topper, of course, was a jolly Santa, made to my likeness, with a red velvet suit and real leather boots.
Her eyes widened then narrowed as she scowled at me.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” I snapped my fingers again, and a handful of wrapped presents appeared beneath it. “There’s gifts in those you know,” I whispered. “Technically, you’re not supposed to open them until Christmas, but you’re already on the naughty list, so I say go for it.”
Still nothing. My heart sank, and I realized two weeks may not be enough time. This woman was practically dead inside when it came to Christmas. I snapped my fingers again, going for the full effect this time. Decorations covered every inch of her house now, and a fire roared to life in a fireplace underneath a mantle adorned with festive decor and red velvet stockings that matched my suit.
Instead of looking charmed or excited, she scowled at me. “Will you please knock it off? It’s going to take me forever to undo this mess you’ve made.” She stomped her foot. “Stop it right now.”
“Not until you agree to let me come back tomorrow and take you on a date. A Christmas date,” I elaborated. “It has to be a date doing something Christmasy.”
“Ugh, why would I do that?” she groaned. “I don’t even know you.”
I snapped my fingers again, and the house filled with the smells of Christmas as a tray of cookies and candies and even fruitcake appeared in the center of the table. Next to it were two huge glasses of fresh eggnog.
Her jaw worked back and forth as she took in the fragrant display of delectable treats. She was angry, I could tell, but also tempted. I couldn’t blame her. My mother’s cookies were pretty fabulous. Crystal stayed strong. I reached over and picked up a cookie in the shape of a tree, groaning loudly as I bit into it.
Chewing slowly and expectantly, I watched her for any sign of breaking, but she gave none.
She was playing hardball. That was fine. I could play, too.
I held my fingers up as if to snap them. “My next two moves are my head elf and a live reindeer. I’d think about giving in if I were you,” I warned.
“Oh my God. What is wrong with you?”
I raised my eyebrows and wiggled my fingers.
“Okay, okay! If I admit it is pretty, will you please leave?”
“It’s a good start, but I also need you to agree to see me again. More conventionally this time. A date. One where I knock on your door and pick you up. The whole nine yards.”
“And then you’ll go away and quit snapping?”
“For tonight,” I conceded.
“Ugh. Okay, fine. I’ll go out with you. Just go away and take this mess with you.”
“What mess? I don’t see a mess?” I snapped my fingers, but instead of dismantling the decorations, I poofed back into my suit, kissed her cheek, and left the same way I had come in.