Charlie

SERIOUSLY, WHAT THE fuck?

“All is calm...”

I fight every urge to rush into the room and pummel the weasel into the ground. Alan is lucky that every pound of padding in this ridiculous red suit slows my progress across the kitchen, as well as Sheila pulling on my arm from behind me.

“All is bright...”

“Relax, St. Nicholas. This is my fault, I should have given you a little more warning about what you’d find when I told you she was in the kitchen,” Sheila says, yanking on me.

“...tender and mild...”

My eyes meet Emily’s across the room. Her very surprised eyes. “Charlie?”

I stop fighting Sheila and stand in place, dropping my Santa bag at my feet. I clear my throat. “Um. Ho ho ho?”

The rest of the family filters in to listen to the carolers.

“Charlie?” she repeats. “What are you doing here? Why are you dressed like Santa?”

I’ll get to that later. “What am I doing here? What is he doing here?” I point at the weasel. “Aw, hell.” With that, I finish crossing the room and punch him square in the nose, the sound just as satisfying as I imagined it would be.

“Sleep in heavenly peace...”

Alan goes down to the floor with one blow. A tray of pudding clatters to the floor. Emily shrieks and kneels beside Alan. Sheila starts giggling. And the room fills with family and shouting.

“Someone get a towel, if he bleeds on Mom’s floor, she’s gonna be pissed.”

“Alan, are you okay?”

“This is the best Christmas ever.”

“We wish you a Merry Christmas...”

From behind me, Sherriff Jason Jones says quietly, “Sorry, man, but I’m gonna have to take you downtown,” as the handcuffs click on my left wrist.

“And a Happy New Year...”

But it is Emily on the floor holding a towel tenderly to Alan the weasel’s face that sears me. The disappointment in her eyes when she looks up that guts me as I put my other hand behind my back.

“We won’t go until we get some...”

I shouldn’t have come back. I don’t know how to do this. How to be part of a normal Christmas. A family.

Jail, I can do.

***

AN HOUR LATER, I’M staring blankly at the concrete wall in front of me. My life is officially a disaster. I have figgy pudding on my shoe, my fake beard itches, and “Jingle Bells,” the last song I heard as I was stuffed into the front seat of the sheriff’s off-duty vehicle, is stuck in my head. The car, a cherry red ’66 Shelby, is a beauty and under other circumstances, would have been a sweet ride. Jones had taken the cuffs off me so I could wave to any kids we passed on the way to town. Whether I wanted to wave or not. The sheriff didn’t want to be known as the cop who arrested Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. I was disinclined to argue with him.

I scrub my hands over my beard, unable to work up the energy to take off the damn suit. Nobody read me my rights or gave me a phone call yet. I guess that is how they do things in small towns. It isn’t like I’ve ever been arrested before, so what do I know? I have no one to call anyway.

It seems pretty stupid now, thinking I could just show up and ho-ho-ho my way back into Emily’s good graces. I’m lucky nobody punched me back.

“Well, Santa, you certainly know how to liven up a party.”

Emily’s voice, unexpected as it may be, brings my focus to the bars.

I stand. “What are you doing here?”

She is bundled up in a long black coat, hat, and scarf. Next to her, Jones holds her elbow in one hand, an old-fashioned key ring in the other. Snow crystals cling to her hat. I’d love to have been on the outside to see her in the snow. She probably catches snowflakes on her tongue.

Jason unlocks the cell and slides the door open, then closes her inside with me. “Santa, I trust you’ll stay on the Nice List for the rest of the night.” To Emily, “I’ll be at my desk. Rattle the cage when you want out.”

“Thanks.” When he is gone, she turns her attention to me. “So...what’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?”

“Are you okay?” I ask. The worst part about being arrested has nothing to do with being in jail. No, the worst part is imagining what the weasel said to her before I got there. Before I shut him up.

She unwraps her scarf. “I’m fine. Alan’s fine too, in case you’re wondering.”

“I’m not. Why was he there?” Why did her family, so protective of her, allow him so close?

She pulls off her hat and stuffs it into the pocket of her coat. Like she is staying there for a while. I don’t know what possessed Jones to let her even come in here, but jail is no place for Emily. “He was there to apologize to me. Why were you there?”

Apologize.

Huh.

Christmas miracles and all that shit.

“So I hit him while he was making amends?” That was not my best move.

She nods. “He was being nice. For a weasel.” Her crooked smile nearly breaks me. “Why were you there, Charlie?

I slump back onto the bench, forgetting my Santa padding and almost tipping over. “It doesn’t matter.”

She crosses the room slowly, untying the belt of her long coat. “I think it does.” She stops in front of me and slides the coat off her shoulders, revealing a very sexy red nightie trimmed with white fur.

I can’t swallow. I can’t breathe. I can’t figure out what the hell is going on.

Red. She is wearing red. And not much of it.

She went out like this? She could have frozen. What if her coat had come open and exposed her again? She braved frostbite and a second humiliation for me?

While my mind tries to catch up, she sits on my lap. “I hope it’s not too late to tell you what I want for Christmas, Santa Baby.”

My mind is fuzzy, but my hands know what to do, instantly skimming her sexy curves and holding her so she won’t fall. Or get away. I look at the door. “What about –?”

“Sheila’s got it handled. Nobody will bother us until I rattle the cage.”

“You shouldn’t be here.” I squeeze her tighter, unable to let her go. “Who knows who’s been in here? It’s not sanitary or safe.”

She pets my beard and smiles. “They don’t actually use this cell anymore, Sarge. It’s just for show. The real jail is down the hall.”

This isn’t a real jail cell? “Am I really under arrest?”

She shrugs. “Probably not? I’m not sure. I think it depends on your behavior. You’re actually not the first of us to grace this cell. Both my brothers—even my dad one Fourth of July—have gotten a cool-down period in here. I think Jason put Sheila back here one night. I’m pretty sure it’s not legal. But at least you’re in good company.”

I don’t understand. She should hate me. Her family should hate me. I left her and when I got smart enough to come back, I started a brawl at Christmas. With a guy who was trying to apologize—an apology she really needed to hear.

“Are you ready to listen to my wish list, Santa?”

I risk a glance at her sexy Mrs. Claus cleavage. Bad idea. I am ready to peel off both our costumes and take her right here. Reading my mind, she takes off my hat and runs her fingers through my hair. Her eyes sparkling with mischief. It’s a good look for her. I want to see it again. Every day.

“Yeah, what do you want for Christmas?” I’ll give it to her. Whatever it is. “You want the moon?”

She shifts in my lap as she shakes her head, her bottom rubbing me just the right way.

“I’ll lasso it for you.” I’m no George Bailey, but I’ll find a way to be her small-town hero.

“I don’t want the moon. I want to know why you came back tonight.”

“That’s all?”

“No, but that’s a good place to start.”

Nothing about her is blending into our surroundings now. She is wearing red—my new favorite color—standing out, making herself seen. For me. I don’t deserve her trust—but apparently, I have it. I don’t deserve her love, but I’m going to go after that, too.

I take her hand in mine. “I came back tonight, dressed like this, to steal your heart.”

She lays her head on my shoulder. “I came here tonight, dressed like this, to give it to you.”

She feels so right. Everything in my life suddenly feels so right. Can it really be this easy? “I’m not good enough for you, but I’m selfish enough to not care.”

She lifts her head up. “Why do you say that? That you’re not good enough?”

“I just got arrested in your mother’s kitchen.”

“I don’t think you’re really under arrest.”

There is a special place in hell for having a hard-on in a Santa suit. I’m sure of it. “I’m too old for you.”

“I think you’ll do just fine keeping up with me, gramps.”

I am so ready to whisk her away, but I need to know she isn’t going to come around to all our challenges and leave me when she figures it out. It would hurt now. It will kill me later.

I don’t want to tie her down. Make her think her world is confined. Getting that apology from the weasel might have freed her up to try more wild and crazy things. “Seriously, mistletoe. You’re young. You’ve still got some exploring to do. Some more things to try that are unexpected.”

“So do them with me.”

I think of her parents—her whole family. How they take care of each other, work as a unit. She’ll expect that from me. “I don’t know how to love.”

“Yes, you do. You so do. Do you think I could be here now, dressed like this, putting myself out there to be seen if I didn’t think my heart was safe?” She places my hand on her chest. “You give love just fine. You just don’t know how to accept love. But I can give you that.”

I swallow past a lump in my throat that threatens the first tears in three decades. She could give me that. I just have to let her.

“I don’t have a job—”

She interrupts me. “You can sell pot holders!” She tugs on my beard. “I knew you’d come back, you know.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t know—how did you figure it out?” How can she trust me so much when I don’t trust myself?

“I just knew. I even told Sheila this morning.”

I knead her thigh. Because I can. Because I am beginning to understand that this isn’t a dream. She is here, flesh and blood and in my arms. And she wants me. She wants to give me her heart. “So, what was all that business about wanting me to be a temporary lover? That you wouldn’t have slept with me if I were staying?” I dip down and inhale the scent of her neck. “You had me fooled.”

“I changed my mind.”

“You changed your mind?” Like it is just that easy.

“I want you to stay. I want to see where this goes. I just want you for Christmas. Maybe every Christmas.”

Every Christmas. Every Christmas sounds fucking fine to me. I cup her cheek in my hand. “I can give you that.”

And then I bring out the sprig of mistletoe I put in my pocket so many hours ago, hold it above our heads, and kiss my naughty and nice Mrs. Claus to fill in the rest of the words I’m not sure I know how to say.

Yet. I figure I have plenty of time. I have every Christmas after all.