I can’t get Hugh off my mind.
Since our dinner together on Sunday night, we haven’t seen much of each other except in passing at work. I agreed to the Monday night elves-visit-Santa ritual, which was kind of strange since twenty-four hours earlier we’d been on a quasi-date. Hugh had agreed to my suggestion of Greek, so we went to my favorite place, The Oasis, where we spent nearly two hours eating a leisurely meal with more courses than I could count.
He drove me back home afterward and walked me to my door yet again. Since I was sober this time—well, unless you count the two glasses of wine I had with dinner—I’d hoped he might kiss me or I’d pluck up the courage to initiate a kiss myself. We shared a lingering hug instead, and his lips had brushed my cheek as he pulled away. It was then I realized this whole ‘seeing where things might lead between us’ might be more difficult than I’d initially thought.
It’s now Friday, and it’s been the Monday-est Friday in history. Something happened to my alarm this morning, so I overslept. When I finally got myself together and made it to my car, the Check Engine light wouldn’t stop flashing. Since I had to pass the garage where I get all my maintenance done, I stopped in and had my go-to mechanic check it out. Billy told me I should leave the car and come back after work. I’d been tempted to return home and call in sick, but the receptionist at the garage was on her way out for coffee and offered me a ride to work.
After a series of annoying work-related mishaps throughout the day, I left early so I’d have time to pick up my car, go home, and get to Santa’s Village for my last shift of the week. Except, in keeping with my day from hell, Billy has just informed me my car is going to need some work and I have to pick it up tomorrow.
Which leads me back to my college days of traveling by city bus. I’d take a cab home, but it’s going to be rush hour soon and I’ll likely have to call a taxi to take me to Santa’s Village. It seems easier to save myself the time now and hop on a bus outside the garage.
Luckily, the bus isn’t too busy when I climb on board. I find a seat, pushing aside a booklet someone left behind. After a minute, I pick it up and flip through it—it’s a brochure for Loyola College, on the outskirts of Bellevue. I earmark a few courses I think Celia might be interested in, then stuff it in my purse.
The bus is about halfway to my apartment when it stops to let on a group of fifteen or so kids accompanied by three adults. From the moment the bus door opens, the air is filled with their excited chatter, paired with ear-piercing shrieks and giggles. A handful of them get on and rush to the back, the bus rocking with their momentum. One of the adults is next, and as she pays their fare, the rest of the kids surge past her, bumping into other passengers and banging on the poles between seats as they pass.
The teacher who’s still feeding change into the fare box yells, “Remember, children! We’re in public! Make good decisions!”
I blink and shake my head to myself. Make good decisions? Seriously? Because hollering at a bunch of noisy kids on a public bus is a good decision? The seats at the back must be full because a boy flops down next to me, his feet sticking out in the aisle and his backpack bumping my arm. I inch closer to the window and he takes that as an invitation to crowd me more.
Why me? I’m mostly used to kids now after working at Santa’s Village the last few weeks, but being stuck in close quarters with them while they’re making this much noise is different. Especially after the day I’ve had. My nerves are already frayed and a headache is beginning to build at the base of my skull.
Some of the kids had started singing something when they reached the back of the bus, and the others quickly joined in, getting louder by the second. They finally manage to get in unison and I realize they’re singing—if you can call it singing—“Santa Claus is Coming to Town”. The song instantly makes me think of Hugh. I keep his moss-colored eyes and sexy stubbled face in my mind’s eye, holding on to his image while trying to tune out the kids’ screeching.
I keep waiting for one of the chaperones to shush them, but no such luck. The other passengers on the bus are shooting daggers at the teachers, who all seem oblivious. The kids reach the final verse of the song and instead of starting a new one, they launch right back into “Santa Claus is Coming to Town”. A groan escapes me, not that anyone can hear it. I wrench open my purse and fish around for my headphones so I can listen to music on my phone. Of course they’re not where they always are, which means Celia probably went into my purse and took them. Again.
The voices grow louder until I’m in permanent cringe mode. The kid beside me shifts around and grabs the bar of the seat in front of us, bopping up and down and singing off key. I catch the eye of one of the teachers and look at her expectantly. She just smiles vacantly before looking away. She keeps taking swigs from a half-full water bottle clutched in her hand, making me wonder if it’s actually water or something stronger.
When they launch into the same song for the third time, my hand shoots up of its own volition and pulls the bell. I’m squished against the window, so I can’t see out the front to orient myself. My apartment can’t be far, and at this point I’d rather walk a hundred miles than listen to this racket for another moment. I stand and say ‘excuse me’ three times to the little boy beside me before one of the teachers reaches over and pulls him to his feet so I can get past. I bite my tongue, swallowing the snarky Celia-like comments I’m dying to make as I hurry to the back exit and scramble off the bus.
The sigh of relief that rushes out of me as the bus pulls away takes nearly all the air from my lungs. I suck in a few deep breaths and try to calm the raging irritation I’m feeling. I’ve definitely been spending too much time with Celia. Her grouchiness is rubbing off on me. I feel like I’m seconds away from donning a Grooge costume and chasing after little kids. The image makes a tired laugh spill from my lips as I start walking in the direction of my apartment.
It takes me about ten minutes to walk home. By the time I reach my front door, my headache has reduced to a dull roar, and that icky grumpy feeling has passed. Mostly. At least until I open the door and see Celia sprawled on the couch watching TV.
“Hey. What are you doing home?” I ask as I take off my coat.
Celia mutes the TV and shifts on the couch to look at me. “I wasn’t fired already if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“It wasn’t.” Although, to be fair, I’m sure that’s what I would have thought if my brain had time to catch up with seeing her here. She doesn’t need to know that, though, especially since she’s using her patented snotty voice.
“I had a dentist appointment this afternoon, so I called in and told them I’d be coming in with you tonight,” she says.
“Okay, well we’ll be going in a taxi because my car’s in the shop.” I head for the kitchen and drop my purse on a stool. Remembering the college brochure I found on the bus, I take it out and lay it on the counter for Celia.
“What’s up with your car?” A loud crunching noise follows the question and I turn to see Celia munching on a carrot stick from a plate of raw veggies in front of her. I never see her during my dinner break at the Village, but then again I don’t see her that often, period. I wonder if she brings food with her and eats it on her break.
“I’m not sure. My mechanic listed off a few things and said he’ll have it ready by tomorrow.”
“Probably making up a bunch of fake problems so he can make some quick cash,” Celia says around a mouthful of food.
I roll my eyes. “Right, because I’m an idiot and would fall for that. I’ve known Billy for years. He wouldn’t do anything to my car unless it was necessary.” Without waiting for a reply, I head down the hall, calling over my shoulder, “I’m going to take a shower. Phone the cab company and ask them to send a car for five thirty.”
I’d give just about anything to have a long, luxurious bath right now. Unfortunately, I have to settle for a quick shower. And because I’m a complete masochist I make it a lukewarm one, telling myself it’ll invigorate me even as I start to shiver.
Five minutes later, I stand in front of my closet with a towel wrapped around me. I can’t decide whether to dress in jeans and a sweater and change into my elf costume at the Village, or suck it up and wear the elf costume now. I wouldn’t care so much if I were driving myself as usual. Curious about Celia’s plans, I make sure my towel is secure so I don’t give her an involuntary peep show—something I’m sure I’d never hear the end of—and step out into the hallway.
“Ce?” She doesn’t answer, so I venture a bit further down the hall. “Celia?”
I find her in the living room, rifling around in her purse. I say her name again and her head snaps up. I have a moment to register how red her face is before she holds up the college brochure I found on the bus and shakes it, making the pages flap wildly. “What’d you do, go to Loyola and pick this up? You’re that desperate to get rid of me?”
The only way I’d be more shocked right now is if she chucked the booklet at my head. “Wh-what?” I force myself not to laugh at how ridiculous she is. Her stormy expression tells me laughter would not be welcome right now. “I took the bus home from the garage and that was lying on the seat I chose. I flipped through and saw a few things I thought might interest you so I brought it home.”
She tosses the brochure on the coffee table and turns away from me, continuing to rummage through her purse.
“Celia. Celia.” I say her name more forcefully the second time, and she straightens, meeting my eyes reluctantly. “Is something wrong? Something bugging you? Can I help in some way? Do something that will stop you from snapping at me constantly for absolutely no reason? I’m not the enemy here, yet for some reason you’ve labeled me as that and have been treating me accordingly.”
Regret flits over her features. Her shoulders have loosened slightly, and she’s giving off less of a hostile vibe. I nearly hold my breath, hoping this might finally be it. That she’s about to tell me why she treats me so badly even though I’ve done everything I can to help her the last few months.
Her mouth opens and closes. Turning away, she slings her purse over her shoulder and strides toward the front door. “I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I can afford to live on my own.” With that, she opens the door and steps out, letting it shut quietly behind her.
My feet are rooted to the floor. When I realize she actually left without me, I run after her. The hall is empty. I’m halfway to the stairwell when I realize I’m still wrapped in a towel. Shit! I clutch it to me as I slink toward the window that overlooks the front entrance of the building. Celia bursts out the front door and races down the walkway, where a taxi has just pulled up. She hops in, slams the door, and the car takes off.
Great. Just fucking great. “Could this day get any worse?” I mutter.
The sound of a throat being cleared loudly makes me jump. I already know it’s Mrs. Moscovitz, a crotchety old lady who’s lived here forever. She hates everyone except for her adorable little dog Duchess. Holding my head high, I spin on my bare feet and stride past her, sparing a glance at her face. Distaste, disgust, disdain, check, check, check.
“Looks like it’s going to be a nice evening for a walk, Mrs. Moscowitz,” I say breezily. “I hope you and Duchess have a good weekend!”
Tightening my towel, I jog the last few steps to my door and shut it quickly behind me. A hysterical-sounding laugh escapes me even as my eyes sting with tears. This day. This freaking day. I collapse against the closed door, clapping a hand over my eyes and swallowing down the weird mixture of giggles and unshed tears until it sounds like I’m fighting the hiccups.
I wish I could call in sick, but my shift starts in half an hour, so that would be a shitty thing to do. I can handle a few more hours of work, especially since it’s Friday. In fact, the distraction will probably be a good thing, otherwise I’d sit around all night stuffing my face with junk food and overthinking. I allow myself a moment and then spring into action. I need to call another cab, don my elf costume, and psyche myself up for hours of smiling while pretending I didn’t just have the shittiest day in recent memory.
I can do this.
*****
“I hear you had some car trouble today.”
Something in me loosens at the sound of Hugh’s voice. It’s his Santa voice—sans toe-curling accent—but it’s still deep and soft and everything I need right now. I was making my way through the Village after my dinner break when I ran into him.
“How did you know?”
“Ivy, Ivy, Ivy.” He gives his head an exaggeratedly slow shake, making his long beard sway. “You ought to know by now: I’m Santa Claus. I know everything.” He taps the side of his nose and winks.
Despite the smile that’s been plastered to my face since I arrived at Santa’s Village two hours ago, my answering laugh is my first genuine one all day. Hugh inches closer and my body overrides my brain as I reach for the velvety-soft lapels of his red suit and drop my forehead to his shoulder. I should get myself together and act professional, especially since we’re on one of the main streets where everyone can see us. I just need a moment of comfort. I inhale deeply, breathing in his woodsy scent. I’m about to straighten when he curls one arm around me, holding me loosely.
“Ivy,” he says softly. I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t.
Finally, I release my hold on him and step back. “Thanks.”
His gaze sweeps the area around us. He waves at a little boy who’s standing a few feet away, watching us with wide eyes. The boy waves back enthusiastically, bouncing on the balls of his feet before letting his mother pull him away. Smiling, Hugh inches closer to me and in a voice meant for my ears only says, “The other Santa is doing breakfast and visit duty tomorrow so I can have the day off.”
My mouth drops open in mock horror. “The other Santa? I thought there was only one Santa.”
“Har har.” He gives me a little poke with a white-gloved finger. “This’ll likely be the only Saturday I take off before Christmas. It’s supposed to be unseasonably warm, so I was thinking of going for a hike. Would you care to join me?”
A hike? I’m so not athletic. I took the one year of required phys ed in high school—faking illness, cramps, or any other number of mystery ailments to avoid participating whenever possible—and haven’t done any type of sport since. I don’t mind walking, but I’m not exactly in shape, and I’m not sure I’m up to something as potentially strenuous as hiking. And yet…a whole day with Hugh? “I’ll say yes, with the warning I’m not in the best shape.”
He chuckles. “That’s okay. It’s not a steep climb, and there are places along the way to stop and rest. If you’d rather skip the hike, I can pick you up after and we can go to dinner, maybe a movie.”
I purse my lips and contemplate his offer. “Is there any sort of view on this hike?”
“Besides me, you mean?” He sweeps his hand in front of himself, then peers down as if only now remembering what he currently looks like. “Well, you did say I was hot,” he adds.
As if I need to be reminded. “I did, you’re right. As long as you lead the way, I suppose that’s the only view I need.”
A surprised laugh tumbles out of him. Honestly, I’m surprised at myself too. He holds my gaze, his eyes dancing with something playful and knowing. “I’ll even pack us a picnic, how does that sound?”
“Sold.”