The Santa Project

by Elinor Gray

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Three Weeks Before Christmas

  Two Weeks Before Christmas

  One Week Before Christmas

  Two Days Before Christmas

  One Year Later, Two Days Before Christmas

  About the Author

  By Elinor Gray

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  The Santa Project

  By Elinor Gray

  Working at the Craft Emporium keeps Adam Martinez busy during the holiday season he absolutely hates. Enter elementary schoolteacher David Okoye, who can’t get enough of Christmas or craft supplies. David is cute, wholesome, and Adam can’t deny a little bit of a crush.

  Making the holidays special for his students is only part of the reason David makes excuses to go to the Craft Emporium. He also holds a torch for Adam. He takes it as a personal challenge to show Adam how to enjoy the holidays when he asks Adam to teach him to knit. David promises the holidays can be wonderful when shared with the right people, but how can they share them when David is going home to his family and Adam will be left all alone?

  For all the fellow Christmas babies.

  Three Weeks Before Christmas

  EVERY YEAR between Thanksgiving and New Year’s, Adam Martinez volunteered to work extra shifts at the Whitesprings Craft Emporium.

  “Not going anywhere?” his manager, Tina, asked, as if his answer would change.

  “Nowhere to go,” Adam said. It was as if he believed taking the winter holidays full in the face was the only way to inoculate himself against them. It was better to stay busy than let it catch up with him.

  The look Tina gave him was one of skepticism and badly concealed pity. “All righty, then.”

  The Craft Emporium sat at the north end of Main Street; from its front windows on a clear day, the peaks of the mountains were visible, looming in the distance. When the store was slow, Adam gazed out at those peaks and wondered if he’d ever get around to learning how to ski. But now that it was December, there was no time for that.

  “Happy Holidays, thanks for coming in,” Adam said to the middle-aged white lady with the bag full of Styrofoam balls while handing over her receipt. She gave him a look that suggested he’d said it with less enthusiasm than she expected him to. He broke eye contact before she could ask to see the manager about it. “Next customer, right here!”

  With a little thrill of pleasure that warmed his cheeks, he recognized the man approaching the counter. David Okoye was a well-built black man with square tortoiseshell glasses framing his deep brown eyes. Today he had a sheepish look on his face, probably owing to the armful of scrapbook paper packets, holiday confetti shapes, and foam cones he was carrying. He wore a mustard-yellow cardigan over a blue gingham button-down shirt that made him look especially dapper.

  David unloaded his arms onto the counter. “Hi, Adam.”

  Adam schooled his face, trying to keep up the expression of cool disdain toward anything holiday-related. “Hi there. Working on another project already?” David had been into the Emporium half a dozen times since Halloween.

  “The kids are going nuts for crafts this time of year,” David said. “Hanukkah starts next week, and I’m not going to let my students down.”

  “That’s nice of you.” Adam started to ring David’s purchases up.

  “There’s so much emphasis on Christmas, Christmas, Christmas.” David leaned one hip against the counter and crossed his arms in a way that made his biceps bulge under the sweater. “I want them to feel special.”

  “I have to agree with you there,” Adam replied, looking away from David’s arms and back at the register screen. “Christmas is overdone.”

  David was smiling at him, and Adam felt himself blushing. He probably shouldn’t be so openly hostile toward Christmas at work.

  “Not into Christmas?” David uncrossed his arms, which was a shame, but now he was looking at Adam with curiosity, as if determined to get to the bottom of this holiday anomaly.

  “Never have been,” Adam admitted. “My family was never… very good at it.”

  “That’s a shame. It can be fun.”

  Adam shrugged. “Maybe… if you’re around the right people.”

  “That’s fair.” David adjusted his glasses. “Holidays are better with people to celebrate with.”

  “Yep,” Adam agreed. “Uh, it’s $37.59.” Smooth transition, there.

  David handed over the credit card with his school’s logo on it. Adam ran it, handed it back, and lifted the bag, foam cones sticking out, up over the counter.

  “Happy Hanukkah, then,” he said, making one last-ditch attempt at not being a complete and total grinch. David didn’t deserve his bad attitude, he decided. Maybe no one else did either, but David especially.

  “Thanks.” David took the bag. “You too!”

  It made Adam laugh, which made David grin. They beamed at each other for a moment too long, and then Adam realized there was a line behind David.

  “See you around,” he said.

  “You too,” David said again, more softly, and Adam watched him disappear out the door with his foam cones.

  WHEN HE wasn’t at the Emporium, Adam spent the hours he had left in the week in front of his laptop, writing. Trying to write. Thinking about writing. Researching for the writing he ought to be doing. He had published half a dozen articles on blogs and websites, some more notorious than others. His specialty was craft and DIY design with a focus on textiles and color theory, but writing for blogs didn’t pay very well with the amount of time he was able to devote to it. The Craft Emporium was supposed to keep him afloat while he made his name as a writer: so far no luck there. The craft magazine in town rarely had staff openings, but he had an alert set for any time their name popped up on a local job site.

  Nights he didn’t spend writing, he would knit or spend time with friends from college who still lived in town, or both. He had learned to knit as a kid and kept it up over the years, despite the statistical dearth of men knitting. His winter project was always a sweater, which he would inevitably start as the temperature started to drop and finish by the time spring arrived. This year’s pullover was an intensely cabled affair where the cables formed the head of a deer on the front and the appearance of leafless deciduous trees on the back. It was a challenge, and he was enjoying it, but every row felt like it took a whole day to knit.

  He was at home on Friday evening, sitting on the couch with his half-made sweater in his lap, flipping past the local news channel when David Okoye’s handsome three-quarter profile caught his attention.

  “The mission of the Santa Project is to make the winter holidays special for everyone,” David was saying, “regardless of household income. We get the students involved in community activism at an early age, to nurture compassion and hometown pride, and we are proud to be hosting another Santa Project Wishlist Distribution Day on Saturday, December seventeenth.”

  David was wearing a navy blue V-neck sweater over a cream button-up, and the knot of a floral tie peeked out above the collar. Adam wished his teachers had been this cute and wholesome and subtly flamboyant.

  “Students from Whitesprings Elementary and Middle School will be hosting a craft fair in the gymnasium on Saturday the seventeenth from ten o’clock to four o’clock, and we’ll be distributing letters all day during that time to volunteers. It’s a great opportunity to get young people in your life involved with local activism, especially benefiting folks their own age. Building compassion early is critical to raising well-rounded, worldly citizens who will make a difference in the lives of the people around them.”

  “Thank you for speaking with us, Mr. Okoye,” the
reporter said, beaming up at him. She turned toward the camera again and reiterated the bit about Saturday the seventeenth, but Adam kept his eyes on David in the background. David was still smiling easily, perhaps used to being on television, or at least comfortable under scrutiny. The reporter turned back, she and David shook hands, and the segment ended.

  Adam changed channels to find he’d missed a few minutes of his vampire biker show. His mind wandered as he watched and worked on the sweater, thinking he might look more deeply into this “Santa Project” thing. Could he possibly tamp down his dislike for Christmas long enough to get involved with a community project? Maybe if it were run by a cute elementary schoolteacher he had his eye on. Maybe.

  THE WIND was whipping down Main Street on Sunday morning, and Adam pulled his scarf tighter around his neck as he turned the corner to enter Top Shelf Café. He almost ran smack into a man also reaching for the door handle, and looked up into the surprised gaze of David Okoye.

  “Hi there,” David said, breaking into a grin. He was wearing a teal beanie pulled down over his ears with the Philadelphia Eagles emblem on the front and a black puffy jacket that was zipped up to his chin. He held the door open for Adam and followed him into the warmth of the coffee shop.

  “Cold out there,” Adam said, feeling like an idiot. He’d been caught off guard. This was his coffee shop.

  “Sure is,” David said. His glasses had fogged up, so he took them off until they cleared. “You on your way to work?”

  Adam nodded. They opened late on Sundays so he liked to come to the Top Shelf and check his email or knit for a while, somewhere that wasn’t his home.

  David put his glasses back on. “Can I get you a coffee?”

  “Uh,” Adam said, excitement blooming in his chest. “Sure.”

  “Great.” David grinned again and took off his Eagles hat. He stuffed it into his pocket and unzipped his coat a third of the way. Underneath Adam caught a glimpse of a red sweater and a white-collared shirt. “I, um. I’m headed to the Emporium too, this morning, actually.”

  Adam snorted. “You have got to have enough supplies by now.”

  David chuckled, giving a little embarrassed shrug. “One of my students has a birthday on Christmas, so I wanted to do something special for her.”

  “Wow.” Adam’s heart gave a throb of sympathy. “That sucks.”

  David raised an eyebrow.

  “Having the birthday on Christmas,” Adam said quickly. “Not you doing something nice.”

  David smiled and gave Adam a little nudge with his elbow. “What can I get you?”

  Adam turned around to place his order with the barista: peppermint mocha, extra espresso. He stepped aside to give David room to order and stuffed his hands back into his pockets for a lack of anything better to do with them. If he wasn’t careful, he might reach out and try to touch the collar of David’s sweater.

  David paid and led Adam to a small table near the window. Their knees bumped underneath as they sat down.

  “So, you don’t hate everything having to do with the holidays,” David said.

  Adam blinked. “Sorry?” It was probably a bad sign that he was ready to defend his hatred. This whole month sucked. It was cold and gray, the ads were nonstop, and everyone had to pretend to like their families even if they were loud and insane and fought all the time.

  “The peppermint mocha,” David said. “Those only come out between Thanksgiving and New Year’s.”

  Adam deflated. The peppermint mocha was his favorite. “Well, you can order them the rest of the year—”

  “I bet you don’t.”

  “No,” Adam admitted, finding himself smiling, more amused than embarrassed at being effectively called out. “I don’t. I forget about them until they start advertising them again, and then I can’t get enough of them.”

  David laughed, tossing his head back. Adam’s mouth felt dry. When David looked at him again, their eyes caught and held. David smiled, all teeth and bright eyes again. Adam’s face got warm.

  The barista called David’s name, so he had to get up again to pick up their drinks. Adam took the opportunity to admire his firm backside in his chinos as he walked away. When he came back, Adam accepted the peppermint mocha and breathed in the aromatic steam that rose off the top. It would be too hot to drink for several minutes.

  “So,” David said, sitting back down.

  “So,” Adam agreed. “You’re a teacher, right?”

  David nodded. “Third grade. Eight- and nine-year-olds.”

  “What’s that like?”

  David laughed again. He had a warm, rich laugh that made Adam’s spine tingle. He wanted to make David laugh all the time.

  “They’re insane,” David said, “but they’re brilliant.”

  “Do you teach a certain subject, or…?”

  “No, I’d say I’m a generalist. I teach everything.”

  “Wow.”

  “Not PE, thank God.” David was grinning.

  Adam grinned back. “No? You look like you spend plenty of time doing physical activities.”

  “Oh, sure.” David sat up a little straighter and flexed his shoulders. “But I don’t run games of dodgeball for sixty.”

  “How did you end up teaching third grade?” Adam asked.

  “I wanted to,” David said. “I studied elementary education in college and got my master’s in education, and was a substitute teacher for a couple of years before I got this position three years ago. I’ve wanted to teach since I was a kid. I was such a teacher’s pet when I was little.”

  Adam laughed. “Have you always taught that age group?”

  “Pretty much,” David said. “I moved up and down a little, but I think third grade is my sweet spot. I love third graders. They’re nuts.”

  As David talked, Adam found himself unwinding a little, the fog of annoyance about everything having to do with December lifting. David’s enthusiasm for his work and his kids was a nice distraction from being cranky for five weeks solid. He could picture this conversation happening over dinner… or on the sofa at his house… or tangled in his blankets in the morning. That kind of optimism felt unfamiliar this time of year. He was probably making a mistake, letting David charm his way in. David was going to see him for the sour, bitter bastard that he was and not want to spend any more time with him until January at least. It wasn’t fair to make anyone else endure his seasonal malaise. That was his own affair, and he was perfectly content to be wallowing alone in it.

  “How did you end up at the Craft Emporium?” David turned the question back on Adam with genuine interest. He didn’t sound skeptical of a grown man working in thankless retail. Instead his expression suggested there was a very good reason Adam was behind that counter every day. “Sorry,” David interrupted before Adam could even take a breath in. “Actually, I have to know: did you make your sweater?”

  Adam looked down at himself. They had taken off their coats, and he was wearing his big forest-green shawl-collar cardigan with the fat wooden buttons down the front. It was made of merino wool and the sleeves were long enough that he had to fold them back almost three inches to expose his hands. It was a simple pattern, a broken rib texture all over that was a delight to run his fingers across.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “That’s amazing. How long did it take you?”

  Adam rounded up. “Two months.”

  David nodded as if confirming something to himself. “You’re very talented.”

  “It’s just a lot of practice, really,” Adam said. “I’ve been knitting about twenty years.”

  “Who taught you?”

  “My abuela.” Adam fiddled with his cuff, feeling the merino between his fingers. “She lived with us for a while when I was a kid, and she was determined to get me and my brother both knitting.”

  “Is your brother as good a knitter as you are?”

  “No way.” Adam laughed. “He stopped doing it as soon as she died, but I was hooked.”
r />   “I’m sorry for your loss,” David said softly.

  “Thanks. It was a while ago, but I still miss her, y’know?” He took a sip of his mocha, suddenly conscious of how personal the conversation felt. Bringing up his grandmother’s death in the first real conversation he had with someone was probably frowned upon.

  “Must have been nice to live with her, though? My grandparents are in Nigeria,” David offered. “They’ve come to visit a few times, but mostly we get to see them on video calls.”

  “That’s too bad,” Adam said. “I think a lot of people aren’t as close to their grandparents as they wish they were.”

  “I think you’re right,” David agreed. “How’s your mocha?”

  Adam smiled down at it. “It’s good, thanks.”

  “So,” David said, “what do you think I should do for this girl whose birthday is on Christmas?”

  “Cancel Christmas,” Adam said.

  David laughed, surprised. “Really?”

  “Listen,” Adam said, feeling his heart rate rising, “Christmas is about everyone. Birthdays get to be about just one person. Unless you have to share it with like, your twin or something, but then at least you don’t have to share it with three or four billion people and all their personal shit. You don’t have to go anywhere if you don’t want to—or you can go anywhere you want to—and do anything, and you get to pick where you eat—”

  “Your birthday is on Christmas, isn’t it?” David said. He was giving Adam a piercing look from behind his glasses.

  “Yeah,” Adam said, defeated. “I’ll be thirty-three in three weeks.”

  “Damn,” David said. “I bet that does suck.”

  “It sucks so hard. I just wish I could have one birthday I didn’t have to share.”

  “Are you going anywhere for Christmas?”

  Adam shook his head. “No, I don’t do that anymore.”

  “Is your family here?”

  “Nope. I moved here for college and then never left. A few years ago, my brother came to visit, but honestly I can’t afford to travel at Christmas, and I don’t want to. There’s no point. My parents got divorced when I was in college—thank God, they needed to—so my choices are my dad and his terrible wife in Missouri or my mom in Florida.”