“Hello?” she called out. From experience, she knew surprising her mother was a bad idea. The woman screamed bloody murder and jumped like a kangaroo if startled from behind.
“Talia?” Her mother sounded generally surprised. “We’re in the kitchen. Come help.”
Heading toward the kitchen had been automatic, as her empty stomach started growling from the first sniff. She’d spent most of the day on her feet at Autumn’s shop and had been looking forward to dinner for the past two hours.
When she walked into the kitchen, however, she was both under- and overwhelmed. Underwhelmed because it was obvious dinner wasn’t part of the plans, but overwhelmed at the scope of her mother’s baking. Every surface was covered with cooling cookies in some varying stage of being decorated. Multicolored nonpareils added color to the cookies and countertop alike, and it looked like there’d been some kind of green frosting explosion.
Talia laughed. “I thought you did your Christmas baking on Saturday.” After they’d finished decorating Saturday evening, her mother had sent Talia and her father out to deliver several plates of sweets. Talia went to the sink to wash her hands, scouting the area to see where she should start.
“That was for neighbors. This is for Ed’s,” her mother said as if that explained everything. It didn’t.
Talia had been about to ask what that meant when her brother and nephew entered with Giannamore’s boxes and two-liter soda bottles. It had been Ed’s turn for family dinner this week, but since it was her birthday, she’d expected her mom’s cooking and chocolate cake—not pizza and sugar cookies.
“Hey, sis.”
Now the birthday dinner plans made sense. If the ovens hadn’t been full, Mom would have cooked Talia’s favorite—chicken tetrazzini—but the smell as Ed walked closer was so heavenly, she didn’t care that it had been Ed’s turn to “make” dinner.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“For dinner? Abso-stinkin’-tively.” Her stomach growled, agreeing completely, and she reached for the box as he passed.
He turned away from her, keeping the boxes out of her reach.
“Wayne, honey, will you put some of the finished cookies in the box so we can clear a space for the pizza?” Talia’s mother waved an oven-mitted hand at the table. “But don’t stack them yet. I want to give them a little more time for the icing to firm up.”
“I’ll help,” Connor offered. There was only one way a starving college kid would move cookies out of the way, and that probably wasn’t what his grandmother had been suggesting.
“I meant tonight, Tal,” Ed said. “You don’t have plans, right?”
Like she wouldn’t have plans for her birthday. She paused. Well, okay, so she didn’t. Autumn was working, and she’d thought she was spending it with the family over a home-cooked meal and birthday cake. She narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you getting at?”
“You are coming to the charity event at Family Fun tonight, right?” Ed owned a game center, complete with bowling lanes, billiards, and laser tag.
Mentally, she smacked her forehead. “Of course, big brother. Wouldn’t miss it.” What was it again? She couldn’t remember specifically.
Even though she’d tried to keep her expression as impassive as possible, Ed knew her better than that. “You forgot.” He deposited the boxes in the newly vacated space and crossed his arms. “I’ll consider forgiving you if you agree to elf,” he offered magnanimously.
To elf. Like it was a verb. But she knew what he meant.
Automatically, Talia started shaking her head. “Oh no. That’s not a fair consequence. Besides, you have no proof that I forgot.” By saying this, she’d pretty much admitted to it.
“Then what charity is it?” Ed quizzed.
He’d probably never divulged that information, but if he had, she didn’t have a shred of a memory.
Connor pushed around his father to reach for a painstakingly decorated iced Christmas tree. Talia had to admit they looked great, but she knew from previous experience they were a booger to decorate.
With a hand on his shoulder, Ed held Connor back for a split second. “One.” He caught his son’s gaze and flicked his eyes at Patricia, communicating that wasn’t his rule, but his grandma’s.
Ed turned his glare back to his sister, waiting for an answer.
Talia couldn’t for the life of her remember. “Does it even matter? Charity at Christmas.” She scoffed and threw her hands into the air. “You do know this is the time of year most misleading charities pop up, right, to take advantage of holiday goodwill? How do you know this one is legit?” Instead of reaching for the cookies, she flipped open the top of the nearest pizza box.
“It’s Hartford Hope—a charity run by my friend Zeke, the builder of Hartford Homes.” Ed closed the pizza box on Talia’s outstretched hand. “Wait till everyone’s ready.”
When had he become the pizza police?
“Go ahead and be cynical about Christmas charities—I know skepticism comes with your job—but Hartford Hope’s the real deal.”
Talia wasn’t convinced, and if she had to be there anyway, why not check them out? She could use new content for her MyHeartChannel.
Ed narrowed his eyes as he seemed to consider. “Okay, how about this? Part of the event is a Santa photo booth and we need an elf, obviously . . .” Not blinking, he looked at her until she understood he was asking her to be said elf. “You work with Santa, and I’ll make sure you have access to Zeke and anyone else within the charity you want to interview. You can record anything—photography waivers are part of the deal parents are agreeing to anyway for promotional purposes. You might find that not everything is a sham, my skeptical sister.”
After a lifetime of his teasing, she let the comment roll off. She’d actually be okay with that, anyway. It wasn’t like she wanted to find out people were being swindled. It was just her job to check.
Talia reached again to lift the lid of the pizza box, and Ed placed a heavy hand on top, keeping it closed, his eyebrows raised in question.
“All I have to do is be an elf for an evening, and I have full access?” She pretended like she needed to consider longer.
“Complete.”
Talia moved Ed’s hand aside. “Then you’ve got a deal.”
6
Talia looked ridiculous. What a way to spend her thirtieth birthday—playing dress-up like she was four. The green dress with a short, full skirt rimmed with red had short sleeves, candy-striped buttons, and a shiny black belt. Red-and-white-striped tights went down to pointy slippers with jingle bells, and a pointy hat sat on her head. She’d better get some good footage for her MyHeartChannel, because she wasn’t doing this for kicks.
Before she left the employees’ lounge, Talia lifted her phone, the camera in selfie mode to take in her jolly outfit. It wouldn’t be exceptional quality, but she liked mixing the casual video with the more professional quality. Just a little teaser before she edited and posted later tonight or tomorrow.
“Talia’s Truth Cam is about to uncover the truth about Christmas charities.” She paused to let that sink in. “Christmas is a time many of us recognize how blessed we are, and we want to help others who are less fortunate. It’s an admirable aim. While we’d love to help everyone in need, we simply can’t, so we want to make sure our donations are going straight to the aid of others.”
She took a breath before continuing. “Unfortunately, there are those in our communities who take advantage of our goodwill, organizations heartless enough to swindle hardworking people out of their money and depriving those who need it most. So how do we know which charities are on the up-and-up?” Talia lifted a hand in the air. “I have it on good authority that Hartford Homes’s charity, Hartford Hope, is one of those worthy charities, and tonight, I’m going to uncover the truth—good or bad. You’ll know when I know. If you want to come help me investigate, I’m down at Ed’s Family Fun game center. Come get your kids’ picture taken with Santa, and who kno
ws? Maybe they’ll end up on MyHeartChannel’s Talia’s Truth Cam. Come on over; I’d love the company!”
Talia gave her best smile before she stopped the recording. She watched the video, and although it wasn’t perfect, the lighting was good and she hadn’t stumbled too much over her ad-libbed trailer.
Ed leaned in through the lounge door and eyed his sister. “Aren’t you ready yet, princess?” He hadn’t called her that since they’d lived in the same house and he’d accused her of taking too much time getting ready.
She clicked to begin the upload and dropped her phone to her side. “Showtime.”
“Showtime,” he agreed with a nod.
The two of them walked down a series of hallways behind the laser tag rooms and bowling alley lanes. As they went, the chatter of voices grew louder.
“Sounds like a good turnout.” When she’d set up her camera, the place had been pretty empty, but then she’d taken the time to get into costume, fix her hair, and make the quick video.
“I would say so.” Ed handed her a clipboard filled with permission slips. She fanned through them while he spoke. Only the top one was already filled out. “Wait until you see the line for Santa.”
As Santa’s elf, her job would be to have parents sign the photo releases—easy enough, since the company was offering to email photos to the parents—and then usher kids to and from Santa. She could do this; she just wouldn’t have a chance to check her video camera very often. Where it was, the sound should carry from Santa and the kids to the camera, and if she was lucky, she’d capture at least a few funny or endearing clips. It had nothing to do with checking out the charity, but everyone loved a cute Santa–kid interaction. Ed had promised she’d get the Hartford Hope interviews after the event.
They turned the last corner, where a surprising transition had taken place. Everywhere she looked, Christmas magic had been liberally applied. Pinball machines and arcade games had been pushed to the walls, and the alcove that had held them was draped in candy-cane-striped paper. A wooden fireplace mantel, complete with hung stockings, stood opposite a beautiful tree, and for once, the bowling alley smelled more like an evergreen forest than hot wings and buttered popcorn. Between the tree and the fake fireplace was the cutest couch. Upholstered in gold velvet and trimmed in ornate walnut woodwork, the cushions offered enough room for Santa and at least a couple of children at a time.
Santa was seated on the couch with a boy standing in front of him when Talia approached.
“You’re not Santa,” the boy stated. Loudly insistent.
Great.
The kid was maybe seven years old, stood with his legs shoulder-width apart and his arms crossed defiantly, a stony glare embedded in freckled cheeks. Talia barely held back a laugh.
They’d started without her. Santa sat alone, faced with a long line of kids and parents. The only thing standing between them were rickety stanchions and retractable ribbons. At any moment, the poor guy in red could bowled over by a mob of pint-sized kiddos with lists of demands longer than Santa’s beard. The least she could do was help restrict the flow.
She jumped into her role as go-between. “Thank you for waiting so patiently,” she said to the mom and two kids who were crowding in to go next. “If you don’t mind filling this out, Santa will be with you shortly.” She handed them the clipboard and then rushed off to rescue Santa from his accuser.
“I know you’re not Santa because you have a black eye.” The boy stared him down.
“Are you ready to stake your whole Christmas on that assumption?” Santa lobbed the challenge back at the kid so quickly, he had to have prepared that answer ahead of time.
The boy blinked, confusion shadowing his former certainty. He probably had no idea what the words meant.
Confident, Santa motioned him closer. The kid leaned forward.
“Closer,” Santa whispered.
The boy took a stutter step forward and then leaned in again, this time so close, he almost banged Santa’s forehead with his own.
Santa smiled and pulled back so he was looking the boy in the face. “You don’t have to sit on my lap if you don’t want to,” he whispered. “I’m good with that. But your mom is going to want to hear what’s on your Christmas list, so you might as well play along.”
The boy stood straighter again, and Talia could see him weighing his options. Decided, the boy stepped closer to Santa but remained standing. “Okay, ‘Santa.’” The boy’s emphasis made it clear he didn’t believe it for a second, and the tone was adorable. “I guess I’m good with whatever you bring me this year.”
Santa drew in a long breath and then let it out as if deciding. “I don’t know.” Santa shook his head as if he couldn’t be convinced otherwise, but he squinted at the kid, scrutinizing him. “Have you been good this year?”
The boy looked up to the ceiling and sighed. Talia half expected him to ask for an audit. “As good as you.”
Santa’s eyebrows shot up into his fuzzy red-and-white hat, and Talia lifted a gloved hand to cover her snicker. The precocious child was a hoot. The guy in the Santa suit gave her a side wink, which made her shake with the giggles she was barely holding back. Talia turned from the two of them for a moment so she could catch her breath. Sucking in her cheeks so she wouldn’t laugh out loud, she turned back around.
“Then that’s saying a lot, because I—” Santa sat a little taller and put a hand to his chest. “—I have been very good this year. Ask my elf here.”
He indicated Talia, who swallowed hard in her attempt to appear serious. Her eyes were beginning to water.
“What you’re saying, Brendan—” Talia hoped she remembered the name from the clipboard correctly. “—is that you were as good as Santa was this year . . .” Talia tapped her chin, pretending to weigh Santa’s choices over the past year, but considering she hadn’t even been introduced to the man yet, she had no reference. She nodded sagely. “If you were as good as Santa, then that means you had a pretty good year.” She lifted an eyebrow at Santa but then looked back at the boy. “I’m sure you did your best, and if there were problems, well, those were probably the result of circumstances beyond your control.”
The boy’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “Yes?”
Yeah, now both Santa and his elf were messing with the poor kid’s mind. Talia almost felt bad about it.
Santa reached forward and clapped a black-gloved palm on the boy’s shoulder, his hand big enough to cover his triangular scapula. “What are you secretly hoping for? Video games? A bicycle?”
The kid shrugged the shoulder with the hand on it. The effort was strained, and Santa dropped his hand but not his smile. “I’m thinking …” The boy chewed on his bottom lip, aware the world was his oyster. “I’m thinking a baby brother.”
Talia’s eyes flicked to the woman standing off to the side. The mom pinched her lips together, but her eyes were full of mirth.
“And if I can’t get the baby brother, don’t give me a sister,” Brendan quickly followed up. “I’d rather have a puppy.”
Santa took in every word as if seriously considering gifting a brother or a puppy, but there was hesitation before he responded.
Talia took Santa’s loss for words as her cue to rescue him. “I think your mom wants a picture.” Talia nodded toward the beaming mother. “You could sit there next to Santa.” She pointed to one of the empty spaces next to him on the couch.
Talia couldn’t help but feel impressed with the guy in the red suit. He hadn’t cajoled, bribed, or enticed the kid into trusting him. He hadn’t lied to him about who he was. Instead, he’d all but acknowledged that the kid was right and then got him to participate anyway. Well played, Santa.
The boy hopped up next to Santa, who, instead of putting an arm around the kid, hooked an elbow onto the boy’s shoulder and grinned at the camera Hartford Hope had set up. Talia clicked the remote to snap the picture, and then let Brendan return to his mom.
For the next hour and a half
, Talia and Santa ran the dance of ushering kids forward, listening to their hopes and wishes, snapping photographs, and delivering them back to waiting parents. Though at first the supply of children had appeared to be unending, eventually, the line thinned, and Santa and elf were given a short break.
Tucked back into the employee lounge for a few moments, Santa removed the cottony beard, ran a hand through his hair, and sighed. “They’re fun but exhausting.” He flopped into one of the molded plastic chairs, and it skidded noisily a few inches across the linoleum.
She blinked. He looked familiar, but she didn’t think she actually knew him. Maybe he just had one of those faces—the kind a single woman would have a hard time not taking a second, third, or fortieth look at. With a smile like his, he could be cast in an orthodontist commercial. He had dark curly hair, and skin the color of an August tan. Tan in December, even in Texas and even for a man who had the muscles of someone who worked outdoors for a living—when had she thought that before?
From the water cooler, she filled a paper cup and then chose a chair catty-corner from him across the table. Her feet practically sighed with relief when she sat, and the pressure in her head from the clamoring crowd of chaotic hooligans abated.
An upbeat pop song came over the loudspeaker, and even though his shoulders had drooped with fatigue, “Santa” bounced out the rhythm with a knee that he didn’t seem to have control over. That was when she saw it, that moment in her car, and she knew.
“Oh!” She pointed at him, her hand unsteady in her excitement. “You’re the car dancer!” She stopped pointing and slapped her thigh. “I knew I recognized you!” When he didn’t respond immediately confirming her accusation, she continued. He had to remember. “From Saturday. You were singing along with the radio, and I was in the car next to you.”
Recognition was sparking in his eyes, and with it, his smile emerged.
“I thought we were listening to the same song until we put our windows down.” She laughed at the memory. Their songs couldn’t have been further apart. She extended her hand. “Talia Thomas.”
Santa Cam Page 4