Mrs. Claus

by Amanda Lanclos

  It wasn’t a lie, not really. He didn’t know. Or maybe he did and wasn’t sure how to deal with it, until it slapped him upside the head and there was no option other than to face it, say it. Or not say anything. Lord knows so much was said when he didn’t even really say much at all. It was his eyes. His eyes gave him away. The man had no ticks, no tells, showed no signs of what he was thinking, but in that moment, I saw everything. And none of it was good.

  It’s time to let go.

  The week passes by quickly. Then another. Before I know it, we’re nearing the last weekend before Christmas.

  My time is spent in the office, which is located on the second floor of the courthouse, or in one of the first floor courtrooms. After my successful outcome against Brandon, the DA gave me a handful of additional cases to try. Each one a little trickier than the last. I find myself putting in a few extra hours at night, just to prove to my boss, and maybe even myself, that I can handle the workload.

  I haven’t seen much of Brandon, except while we’re at the community center. And even then, he splits as soon as our shift is over. He’s working a few big cases that bring him to our offices, but the DA is prosecuting them himself. He always takes the big cases; the ones that will give him the most glory and paint him as the hero.

  Work, work, work. That’s why I choose to finally head home on this particular Friday night, instead of going with Steph to a small club she loves to frequent. The music is loud and the drinks expensive, which helps keep the younger crowd from taking it over. She has gotten me there once, right after I moved here, but I haven’t been too excited to go back.

  On my way home from the office, I stop at a strip mall for some Chinese takeout. I’ve been here several times, stopping and grabbing my favorite fried rice and teriyaki shrimp before heading home to get lost in a case file. But tonight, as I pull into the familiar parking lot, I find myself walking towards the Barnes & Noble. Even though I do most of my reading on my tablet, there’s just something amazing about holding a paperback in your hand. It’s been so long since I’ve read anything for pure enjoyment, and not pertaining to work, but I think that’s why I’m smiling warmly as I slip inside the large book outlet in search of something mysterious and steamy.

  I generally gravitate towards Lisa Gardner or James Patterson when it comes to my mysteries, but not tonight. This evening, I find myself needing something a little sexier. I’m sure it has to do with the fact that my hormones are all sorts of crazy since the start of my little Saturday run-ins with the devil.

  I have tunnel vision as I make my way over to the romance section. It’s weird being in this particular area of the bookstore, but I’m determined to grab something packed with mystery with a side of love story. A few of the titles catch my eye, but if I were judging by the mostly naked man on the cover and the suggestiveness of the title, I’d say they are light on the mystery and heavy on the romance.

  And maybe that wouldn’t be so bad either…

  Finally, I find a small section of romantic mystery books. I pay no attention to the author or cover, but flip over the book and read the synopsis on the back first. I want a book that draws me in immediately, just by reading a handful of sentences about the book, not by the gorgeous guy gracing the cover.

  Within a few minutes, I have two books that have my complete attention. One is about former lovers who are thrown back together when the heroine finds herself in trouble. Of course, the hero is the only one who can protect her. The second book is a murder mystery where the main suspect and one of the detectives investigating appear to be unable to stay away from each other. Both look really good.

  “I’d go with the left one. I mean, I’m all for former loves finding their way back to each other,” a husky voice says softly over my shoulder.

  “Then I’ll go with the right,” I quip, keeping both books in my hands and slowly turning to face the man I loathe.

  “Suit yourself. Either way, it looks like the heroine is gonna get some.” Brandon winks once and the corner of his lip slowly curls upward in that sexy way I remember.

  “Anyway,” I start, slowly walking towards the cashier, “It was nice to see you again.”

  “And to think, you’ll get to see me again tomorrow. All day long.” Again, he grins.

  “Lucky me,” I mumble, giving him my back and standing in line to check out.

  “So, no big date?” he asks, completely ignoring the cold shoulder I’m giving him and standing beside me.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but no. I’ve been working long hours this week and turned down an invitation to go out tonight in favor of heading home and relaxing with a book,” I reply, grabbing my credit card from my wallet and setting my books on the counter.

  “Naked relaxing?” he whispers. His breath fans against my ear and sends shivers down my spine.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” I retort, paying for my books.

  “Actually, I would. I recall several instances of naked studying.”

  Rolling my eyes, I sign my receipt and grab my bag before heading towards the door. I don’t have to glance over my shoulder to know that he’s following behind me. It’s like my spidey sense is tingling.

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I ask, turning on the sidewalk and heading towards the Chinese restaurant next door.

  “Nope,” he says, holding up his own Barnes & Noble bag. “I was planning to do a little reading this evening.”

  Stopping on the sidewalk, I turn and face him. “Reading? What kind of reading?” I ask, slightly curious as to what types of books Brandon reads. Instead of answering with words, he holds open his bag. Glancing down, I see three books. The one on top is a biography on William Shatner, which doesn’t surprise me in the least, since he’s a closet Star Trek geek. The second book is a historical novel about Wyatt Earp and his brothers, but it’s the third book that has all of my attention.

  Reaching into his bag, I grab the copy of ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas. It’s a newer children’s edition with large pictures and big print. Without even realizing it, I open up the book to the first page and absently touch the photo. Suddenly, the words are flowing from my lips without reading them. I know this book by heart. It was always my favorite growing up, and I recall my mom reading it every Christmas Eve to me before bed.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble. Glancing down, I had turned the page of my favorite storybook. Quickly, I close the book and slide it back into his bag, my cheeks warm with embarrassment.

  “Don’t be. I see it’s still a favorite,” he says softly, reminding me of the way he used to talk to me…right before he kissed me silly.

  “It is.” Clearing my throat, I glance up into his startling eyes. They’re focused intently on me, and I swear he can see directly into my soul.

  Clearing his own throat, he says, “Listen, I was just about to grab some dinner. Do you want to join me?”

  My heart speeds up, but I’m not sure if it’s from excitement or something else. I shouldn’t want to go to dinner with him, but here I am, faintly ecstatic that he offered. Of course, there’s no way I can go. Sure, there are many things I need to say to him, but I don’t need to do it in a crowded restaurant. For all intents and purposes, I could invite him back to my place – so we could have the talk – but I don’t think that’s a wise decision either. The thought of Brandon Frost being in my personal space again is doing things to my body that would surely land me on the Naughty List.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say, lacking any conviction at all.

  “Probably not, but it beats the hell out of eating dinner alone. And it would give us a chance to catch up. You know, two old friends talking about what’s happened in our lives and all that.”

  And as if I were just doused with a bucket of cold water, his words permeate the fog that he creates.

  Friends.

  Brandon isn’t asking me out. He’s being polite. Obviously, he doesn’t have a date, which must
be rare for a man like him. In fact, he’s so unused to the fact that he’s alone this evening that he’s willing to ask his old girlfriend, the one who hates his guts and sentenced him to community service doing the one thing he hates in this world, to hang out with him for a bit. I don’t know who I pity more: him or me.

  Me. Definitely me.

  Because I was actually considering it.

  “Actually, I have somewhere I need to be.”

  “Where?” he challenges.

  “Nowhere.”

  “Are you blowing me off, No?” he asks, stepping forward and invading my personal space once more.

  “No, I just don’t think that us getting together to reminisce is that great of an idea. We ended for a reason, right? No need to pretend to be interested in what the other’s been up to. If that were the case, one of us would have contacted the other way before now.”

  Brandon nods his head slowly, the slightest sadness filling his hazel eyes. “I guess you’re right.”

  “Of course I am. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, the words getting stuck in my throat for some crazy reason.

  “Tomorrow,” he confirms, stepping aside and allowing me to pass.

  I don’t head to the Chinese restaurant for food, but instead slide into my car and drive home on autopilot. Even the constant Christmas carols do nothing to pick up my dark mood.

  Why pretend we’re friends? We’re not friends. We’re not anything. We’re two people who used to love each other as if we were the only two people in the world. We used to wrap ourselves in each other’s arms. We used to give each other our hearts, and bodies. Two people who had it all, only to lose it just as quickly.

  Now, we’re two strangers.

  And I’ve never felt so alone.

  Sleepless Nights & Red Lace

  I didn’t sleep for shit.

  Not a wink.

  I kept replaying her words over and over until I was ready to throw punches and chase them with whiskey. Of all the words she’s said over the last few weeks, nothing has stuck with me like these.

  One of us would have contacted the other way before now.

  If she only knew how many times I picked up the phone, only to put it back down again without letting the call connect. Or how about the times I stood on the opposite side of her apartment door, my hand raised and ready to knock, just to realize she was better off without me.

  Only…what if she wasn’t?

  Having her here, in Springfield, is doing a number on me. I should let her be, move on with my life, but you know what? I. Can’t. My heart remembers every beat, my fingers recall every touch, my mind recollects every moment we were together. And even though I should walk away, I fucking can’t.

  I won’t.

  Not this time.

  This time, things will be different. This time around, I won’t walk away. I won’t lie to her, because when I told her I didn’t want what she wanted, that was a lie. Because I wanted her. Her dreams, her happiness, her future. I wanted that, and yet I let it go.

  But that stops today.

  I’ll start with an apology. An apology that is five fucking years too late. I’ll erase every bit of hurt that clouds her blue eyes and replace it with laughter. That’s my purpose in this world. I realized it at three a.m. this morning when I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop thinking about her. Even when Coletta showed up at my door last night, wanting the one thing I’ve always been able to offer without messy strings, I thought of Noel. That’s why I politely declined and sent her on her way.

  My Noel.

  It’s time to man the fuck up and fight. Even if the end result is her walking away, unable to forgive me, I will fight. Because sometimes in life, that’s all you have. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to lie down or walk away like the asshole I was before.

  It’s time to fight for my girl.

  I’m early when I arrive at the community center on Saturday morning. Not only do I have a tall, very strong, very black coffee from the local coffee house, but I have one of those frothy girly minty drinks with candy cane sprinkles on the top. It’s right up her alley.

  When she finally arrives a few minutes late, she appears just as tired as me. “Long night?” I ask, smiling as I extend the hand holding her fancy coffee beverage.

  “Uhhh, I stayed up way too late reading the book. But it just got so good, and I kept telling myself one more chapter. Next thing I knew, it was three a.m. and the book was finished.” She doesn’t even fight it, just takes the drink in both hands and swallows. Then she smiles…and moans. She fucking moans loud enough that my dick hears, waking up from my self-imposed hibernation, and standing painfully at attention in my jeans.

  “Uhhhh, which one?”

  “Which one?”

  “Books. Which one did you read?” I ask, walking beside her as we make our way to the offices we’re using as dressing rooms.

  Noel glances down at her drink, but I can still see the blush that creeps up her cheeks. “The old flames one.”

  “Ahhh, yes. The former lovers who find themselves thrown into an impossible situation, which essentially rekindles their love.”

  “You’ve read it?” she asks, her eyebrows arching and disappearing behind wayward loose blonde curls.

  “No, but I got the gist of it from the back cover.”

  Noel stops outside the door she’s been changing in, and part of me (the part that’s just south of the belt) wants to accompany her inside. “Thank you for this. I love peppermint.”

  “I know,” I say, leaning forward and inhaling. (Her perfume, not the peppermint.) “I remember.”

  Her ocean blue eyes hold mine for several heartbeats and I start to wonder if she’s going to say something. Too quickly, the connection is broken and she slips inside the room. But before the door closes completely, our gazes connect once more and I feel it clear down to my toes. Her smile is timid, but there nonetheless.

  Hope buds in my chest.

  When the door finally closes, I head into the office to change. The suit is regularly dry cleaned, which I’m more than grateful for. I’ve had more pee and drool on me in the last few weeks than I have in my entire life. Yet it doesn’t freak me out the way it normally does. Instead, I smile as I slip into the freshly cleaned suit, transforming myself into the big guy from the North Pole.

  And all I can think about is Mrs. Claus…

  I’ll call it progress that Mrs. Claus sat at the same table as I did during the luncheon. I mean, even if she was at the other end of the long eight-foot table, at least she didn’t sit across the room, throwing hateful subliminal messaging through the air, disguising them as Christmas carols.

  We’ve been going for about fifteen minutes when little Johnny comes up and climbs on my lap. He’s a weird shade of gray, with bright pink cheeks, and his appearance has me a little concerned. I’m not in tune with the particulars of a sick kid, but red warning flags are waving.

  “Are you okay, little dude?” I ask, again, completely forgetting my Santa voice.

  Instead of answering, the boy gives me a short little head nod. I mean, it could be that he’s just overly excited to be here, but something tells me that’s not the case. Noel must sense my worry, and steps forward and crouches down beside the little guy.

  “Hi, there. My name is Mrs. Claus. What’s yours?”

  “Johnny.”

  “Johnny, are you feeling alright today? Does your belly hurt?” she asks, reaching forward and placing her hand on his forehead in what I would consider a motherly way.

  Little Johnny nods his head, and before anyone can say anything else, the little puker vomits all over the front of Mrs. Claus’s dress. “Holy shit!” I exclaim, surprised that such a large amount of brown nastiness could spew from such a little body.

  “Oh no!” a woman exclaims, rushing forward and grabbing the little boy from my lap. “I can’t believe you said that!” she scolds, her heated eyes turned directly at me. Of course she’d focus on my little slip of
the tongue, and not the fact that her son just upchucked all over my wife.

  Well, not wife…

  You know what I mean.

  “I can’t believe you brought a sick kid to visit Santa,” I retort, angry at the situation, yet embarrassingly glad it was Noel who was vomited on and not me. Yes, I know, I’m totally a Scroogey douche, but I don’t do vomit, okay?

  I instantly stand up to help Noel, but am struck silent when I realize that, despite being covered in kid puke, she’s gazing at the little guy and offering a warm smile. “It’s okay, Johnny. Go home and get some rest so you’re feeling better for Christmas on Tuesday. I hope your tummy feels better soon,” she says softly. I’m reminded of how much of a genuinely amazing person Noel Winters is. Instead of lashing out like me, she embraces the situation, and still smiles.

  “There’s another costume in the closet in your room. Why don’t you go get cleaned up quickly, and we’ll work on the mess here,” Sheila whispers, suddenly at my side with towels and a bottle of some sort of magic puke cleaner.

  I stand back while the volunteers get to work on tidying up the Santa area. There’s not much I can do, so I opt to take a few moments to go check on Noel. It doesn’t take me long to make it to the room she has been getting ready in. I throw a quick knock on the door, and without waiting for a reply, push it open and enter.

  And stop dead in my tracks.

  Noel’s very wide, very blue eyes are staring straight at me, her mouth hanging open. She may even be talking to me (or yelling), but all I see is the vision in red. No, not the Mrs. Claus costume she had been wearing, but what she has been apparently hiding beneath it! Red lace, and very little of it. My tongue is dangling from my mouth, and I’m pretty sure I’m drooling. My Noel is standing before me, wearing a tiny little red bra and panty set, that I’m pretty sure I’m going to be jacking off to memories of, later this evening.

  “Get out,” she demands, probably not for the first time.