“Fine.” I got out of the car.
“Hey,” he said when I shot him a withering glance, “I told you I always take care of my elves.”
* * *
The tow truck driver turned out to be a dear. His name was Ed. He was, indeed, eighty. And he had never gone a single night in fifty-seven years of marriage without telling his wife he loved her as she was getting ready for bed. I really hoped we didn’t keep him out too late.
“And in forty-two years of operating this business, I’ve never picked up a Santa and his missus before,” he said with a chuckle.
I didn’t have the heart to point out that I was only a lowly elf.
At least the truck cab was warm and toasty if a bit cramped. Not that I minded that much. Nate’s muscled thigh being the object I was crushed against. He lifted his arm over the back of the seat, and I had silly schoolgirl visions of him brushing his hand against my shoulder. By the time we reached the driveway of my tiny rental on the edge of Decatur, I had already picked out the name of our firstborn.
Ed hopped out to unhitch my car.
“Thanks again,” I said to Nate. “That would have been a lot scarier alone.”
“It was nothing.” But there was something in his eyes that told me he’d already thought of exactly what the scenario could have looked like if I had been by myself.
The glass in the cab steamed over quickly. My breath was coming faster than normal, but between the adrenaline rush of the tire and the relief of getting home, I was powerless to stop it. Ed came over to the window and tapped. Nate rolled it down.
“Mistletoe, you two,” he said and pointed at his rearview mirror. “I forgot I put it up.”
“Oh, look at that.” My heart did a weird pit-a-pat thing, and I had to give myself a mental slap. “Maybe next time.”
“First time in forty-two years I pick up Mr. and Mrs. Claus. And they’re not gonna kiss under the mistletoe?” Ed’s face transformed to that of a wistful puppy dog.
“Forty-two years,” murmured Nate. “That’s a long time.”
“All right.” My cheeks fought off a smile. And lost. “Mistletoe is mistletoe.”
I faced Nate, leaned forward, and closed my eyes, bracing myself for the chaste peck to come. Nate’s body heat radiated off him as he shifted in his seat and scooted even closer to me. Oh, God, he smelled good. He lifted my chin and drew my face toward his. When he was so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my lips, though, my eyes popped open and I pressed my index finger up against his mouth.
“Is there a real Mrs. Claus?”
“Nope.” The word curved around my finger in a caress of its own. He continued to move toward me despite its presence.
But I blocked his path once more with a second finger.
“A Significant Other Claus?”
“Not even a Casually Dating Claus.” He shook his head ever-so-slightly.
I snickered, threatening the mood, but I couldn’t help it.
“That sounds like a line item in some kind of bizarre billionaire’s pre-nup contract.”
Nate let out a sound that was somewhere between a cough and a laugh, his breath wrapping around my fingertips like warm gauze.
“Forty-two years, Jen,” he said as he gently grasped my wrist, lowering my hand without letting go of it.
And then his bottom lip brushed against mine in a movement so sweet, so soft, so perfect that my chest literally ached. His lips parted just enough to tease as he drew my mouth into the kiss. The ache in my core turned to fire as we moved together in an unforced rhythm, matched in what I hoped was the same silent undercurrent of wanting. My free hand drifted to Nate’s chest.
“Ahem.” Ed coughed, and we broke apart. “Not sure my cab’s seen that many sparks since the day the the radiator exploded.”
With the connection severed, I became suddenly and painfully aware of every teensy detail of our reality. The fact that I had only known Nate for less than eight hours. The realization that he had merely felt obligated to kiss me because of the mistletoe and that there had probably been zero attraction on his end. And the oh-so-humiliating issue of me still wearing what amounted to a too-small corset with ruffled, red undies.
“I should go.” I twisted around to grab my stuff and promptly whacked my head against the rearview mirror. When I pulled away from it, the clump of mistletoe tangled in my hair, and I ended up having to wrench the whole mass of greenery out with my fingernails.
“Thank you again.” I scooted past the steering wheel as quickly as I could, honking the horn twice on my way.
I lifted the sprig of mistletoe over Ed’s head and gave him a peck on his wrinkled cheek before handing it back to him.
“See you tomorrow,” Nate called out the window.
I waved as I opened my door. Fran chased the the headlights’ glare across my living room after I’d shut the door and bolted it behind me. I leaned with my back pressed against the wall. I could still feel his lips pressed against mine--the way he’d looked at me, touched me, kissed me.
I picked up a catalog off my sofa’s end table and fanned myself.
This was one elf who was going to need a cold shower.
Three
“All right. Tell me your news.” I slipped my face into a mask of neutrality in an attempt to feign surprise.
The truth was, I knew exactly what my best friend Annie was about to say. She was perched like a little bird on the edge of my kitchen counter. She’d come over first thing in the morning bearing coffee and a gazillion-watt smile that could have blinded someone.
The reason I knew what she was going to tell me--the source of her uncontainable grin--was that her husband Evan had consulted me about that surprise less than a week ago.
“Is it too over-the-top?” he had asked. “Getting down on one knee again and proposing? And I was thinking of doing it in the same spot where I’d originally asked her.”
“Evan, have you ever done anything for Annie that hasn’t been completely over-the-top? It’s kind of your thing.”
But I couldn’t begrudge my best friend this happiness. Not for one moment. And especially not after everything she and Evan had gone through over the last year. She’d been in a car accident and suffered from post-traumatic amnesia, leaving her with a patchy, swiss cheese memory of the start to their relationship.
It was improving, but every recovered memory was a victory.
“Evan proposed,” she said with a squeal.
I squealed, too, and threw my arms around her to draw her into a tight hug. She deserved this happiness. They both did.
“That’s awesome,” I said. There was only one small detail. “You do remember that you’re already married, though, don’t you? For like, a year now. You’re not having a relapse or something, are you?”
“No, silly.” She smacked me on the arm. “We’re going to renew our vows.”
“Yay! When?”
“Two weeks from now.”
“Two weeks?” Okay, that had caught me by surprise. I thought they’d wait a few months and have a big shindig. Their first wedding had been tiny, just family and close friends.
“We realized we can actually do it in the exact same location as our wedding on Amelia Island. But we have to do it in the middle of the week to reserve that many rooms. It’s perfect, though, because Tuesday after next is our actual anniversary.”
“Tuesday.” That was less than two weeks.
Annie’s brow knit together.
“Oh, do you have to work? I didn’t think about you starting your new job. Well, you have to be there. We’ll change the date if we have to, and—”
“No. No, Tuesday’s fine.” I actually had both that Tuesday and Wednesday off. Our busiest times were still on the weekend. They didn’t even have Santa hours Tuesday and Wednesday until the final week before Christmas. And it was too bad because with a new tire to pay for, I could have really used the extra money from more shifts.
“Oh, good.” S
he relaxed. “I’ve already reserved a block of rooms. Just call the innkeeper to put your name on it.”
“Yay.” I hugged her close so she couldn’t see the look of worry in my eye. Make that a new tire and a room at the swanky boutique hotel.
Evan came in a few minutes later and wiped a smear of grease on a filthy towel.
“You’re all set with the spare,” he said. “But Annie and I will follow you to the tire store.”
“Thank you so much for changing the tire, Evan. But you guys don’t have to do that.”
“Ehh, the tread’s pretty worn, even on your spare, Jen,” he said. “I’d feel better if we followed you.”
“Okay, yeah. Good point. Thanks.” I’d known for awhile that I needed new tires, but with the layoff then the broken ankle, there hadn’t been a good time. I felt a flush of embarrassment flood my cheeks.
Annie rode with me on the way to the store.
“I don’t know how I’m going to get through the next couple weeks,” she said. “I’m already about to pop with excitement. I wonder if this is how I felt before our first wedding. Oh my gosh. Wouldn’t it be amazing if this helped bring all the original memories back, too?”
“That would be incredible.”
“We’re going to do a big bonfire down on the beach, and the catering company is going to set up a tent right there on the sand for dinner. I can’t wait. Mom insists on sending out RSVP cards. So stupid with it being so close out, and we already know who’s coming. It’s just going to be the same guest list. But you know how Mom is. Don’t worry about sending yours back, though. I’ve already got you down for one.”
Ouch. I guess I was that predictable. And pathetic. Not that I blamed her for the assumption. It wasn’t like I’d been beating away suitors in recent memory. Last night’s mistletoe smooch had been the hottest thing that had happened to me in...well, ever.
That kiss had awakened parts of me that had been asleep a long, long time.
Dang it. I was tired of being the girl in the room who never had a plus one.
“Actually,” I said--and the only way I can explain the words that came out of my mouth next is to plead temporary insanity. “I’ll be bringing someone.”
Noooooo. What lunacy was that? Someone? Why had I said that? There was no someone.
But even as I clutched my steering wheel in disbelief at my own idiotic lie, a part of me knew exactly why I had said it. It had been six months of dealing with the well-meaning looks of condolence. Six months of half-muttered excuses of why it was no big deal for my friends and family to cover my share of the tab at restaurants. Six months of feeling pathetic and less-than.
It had been longer than that, actually. I’d been the third wheel for years. Or the fifth, the seventh, the ninth. Friends would set me up with co-workers and such, but after a few awkward dates, it tended to fizzle. I hadn’t had a serious boyfriend in years.
“What?” Annie clasped my knee. “Why didn’t you tell me? Who is he? How long have you been seeing each other?”
“It’s still really new,” I said. As in, non-existent.
“Well?” she said. “Tell me everything.”
“Oh, you know, there’s not much to tell. I’ve been busy. He’s a great guy. Super nice. He’d give you the shirt off his back.”
Or insist on seeing you safely home and paying for your tow truck even though he’d just met you. Because I realized that somewhere between the moment that I’d voiced my bald-faced lie and begun describing my mystery boyfriend, this nameless, faceless man had acquired both a name and a face.
“He’s . . . unbelievably hot.” I gulped. No lie there.
“What’s his name?” asked Annie.
“Nate.” Well, there. I’d done it. No going back now.
“And you think he can come? I can’t wait to meet him.”
“Maybe. I hope so. I mean, it will depend on his work schedule.” What the hell was I saying? There was no way I was going to ask him to do this. This was ridiculous. I was going to go to this vow renewal solo. Like always. And sit by myself or next to Annie’s obnoxious Great Aunt Millicent. Like always.
And be alone. Like always.
“Oh my gosh.” Annie clapped her hands together and squealed. “You’re dating someone. This takes the perfect day and makes it even more perfect.”
“Yeah. Perfect.”
A perfect nightmare.
Four
Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap.
Where were they? I’d scoured my hamper, my room, and my bathroom. I couldn’t find my elf tights anywhere. And now, I was running late. If I didn’t hurry, I’d miss the bus, and I’d have to wait for the next one, which would put me twenty minutes late for work.
“Crap.” I plopped on my couch, and a striped piece of nylon popped out from behind the cushion. Victory.
I grabbed it and shoved it in my bag, racing out the door.
And ran headlong into Nate. He was standing on my front porch, hand hovering over the doorbell.
“Oof.” He tugged one of my hairs out of his mouth. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I looked around, confused. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought you might need a ride if your car wasn’t ready. Sorry. I would have called but I forgot to get your number last night.” He said it nonchalantly. He forgot to get my number. Which implied he had meant to get my number.
“You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to. Besides, I told you. I always--”
“Take care of your elves, yeah.” It still had to be miles out of his way. And traffic was always a pain in Atlanta, no matter what time of day it was. But there was also a good chance I’d missed my bus, and I couldn’t risk losing this job.
“Thanks,” I said as I climbed into his truck. It was a good twenty years old. No bucket seats in this bad boy. It was like driving around on a couch from the eighties. When he turned the key, though, the engine purred like it was brand new. I buckled in, careful to place my bag between us like it was a physical barrier to the memory of last night’s kiss.
But then Nate reached behind the seat and pulled out a familiar-looking box, and all thoughts of propriety flew out of my mind.
“My nemesis,” I said.
He’d brought the good stuff. Glazed Krispy Kremes doughnuts in all their gooey, deep-fried glory. I reached over and felt the box.
“Still warm.” I raised one eyebrow.
“Fresh off the conveyor belt.”
“Be still my heart.” Of course, with the saturated fat content on just one of these little buggers, that threat might be literal.
“Help yourself.” Nate propped open the lid and wafted some of the heavenly aroma my direction. He wore a plain white, form-fitting tee that clung to his torso. I didn’t even want to know how he managed to eat Krispy Kremes and still maintain that six-pack.
He flipped on the radio, turning the old-fashioned dial until it picked up some Christmas music.
“So, why Santa?” I asked. “You mentioned that you like spreading joy or whatever, but surely there are some easier ways to earn a few extra bucks during the holidays.”
“It’s not about the money. I genuinely enjoy it. I get to talk to kids who still believe in Santa, even if everything in their life tells them he’s not real. And I like the invisibility of it. When I put on the beard, I am Santa. Nate disappears for a little while. There’s something freeing about that.”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
“And this year, I have the added benefit of a cool elf to talk to during the slow times.” His mouth quirked up, and it hit me again. He was flirting with me.
I wasn’t complaining. At all. It was just that it had been so long since something good--truly good--had happened to me. There had been the mess of the past six months with my unemployment, yes. That was my obvious claim to living in Crapville. But I’d been in a rut a lot longer than that. My job had bored me since the moment I’d accepted the position. I could code in my s
leep, but I didn’t really enjoy doing it for a mega-corporation like Crainfield.
And my personal life was, well...I’d invented a fake boyfriend so I didn’t have to go to another wedding alone. Enough said.
I loved my girlfriends, but I hated always being that friend. And I knew they meant well when they tried to set me up with their increasingly dwindling pool of single male buddies. But those single males always seemed to fall into one of two categories.
Either they were nice enough but with absolutely zero spark between the two of us. Or I was instantly attracted to them, only to discover they were lugging around more baggage than a cruise ship porter.
Whichever it was, it made it hard to respond to Nate’s flirtations with anything other than a hefty dose of skepticism.
Because I was definitely attracted to the man. Which meant he must be hiding some terrifying secret that would make me turn tail and run like Rudolph the moment I found out what it was.
My phone rang, and I didn’t recognize the number.
“Hi, this is Jen,” I answered.
“Hi. This is Norm from the tire shop.”
“Oh, hi. Is my car ready?”
“Er, no. I was calling to let you know that you need four new tires,” he said.
“All four? They’re that bad?”
“Legally, I don’t know if I can even allow you to drive off without a new set.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s a sales tactic you use on all your customers.”
“They’re smooth as a newborn baby’s butt, ma’am.”
Sigh.
“What will the cheapest set run me?”
I almost choked when he gave me the quote.
“That’s the cheapest?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, then.” I sighed and read him off my credit card number, wincing at what the bill would be this month. One more mishap, and I’d be precariously close to maxing out my card. But there was no choice. I needed my car to get to work.
After I’d hung up, Nate handed me another doughnut.
Into Santa: A Secret Billionaire Christmas Romance Page 2