At the end, Olivia pulled me aside. “Perfect. Just perfect,” she beamed. “You can change in that side office if you want. There are sandwiches, and Felix said to make sure you got tipped before you left.” The fee went through the agency, but this was the first time Santa had gotten a tip. I couldn't decide if that was amusing or sad.
He was waiting by the glass wall, drink in hand, alone. I stripped off the suit in the tiny office, hands shaking. I changed into jeans and a sweater, tried to flatten my hair, wiped at the red marks on my cheeks. I didn’t look like Santa anymore, but I didn’t look like myself either. Not really.
I slipped out, gripping the duffel bag tight, and found him still watching the city, back to the room. He waited until I was three steps away.
“You’re good at that.” His voice was low. For me alone. He'd known it was me.
I couldn’t breathe. “Thanks, sir.” Was I supposed to call him sir here? In public? My ears burned, and I didn’t know where tolook. I shoved my hands into my pockets and tried to pretend I was just another contract worker. But Felix turned, took in the rumpled jeans and cheap sweater, and smiled. Not a boardroom smile, not even the club smile. Just for me.
“You did well,” he said. “Better than well.” He studied me, blue eyes sharp as glass, but he didn’t say anything more. Just looked, slowly, like he was seeing every bit of me, not just the Santa suit or the pathetic duffel.
I could feel my face getting hotter. I tried to look anywhere but at him, but it was impossible. The city lights glinted off his hair, and I knew I’d remember this moment for the rest of my life, even if it was nothing. He gestured to the low couch by the windows. “You want to sit?”
I nodded, too quickly, and followed him. The glass made me feel exposed, but the way he watched me made everything else fade to the background. He sat first, then waited until I’d settled. I perched right on the edge, holding the bag tight in my lap.
“Do you like doing this?” His voice was lower now, just for me. “The parties. The kids. All of it?”
I nodded, forcing myself to actually meet his gaze. “Yeah. I do. It’s…nice to be good at something again.”
He was silent. I counted two heartbeats, three. Then he shifted, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.
“You’re good with people.” He said it like a fact. “The kids, the parents. My sister adores you.”
I tried to laugh, but it stuck in my throat. I wanted to be adored, but not by his sister. “I just like making people happy, I guess. Always have.”
He watched me, and the silence stretched. I couldn’t tell if it was awkward or just intense. With Felix, everything felt more real. Even when he wasn’t touching me. Especially then.
My hands started shaking. I tucked them under the duffel, out of sight.
He must have noticed anyway, because his mouth twitched, and he reached over, just resting his hand on my wrist, heavy and warm. “You hungry?”
Chapter seven
Felix
“Hungry?” I repeated, softer this time, like it was a question I wasn’t sure I had the right to ask.
Clayton nodded fast, still gripping that battered duffel like it was armor. The way his shoulders hunched made something inside me twist. He’d shrink himself to fit into any corner if someone told him to. I wasn’t going to let him.
I pushed to my feet. “Let’s go.”
He blinked. “Dinner?”
“You deserve it,” I said. “You earned it. And I need a break from office food.”
His smile flickered—quick, uncertain. “You don’t have to…”
“I want to,” I said, cutting him off before he could make himself smaller again. “Come on.”
He followed me out into the December dark, half a step behind, just close enough that I could feel his hesitation. The air was sharp, wind knifing through my suit. Christmas lights blinked along the awnings—red, gold, white—all too bright against the gray city.
He shivered.
Without thinking, I shrugged off my coat and draped it over his shoulders. It swallowed him whole, but he didn’t argue. I didn’t let him.
“Keep it,” I said when he made a token protest. “You’re freezing.”
He nodded quickly, eyes wide. The way he looked at me—cautious, like I might change my mind—did something strange to my chest. People were always polite to me, deferential even, but not like that. Not like they needed kindness the way they needed air.
