“We—” Stetson begins but is cut short when his dad raises his hand.
“I’d like to hear from Charlie.” Santa interrupts.
I gulp.
I look over at Stetson and smile awkwardly before meeting his dad’s gaze.
“We met when we were out looking for polar bears,” I tell him. “Your son stopped one dead in its tracks.”
“He did?” Santa cocks a brow.
“He sure did,” I nod. “I’ve never seen anything like it, not even on National Geographic or a Netflix documentary.”
Stetson’s dad throws his head back and has a hearty laugh.
“No, I’m sure you haven’t.” He grins. “Showing off for the lady.”
“It was pretty epic,” I must admit and give Stetson a smile as I chop more veggies for the soup, careful not to cut off a finger now that I’m thinking about his heroism again.
“And did the ground shift beneath your feet?” Stetson’s dad pins him with his astute gaze.
Did the ground shift? Huh. What a strange question.
Stetson’s quiet for a second. He stands up and makes his way to the fridge and pulls out a few bottles of what I’m assuming is a beer. Is he shaking? Why would the ground shifting matter?
One reads: Frosty Ale. Another, Claus Lager with a hint of cinnamon cheer.
“Well?” His father prods.
Stetson couldn’t look more serious if he tried.
And strangely, not very happy about it.
“Indeed, it did, not just the ground, my world.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“That was the best Christmas stew I’ve ever had in my life.”
Honestly, I’ve never had Christmas stew before but I’m going to take a wild guess and bet that this is probably the best anyone could ever had.
And made by St. Nick himself.
Stetson has been oddly quiet, or maybe just reflective. I don’t know if it’s the stew that’s subdued him or if he’s still thinking about his father’s intrusive question.
“I’m glad you loved it,” the man of the hour says in pleasure as he leans back in his chair. “This was Stetson’s favorite meal as a child. There was a long period he ate it for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”
I smile at Stetson.
“Breakfast too?” I tease. “I’d expect only donuts for you.”
His dad thinks this is vastly amusing.
“He was salty until he turned thirteen.”
“Salty?” I ask.
His dad shrugs and rubs his beard.
