Holly starts to walk again and I move to follow, but I slam into her back when she stops abruptly a second later.
“Holly, what?”
She turns around, her hair smacking me in the face. She grabs my arms and shakes me back and forth with excitement. “Vixen! Oh my god.”
“What is it?” I babble through the jostling.
She stops her shaking and points to Santa’s Village in front of us, like she just discovered the real North Pole.
“I know just the person to ask for your Christmas miracle!”
I look from her to Santa’s Village. The center of the Grove City Mall has been turned into a kitschy North Pole. There’s a couple of little tents that have hot chocolate and crafts, even a little fakeice rink with animatronic elves skating on it. At the end of the village is a cute, tiny cabin they put up each year that houses the mall's Santa Claus—who just happens to be played by Holly’s dad.
Holly’s very hot, single dad, Mr. Saint. Aka Cole.
“You’re joking.”
She tugs on my hand to lead me toward the entrance, but I pull back in protest.
“I’m not going to ask your dad for a one-night stand!”
Holly cackles, then makes a gagging noise. “You’re not going to ask my dad for a one-night stand, gross. But youaregoing to askSanta Clausto bring you a man.”
“Holly!”
“What?” She crosses her arms over her chest.
“I’m not going in there.”
“Come on, Vix! I know it seems a little ridiculous, but it’s Christmas. You’ve tried the apps; you even went to that speed dating thing last month. What do you have to lose?”
“Sitting on Santa’s lap is for children. I’m twenty-five years old.”
She shrugs. “It can be for adults too. Who says people our age don’t deserve to partake in a bit of Christmas magic?”
“But it’s your dad—”
“Yeah, so? Don’t be weird about it. You’ve only met him a handful of times since we became friends in college. And here he’s Santa Claus,” she points to some children and two teens in line waiting outside of the cabin. “To all those kids, he’s him. Can’t you just for today feel some Christmas magic and go ask Santa for what you want?
Holly sticks her lower lip out in a pout that could rival any child's.
“You’re really being serious?”
She nods. “As serious as a kiss under the mistletoe.” I puff out a breath of air and look over at the village, then back to Holly, who’s still pouting, her eyes in full puppy dog mode.
Ever since I met her, she’s used those things on me. They’ve gotten even harder to resist in the last seven years, especially since she’s become like a sister to me. Not only were we roommates in college, but we still live together in a nice two bedroom in downtown Grove City. She’s the only family I have now, my single mom who adopted and raised me having passed away a few years back. “You’re not going to let me leave until I sit on Santa’s lap are you?”
“Nope,” she pops the P.
“If I do this, you’re going to owe me.”
She cheers and jumps up and down, drawing the attention of a few passersby. “I’m going to owe you nothing. In fact, I think you’re going to owe me!”
“Is that so?”
“Uh-huh, because I have a feeling this is going to work!”
Holly Saint has far too much confidence over this. But I shouldn't be surprised. She was born the day after Christmas, her mom owns a year-round Christmas store that she used to run with Cole before they split years ago, and Cole has been the mall’s Santa for the last three years. If there was anyone in the world that would believe sitting on a fake Santa’s lap and asking for my Christmas miracle would work, it would be her.
