Page 92 of Santa Baby

“How were you going to do it?”

“I don’t know. Tomorrow—Today. Christmas Day, her favorite day of the year. In the beginning she joked about how I needed to propose to her on New Year’s Eve and how she’d say no, ending the fake relationship. I guess I never imagined how I’d get down on one knee, not then, when it was just a game, and not now. I just wanted her to say yes. I was just thinking about the days after, you know. Being married. Having her as my wife. A life together.”

Colin stood, dusting snow and ice from his jeans, which he rarely wore. “Well, we don’t have much time.”

“Time for what?”

“I owe you both big time, so this is what we’re doing to do.”

The diner just across from Central Park was busy for Christmas morning, but I guessed it never closed, even on the biggest holiday of the year. Colin and I were both mostly frozen as we clutched our coffee mugs and ignored the suspicious glances of the waitress as she took our order, our teeth chattering between words.

I wasn’t sure how we pulled it off, but we did. My hands shook as I pulled a red envelope and a new pack of ballpoint pens from a shopping bag beside me.

“What do I even say?” I grumbled, shivering, my body tingling as it adjusted to the warm air inside the diner.

“I don’t know. I’ve never proposed to anyone.” Colin downed his coffee in a single go like the scalding hot liquid didn’t scorch his throat. He shivered violently, then shook his arms free of his jacket, stuffing it in the corner of the booth. “Talk about how beautiful she is, how she’s the light of your life.”

“You really think she’d appreciate that?”

He raised his brows in thought, then smirked. “No, she’d see right through it. You can’t butter Fia up about anything.”

“I know.” I sighed, triple-checking that the ring was still secure in my pocket. I scraped through my memories. I thought of Thanksgiving when she’d picked apart my decorations. I thought of the pink dress that forever rewired my brain. I thought of kissing her for the first time, of her eyes lighting up when I gave her that ornament shaped like a little vintage camera. I thought of Deck the Decks, when I’d closed my mouth over hers, and how right it felt to be with her, her arms wrapped around my waist and her body flush with mine. A perfect fit. Like gloves. Like the gloves I wished I’d had that night we got attacked by teenagers in the park.

The same park where I was about to ask her to be my wife.

I pulled out the card stock we bought at the only open bodega we could find. With a sigh, and maybe a little bit of prayer, I clicked a pen and wrote a letter to someone more important than Santa.

The waitress placed our food on the table. “This is on me,” Colin said, handing her a stack of bills.

I wasn’t paying attention, though. My mind reeled as I wrote Fia’s name on the card and slipped it to Colin, who promptly slid it into the inner pocket of his crumpled jacket.

Operation Get Fia to Central Park was a go.

Colin scarfed down his food like he hadn’t eaten in days and quickly left, clapping me hard on the shoulder on the way, telling me to be in that park, in the spot, at noon.

That was hours away. It wasn’t even five in the morning. Was it possible to get any sleep? I looked down at my mostly untouched breakfast and gathered my things, my heart in knots as I arrived at my apartment and crashed out on the couch.

39

FIA

“Idon’t understand,” I said as Colin tugged me onto the subway. His face was still red from the absolute reaming he got from Dad about half an hour ago when he finally showed up at the house again, having missed not only our traditional Christmas pancakes, but opening presents. I clutched my new camera in the sleek leather bag I’d opened this morning, a gift that went with it, and found a seat near the doors. Colin stood, gripping the pole in front of me as the train jerked into movement. “What exactly happened last night?”

“I came to my senses and now me and Mason are dueling over you like gentlemen.”

“That’s the dumbest thing that’s ever come out of your mouth.”

He smirked, dressed in his usual wool coat and finance bro attire. He looked like hell, though, with dark circles under his eyes and a five o’clock shadow that he scratched in the crowded subway car. “Look, I met up with Mason last night and we talked it out.”

“And?” I asked impatiently.

“He’s gonna make it up to you.”

“Mason’s not a grand gestures kind of guy. Plus, that’s not what I need. I just want to talk to him since you pretty much ruined my life last night.”

He motioned to the camera bag. “You’re not as mad at me as you could have been, huh?”

His cheesy smirk burrowed into my brain, and I flushed, clutching the new camera a little tighter. “Getting me the camera I wanted doesn’t mean you’re forgiven.”