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By noon she and Donovan were able to communicate well enough that she only needed to whisper the child’s name to gain the element of surprise. Once the child said what he or she wanted, British wrote it down and gave it to Natasha, who handed it to the waiting parents on the other side of the line. A few cranky kids tugged at Santa’s beard, exposing his face. The single mothers—and a few of the not-so-single mothers—all sighed at the sight of Donovan’s dreamy smile.
The lunchtime crowd of kids was a bit stronger. A lot of them did not want to leave Santa’s side without telling him exactly everything they wanted. Donovan let them sit a little longer, though Lacey did not mind huffing out her irritation. At least Donovan practiced patience when a few of the children gripped his biceps—which the lurking moms did not mind.
“Is it me,” Stephanie asked, handing an elementary school–aged kid’s card to British, “or are we starting to see the same children over and over?”
“I thought the same,” said British. She looked at the card and mouthed the name to Donovan. She thought she knew everyone in town. Donovan, being the first African American Santa of the season, brought out the neighboring communities to the town center. Southwood’s diverse community blended races, which made it possible to have a representative from every culture that celebrated Santa. Next weekend one of the Reyes brothers would don the suit.
“Hello, Gracie,” Donovan greeted someone in his deep voice.
British headed back to where Stephanie stood. She peeked around at the never-ending line and smiled with satisfaction. She was proud at how focused the team members were...at least up until the moment another one of the GRITS girls from the after-school program ran over to whisper in Stephanie’s ear.
“OMG,” Stephanie gasped. “Excuse me, y’all,” she said to the crowd and pushed her way through.
British shook her head and tried to remember these were adolescents. She picked up the slack and brought the next child over the red threshold. While she waited, British watched Donovan. For a man with such a playboy reputation, he certainly possessed a down-home quality. He was great with the children. He’d bonded with her nieces and nephews, all of whom she did not have to remind Donovan of their names. Part of British wondered what Donovan would be like as a dad. Probably spoil the kids, she thought.
“Be careful, dear,” Joan teased, coming up behind British. “You look like you’re falling for him.”
“Whatever, Mother.” British shrugged her mother’s hug off and focused on Santa. Falling for him. Whatever. They bonded over hot sex and no promises. That worked for them, or at least that was the final compromise this morning before they’d left her bed.
“Excuse us,” Stephanie bellowed, pulling a young girl by the hand to the front of the crowd. “Excuse us. VIP here.”
“That’s Quandriguez’s sister,” explained Kathleen. “She’s deaf, you know.”
“I know,” said British.
The petrified young girl stood stock-still at the sight of Santa. She wore an ice-blue windbreaker with a blonde princess in a matching blue dress on the back.
Donovan motioned for her to step forward but not even his dazzling smile got her to budge. The crowd watched carefully. British rushed over to help but, like the girl, stood frozen. Donovan took off his glove and began to sign for the girl. At that moment the audience all gave a collective sigh and fell in love with this Santa a little more. Including British.
“Hey, Home Ec.”
British cringed at the nickname and rolled her eyes at the moment being spoiled by none other than Cam Beasley. Given the Mrs. Claus outfit she’d had to wear, she decided to mind her manners. Besides, he was probably here with his kids. The last thing they needed was to be reminded of what a jerk they had for a father.
“Cam,” British said with a droll eye-roll before turning around.
“I thought I recognized you,” Cam said, coming up to the velvet rope. Two small children flanked him on either side. “I’m surprised to find you here.”
Do not take the bait. Do not take the bait, she warned herself. “Well. I am.” She smiled sweetly and adjusted the faux gold-framed glasses slipping down her nose.
“I figured you would be practicing.”
“My girls are just fine,” British said. She pulled the curls of the gray wig away from her face and bent to face the young boy and girl with him. “Are you guys excited to meet Santa?”
The sweet children nodded and cheered, ready for the introductions. British couldn’t hold their father against them. She took their hands and led them up the walkway. Thankfully, Cam moved to the other side of the drop-off line to pick up his kids.
The next group of visitors stumped her. The gorgeous couple standing in the front didn’t have a child with them. As a matter of fact, the next half dozen women didn’t have children with them, just groups of girlfriends all pointing their cell phones at Santa.
“What is going on?” British asked Kathleen.
“The Southwood Santa is now viral and he’s more like the sexy Santa.”
British clutched the white fur collar around her throat. Her knees buckled. The back of her throat became dry. “Kathleen,” she gasped, shocked at the photograph.
“What?” Kathleen shoved her bedazzled cell phone in British’s face. “Everyone is talking about it.”
Shielding the screen with her hand from the blaring afternoon sun, British looked at the photograph of the precise moment when a set of twins sat on Donovan’s lap. One twin pulled down Donovan’s beard while the other struggled to climb up his arm, thus pulling his red jacket open and exposing his buff chest and arms. Regardless of the twins’ actions, Donovan stayed in character. Though she knew the story behind the photo, Donovan still won the prize for sexiest Santa. Her Sexy Santa, she thought. A jolt of excitement raced through her veins.
“Excuse me,” a deep voice said behind her.
