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British turned and came face-to-face with the Greek letters across the shirt of a six-foot-plus man. She slowly looked up and cleared her throat. “You’re going to have to stand behind the ropes, sir,” she said boldly. “Does your child have a card?” Beyond his frame, she didn’t see a kid near him. All day today unaccompanied children pushed themselves over the line, eager to see Santa.
“I am a child of God,” said a familiar voice, stepping out from behind him. “That counts, right?”
“Zoe?” British shaded her eyes. “What on earth?”
Zoe Baldwin, now Ravens, pushed past the man British realized was her husband, Will Ravens, also known as Donovan’s brother. She cast a glance over her shoulder to see if Donovan had noticed them. Cam’s kids kept his attention.
“What are you doing in town?” British asked. “I thought you only returned for the summers.”
The creative design director at Ravens Cosmetics had spent a few summers in Southwood. Her grandmother no longer ran the Mas Beauty School but the home still stood. It didn’t surprise British to find Zoe back in town. Her father still lived here. As British hugged Zoe, she realized what a perfect match Zoe and Will made together. She was an expert makeup artist and Will was CEO of the world’s best cosmetic company. It made sense for Zoe and Will to get together. It was as if destiny designed their future. Where did that leave British and Donovan?
“Girl, this outfit is everything,” said Zoe, walking around British. While Zoe admired the Mrs. Claus look, British whistled at Zoe. Tall, thin, beautiful Zoe belonged on the cover of a magazine as well as in the pages. “I might need one for a little later.” She elbowed Will in the ribs.
Will reached for Zoe’s hand and managed to maneuver her in front of him and wrapped his hand around her waist. “By Christmas, you won’t need any padding.”
British’s mouth dropped wide open. “Zoe, are you?”
Zoe pressed her finger to her mouth. “We’re trying to find my folks to tell them before everyone else finds out.”
“You know, I saw Miss Jamerica and my mom heading over to the Cupcakery.” Joan and Zoe’s mother, Jamerica Baldwin, modeled together back in the day.
“My mom is eating a carb?”
Back in the day, it was Joan who’d introduced Zoe’s parents to one another at one of their photo shoots held at Magnolia Palace.
“Stranger things have happened,” said British. She turned her attention to Will, who let go of Zoe’s belly with one hand and began filming Donovan with his cell phone. “Hey, now,” she said to him. “You have to donate a canned good or money in order to get a picture with Santa or take pictures—that includes recording him.”
Will narrowed his eyes on her. “Mrs. Claus?”
Perhaps it wa
s because they were brothers, but British couldn’t help but pick up on the arrogance of the man. She squared her shoulders. “I’m serious. The donations for today go to feed the hungry.”
Will reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. “Will this do?”
British glanced back at Donovan. “Well, it’s all in the name of charity—film your brother all you like.”
* * *
The crowd around them began to disappear. The young elves, also known as the GRITS team, ran around with the other kids in the town square. To think a few nights ago this center had been transformed into a fall festival and was now a winter carnival. A safe, bright and loud merry-go-round spun on one corner of the square. The line there matched the line for Santa. The smell of funnel cakes, grilled hot dogs and popcorn floated through the crisp air. All Donovan wanted to do was to grab something to eat and head back to British’s place, since it was closer than Magnolia Palace.
By the end of his shift as the Southwood Santa, Donovan sat back on his red-velvet throne. He kind of wished more parents would bring their children just so he could avoid speaking with Will, who’d clearly enjoyed exploiting Donovan’s job today. Why didn’t it click in his head, when Will told him he and Zoe were going off for the holidays, that they’d come here to Southwood? Every half hour for the rest of the afternoon Will had stood down by the photographer and annoyingly filmed him. The camera caught every bad moment such as when a kid almost lost his lunch on Donovan, a diaper leak and a few candy canes stuck in his fake beard. The one redeeming part of the afternoon was the connection he shared with British. They were so in sync. The pit of his stomach flopped when she approached him.
“Hey,” British said, coming close. The sweet scent of her intoxicating perfume flooded him. His stomach growled. “Are you hungry?”
“For food?” Donovan teased, wiggling his brows.
“Careful, Santa,” she said playfully. “I overheard your brother Will talking about taking you for dinner at Valencia’s. It’s another spot you have to try before you leave.”
The top portion of Donovan’s lip curled. One, partly because his brother being in town threatened to take away time from British and, two, the idea of leaving loomed in the back of his head.
“Give me five minutes to get rid of him.” He gave a sinister laugh and rubbed his hands together.
Donovan took a step forward but British placed her hand on his forearm. “You can’t kill him right now.”
“Because I’m dressed as Santa?” If that were the case, Donovan was ready to get out of the red costume now. British and Donovan waved once more to the onlookers and posed for a few more pictures as Mr. and Mrs. Claus. They received a round of applause before a few of the elves opened the curtain for them to exit.
Just before they disappeared, British shook her head back and forth, grinning and speaking through her teeth, “Because we’re going to have a civilized dinner.”
