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Ada, bringing up the rear with her own plate of sugar cookies, wrinkled her nose and looked very, very close to figuring out Something Big.
I clapped my hands. “These cookies look amazing. I’ll bet Santa will love them!”
And right on cue, the man himself appeared in the doorway, and my breath caught and my heart did a stupid loop-the-loop, and all my brain cells turned into fairy dust and trickled out of my ears.
“Ca—Santa!” I blurted out. “You’re here!”
Mom rolled her eyes at me and stood up. “Jake, take me home. I’m sureCassantawill see that Fran gets the girls to bed okay.” She leaned down and kissed me on the forehead, and I felt about six years old. “Merry Christmas, Frances.”
“Merry Christmas, Mom.”
And then it was just me and the girls, andCass.
Santa.
Cassanta.
And Noelle, who sneezed in my face.
The girls climbed up onto the couch and sat on either side of me. Lights sparkled on the tree. Christmas songs played softly in the background—proper ones, sung by Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra. Classy, grown-up ones that classy grown-ups pretended to like when really they would have preferred to listen to their playlist of early 2000’s alt-rock. Clearly the girls had not been in charge of the music, or it would have been the Pony Pals Christmas album, and the hospital hadn’t given me anywhere near enough tramadol for that.
Cass smiled as he closed the distance between us. He was wearing those silky Santa pants again. The ones that clung to his thighs.
“Hi, Santa,” I said as he sat on the coffee table. He picked up the first plate of cookies and held them out. The girls each grabbed one, and so did I. It was perfect. There was nobody I wanted to share Christmas Eve with except my girls and Cass. Sugar cookies and memories and maybe even new beginnings.
“Hi,” Cass said softly.
God, I wanted to lean forward and kiss him, even through his fake, fluffy beard. And then, staring into his beautiful hazel eyes, thinking about how I’d told Ben I’d tell Cass exactly what I was feeling, I drew a breath and said the only thing I could possibly say in a moment as beautiful and profound as this one: “Katya’s secret boyfriend is Dr. Stephen Florris.”
Cass gasped. “What? No!Seriously?”
“I know!”
“Katya and Dr. Stephen Florris!”
“Iknow!”
“Wow.” Cass blew out a breath that ruffled his fuzzy beard. “I mean, good for her though, right?”
“Right.”
“That ass.”
“Iknow.”
“Santa said ass!” Em said, and shoved a sugar cookie in her face.
“Daddy’s friend Cass said ass!” Ada announced, and both girls burst into giggles.
“Santa has a lot of helpers,” Cass said, which sounded like the sort of shit they taught you to say in Santa School. I’ll bet they preferred their Santas to say it without the sudden note of panic in their voices though. “He’s so busy getting everything ready at the North Pole that he has helpers everywhere.”
I reached forward and tugged his beard down. “And Cass is one of those special helpers. It’s a very important job. And he’s gonna take some cookies and make sure that Santa gets them, right?”
“Right,” Cass agreed warily.
The girls were unbothered. They peppered Cass with questions about what Santa was like, and what working for him was like, and how many of the reindeer he’d met, and which one was his favorite. Cass’s Santa training kept him in good stead when it came to answering them. He caught my gaze a few times, his mouth curling into a smile. I leaned back, hoarding one of the plates of cookies for myself, and for the first time in a long time I didn’t worry about the future, or where me and Cass were going. Not when being here with him and the girls, with the lights on the tree flickering and Sinatra crooning in the background and sugar cookies melting in my mouth, was perfect.
* * *
