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He smiled. “I like that.” His nose wrinkled.
“I think we need a shower,” I quipped.
“Not yet.” From nowhere appeared a Polaroid camera. “I’ve always wanted to do this.” He lay down beside me once more, held it aloft, and took photos of us, wrapped around each other. He stopped when he’d taken ten, and placed them on the nightstand, winking the camera into nothing. “Will that be enough to remember tonight?”
I kissed him. “What makes you think I could ever forget?” It would be etched into my memory, locked in my heart forever.
The night I knew I loved Santa.
It was also the first time I’d admitted the truth to myself.
One night a year was never going to be enough.
“I knowInever will forget.” He sighed. “We should eat.”
“And after that?”
He smiled. “We could come back to bed until it’s time to leave.” He stroked my jaw. “I’ll set an alarm, in case we fall asleep.”
Sleeping with him in my arms sounded like heaven. “Then let’s do that.”
The years since Kris broke my heart had healed me, so much that I’d forgotten how love could hurt. Because I loved Santa, and my heart was breaking because I couldn’t hold onto him.
When I was fifty
2017
Dinner was over, and we were in his living room. I was looking at his paintings, but my mind was elsewhere—or more specifically, a few hours earlier.
The moment we’d arrived, however, the evening had turned into a rerun of the previous Christmas Eve. We were scarcely through the door before he was tugging me toward his bedroom, and I’d let him, discarding my clothes before we’d reached the bed.
“Missed you,” he’d gasped as we fell onto it, both of us rocking together, my lips on his face, his neck, his chest…
“Don’t talk—kiss.”
We’d had a year of catching up to do.
And then we get to wait another year. And another. And another.
Was this what my future had become—an endless stretch of years wanting to be with him, punctuated by brief snatches of joy?
“What are you thinking about?”
I jumped. He stood beside me, holding out a champagne flute. “Is it a special occasion?” I asked as I took it.
“Every minute I get to spend with you is a special occasion.” His words held no trace of humor or coquetry. And the way he locked gazes with me told me the bed might see more action before the night was over. “I simply wanted to wish you a belated happy birthday.” We clinked glasses. “I hope it was a good one.”
“It was,” I admitted. “Ben and the family came to visit for a week before going to Disney World.” Ben and Layla had been promising the twins a visit since they were old enough to demand to go there.
There had only been one thing that would have made my birthday perfect, and he was standing beside me.
Better late than never, right?
“Now, tell me what’s on your mind. You seemed so far away.”
I sipped my champagne. “I was studying your paintings.” The wall in front of me was filled with them. “These really are good.” It was easy to spot the differences between his earlier efforts—though none of them were dated, they didn’t need to be—and his most recent work. The brushwork was more refined, the use of color more sophisticated.
“Thank you. As I told you once, I’ve been working on it for a long time.”
