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“Ho, Ho Ho!” he bellowed, his voice an impressively deep rumble. “Merry Christmas!”
The adults chuckled, impressed by his commitment, while the children squealed and rushed around. Kensi stood a few feet away, eying the man as if he were an intruder, and I wondered whether she recognized him. But once the silver Santa distributed gifts to the eager children, he won Kensi over in a heartbeat.
He seemed nervous, but barely showed it. As he interacted with each child, I caught glimpses of the real James—the charming, attentive man who genuinely cared for those around him. The one likely concerned about the drink in my hand.
“Ho, ho, ho!” he bellowed through the room.
I perched on one of the taller stools in the back, and as he handed out the first gifts, I listened to James’ aunt and uncle read the nativity story. More eggnog was served, carols played overhead, and a family-like atmosphere enveloped me all over again. They shared nostalgic memories and silly jokes. Each member of the family told Santa what they hoped for, and every few minutes, James glanced in my direction, though his voluminous white eyebrows blocked his vision.
The grandfather clock in the corner chimed nine o’clock and Santa’s duties were far from over.
“Alright folks, gather round!” James bellowed, his voice muffled by the bushy white beard. “Santa’s got a few more tricks up his sleeve tonight!”
A hush fell over the room as everyone turned to watch him. His eyes scanned the crowd, searching for something or someone, and I couldn’t help but feel a flutter in my chest when his gaze lingered on me for a moment longer than necessary. He quickly snapped back into character, raising his hands with a flourish.
“First, we have a special treat for our younger guests, and it rhymes with... chocolate!“ he announced, reaching into his seemingly bottomless sack. “But before that–” he paused, shooting me a knowing grin, “–can someone fetch me another drink? This suit is hotter than the devil’s sauna.”
Everyone laughed.
“Coming right up, Santa.” Aunt Marge disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, she emerged with an absurdly large mug of what I assumed was rum and coke, which she handed him with a sly smile. “I’m hoping this will get me off your naughty list.”
“Oh, Aunt Marge, we all know that’s impossible,” James replied, tipping an imaginary hat in her direction before downing the beverage.
Everyone laughed again.
As James continued to hand out gifts, his eyes occasionally met mine, sparking a connection that sent shivers down my spine. The room's warmth and rum in my veins surpassed cozy pillows and clouds.
I was nursing a fresh drink from Mr. Silver when Emma grabbed my arm. I resisted the pull until I noticed everyone's attention on me.
“It’s your turn,” she said.
The room fell silent.
I looked at her, puzzled. “My turn for what?”
Santa gestured for me to approach with one finger. The corners of his eyes crinkled up as he gave me a knowing smile. The play of light and shadow on his face drew me into his spell like no other experience I had known before or have since. Though I could not see him clearly beneath his beard and thick brows, I felt his gaze intently locked on my body.
“It’s your turn to sit on Santa’s lap.” She waved me over, ensuring the entire room focused on me. “Don’t be shy now.”
I set my drink aside before slipping off the barstool and standing up. The buzz of both alcohol and nerves coursed through my veins like a boiling river as I made my way towards Santa’s throne. I could feel the heat in my cheeks and my palms were sweating. Despite my shaking I managed to cross the room, fully aware of all eyes on me.
My throat felt dry as I said, “Hello, Santa.”
Someone in the crowd shouted, “Sit on his lap!”, so James took hold of me and swung me around by the hips. He lowered me onto his lap before I could react and held me so inappropriately close, I worried the kids would get the wrong idea.
“I forgive you,” I whispered.
“For what?”
“For leaving me earlier without an explanation.”
“I was hoping the Santa Suit would explain itself.” His breath whipped through my hair as he whispered, “By the way, you look insanely hot. Hunter can’t stop staring at you.”
I tugged on his beard and replied playfully, “What about you, Santa? What are you looking at?”
“Everything but you,” he said.
I quickly pulled back. “What?”
