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‘Can you please sit down. I can explain, but it’s not a quick story.’
She shakes her head, moving behind the couch. ‘What’s not a quick story? You’re freaking me out now!’
‘That’s the last thing I want to do. Please, Scarlett. Just sit and I’ll explain everything. I promise.
She shakes her head. ‘I’m quite happy where I am, thank you.’
This isn’t how he wanted to do this. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to do this, full stop. But he’s got no choice. He might as well tell her everything and take the backlash. Or the laughs. And then figure out what to do, when she kicks his ass out the door.
He wants to sit down but she’s not, so he leans against the window sill, trying to keep as much distance from her in case he spooks her even more than he already has. ‘Okay. I’ve never had to tell anyone what I'm about to tell you, so I’m winging this.’
‘Tell anyone what?’
He leans against the window sill and crosses his arms to stop himself fidgeting. He needs to get this out fast, so he can go lock himself in the bathroom, or in the pantry, and do something, anything to ease the cramps.
‘Right. Okay. I’m just going to launch into this, so bear with me until I’m finished, no matter how crazy it sounds. I actually am Santa. I live in Lapland and every Christmas Eve I travel all over the world. It uses a massive amount of energy, and my body kind of stores it up for the few days before I head out. This is the first time I’ve been away from home this time of year. It feels different here. Really fucking horrible actually. My tattoos are linked to me being Santa, which is why they shift.’
He gives up on the window sill and goes for pacing instead. He doesn't want to look at her. Can’t bring himself to look at her. There isn’t a hope in hell she’ll believe a word he’s saying.
‘I took my sleigh out for a test run. I do it every year. Have for ages. But something went wrong this time, and I woke up here instead. I don’t remember what happened. No idea at all. I need to get back home before Christmas Eve... somehow and ... yeah. That’s it, I guess.’
After a good minute or two of silence, he forces himself to look over at her. She’s frowning at him. Not laughing, which is a good start, but the frown is fairly intense.
‘Are you on medication? And I don’t mean that in a cruel way. It’s a genuine question.’
He shakes his head. ‘No Scarlett. I’m not. Everything I just told you is the truth, I swear. Don’t believe me, huh?’
‘Strangely enough, no. You know this isn’t funny, Nick? You realise I could have left you out in the woods to die? I could have just gone upstairs to bed and forgotten all about the bang and gone to sleep. But no, instead, I dragged your extremely heavy ass back here, through a goddamn blizzard, then looked after you. All I’m asking for is the truth. Instead, you make fun of me. Nice! Thanks for that!’
‘I’m not making fun of you. I swear. I can prove it, Scarlett.’
She crosses her arms and fixes him with a bemused look. ‘Oh you can prove you’re Santa? As in the Santa? Hard proof?’
‘Yes.’ He sounds convincing, but he’s not so sure. His magic should work, but he’s not feeling himself. A lot also depends on how open she is to what he’s suggesting. He needs her to believe, which is going to be the hard part. Not many, if any, adults believe in him. All he can do is hope, deep down somewhere, she believes. Or is at least willing to believe.
She narrows her gaze again. ‘How can you prove it?’
‘This is the tricky part. I’ll need you to take my hand, close your eyes, and trust me. Can you do that?’
Scarlett examines Nick, waiting for the smile to break out, or for him to slap his knee and confess it’s all a big joke. Something, anything to give her even the smallest hint that he’s taking the piss out of her. But he doesn't do anything. In fact, he’s as sombre as she’s seen him since he woke up.
He believes what he’s saying to her, which absolutely should put her on alert. But, as with everything to do with Nick, he’s not scaring her. Whatever is happening with his tattoos is freaking the hell out of her, not him. And that is nearly more laughable than what he’s saying to her.
He genuinely believes he’s the Santa and that he can prove it to her. She doesn’t know if she should laugh at his suggestion, or give him a sympathetic hug.
Nick holds out his hand. ‘Please, Scarlett. Trust me, and I’ll prove to you I’m not losing my mind. I swear. It’ll take a minute at the most.’
And there he goes chipping away at whatever resolve she had left. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Just hold your hand. That’s it.’
‘And you honestly believe you can prove to me you...’ She shakes her head and laughs nervously. ‘You really believe you can prove it?’
‘I do. But I swear I’ll leave if I can’t. Please Scarlett. You’ve got nothing to lose.’
She looks down at his outstretched hand and sighs. ‘What the hell! It’s not like I’ve anything else to do.’ She moves from behind the couch, and gingerly takes his hand.
He smiles, clearly relieved she’s giving him a chance. To do what exactly, she doesn’t know. It’s not like there’s any chance he’s telling the truth. Perhaps the bump on his head was more severe than she initially thought.
