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“Two lucky guesses?” Jocelyn looks up at me. “Do you know any of the other names?”
I glance down at the long ream of paper, one of many in the boxes on her front porch. Yes, I know every name I see. In fact, I have the distinct urge to take a pen and mark through the naughty children, ensuring that I don’t accidentally include them on the Nice list.
“Mac?” She reaches up, her hands going to my dark hair.
“Yeah?” I flip through some more pages, still recognizing every name. “This can’t be right,” I mutter.
“Your hair.” She strokes through the strands.
“Hmm?”
“It’s turning white.”
“What?”
I tear my eyes away from the list and find her. “White?”
“Yeah.” She nods slowly. “Come on.” She takes my hand and pulls me into her house, then points at the mirror in her entryway. “See?”
“Holy shit.” I swipe the hat off my head and watch as my hair turns silver, the strands almost metallic. My beard does the same, filling in with silver as we both stare, open-mouthed at my reflection.
“Finally!” A shrill voice cuts through our amazement, and we turn to find a small man with a sharp nose, velvety green vest and short pants, and sparkling red shoes upturned with bells on the tips. “Santa.” He gives me a deep bow.
“The fuck?”
He snaps back to a standing position. “Your predecessor was fond of salty language, too.” He tweaks his nose with a knowing grin.
“Predecessor? You mean Santa?” I have to kneel to get a better look at the guy. He comes to my knee.
“You’re Santa now. I need you to report to the North Pole immediately. The workshop needs marching orders. The reindeer are restless. Time is ticking away. Christmas is almost here!” His singsong voice is like a needle in my ear.
“I’m not Santa.” I shake my head.
“You are.”
“No, I’m a retired bruiser with a long line of mistakes behind me. And now I’ve finally found the one good thing in my life—”
“Yes!” the elf exclaims. “Being Santaisa good thi—”
“I’m not talking about Santa!” I bark. “I’m talking about my lil bit.” I take her hand. “I’m not Santa. I belong here.”
She beams at me, her eyes watering. “Really?”
“Really.” I rise to my full height. “I love you, lil bit. I’ll never love anyone else but you.”
“Mac!” She throws her arms around my neck, and I lift her as she buries her face in my neck. “I love you, too.” She laughs as I spin her around, and when she almost kicks Cinnamon in his sharp nose, I smirk. But more than that, my heart seems to beat double time, because this amazing woman in my arms said she loves me. I’m not letting that go. I can’t. She’s part of me now.
“I’m not Santa.” I put her on her feet and kiss her. “I’m your man.”
Cinnamon clears his throat and holds up a finger. “Apologies, Santa. But you put on the hat. It chose you. That can’t be undone. The hat always chooses the Santa.”
“What the fuck is this? Hogwarts? A hat can’t choose shit.” I keep my arm around Jocelyn.
Cinnamon blinks. Hard.
I suspect the prior Santa may have been ‘salty,’ but I’m a damn salt mine in comparison.
“Santa.” He takes alook I’m reasonabletone. “You have to come to the North Pole. This isn’t a responsibility you can avoid. This job—yourjob—is extremely important to all the people of the world. The children need you to show them that magic exists, to give them hope, to be that extra bit of miracle in their year to get through the next.”
