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ChapterOne
Neely
When I cameto work this morning, the forecast for Christmas Eve was postcard perfect. Just below freezing, a light dusting of snow. . . the perfect backdrop for Santa to zip around the world, bringing presents to children and the young at heart alike.
People like the residents of the retirement community where I work on the outskirts of Conception Ridge. I’m the recreation director’s new assistant, and tonight’s Christmas party was supposed to be my first big event at Cliffside Village.
But in the eight hours since I left home in a cute little white dress and black ankle boots, the weather turned nasty.Good thing I have a nice, long coat, I think to myself as I peer out into the blustery night. My car is parked halfway between the retirement community and the lighthouse where my father’s best friend is the keeper, and it’s going to be a miserable hike out to it at the end of the night.
“Neely, any sign of our Santa Claus?”
I shake my head.
My boss is about to say something else when her phone rings. “Hello?”
I can tell from the look on her face that it’s our St. Nicholas bailing.
“We understand. Stay safe. I’ll tell our residents.” She ends the call and looks outside again. “Neely, I’ll go tell the residents the guest of honor isn’t able to make it.” She chuckles. “It’s a good thing they don’t think he’s the real deal.”
They may all be senior citizens, but some of them still like to remember the innocence of their childhood. And there are a few who. . .
“Wait.” I know someone who has a beard and a booming laugh—and he’s just down the road.
Also, he’s not afraid of storms.
On the other hand, he’s a bit of a jerk who hates Christmas, but he’s always had a soft spot for me. Would he do it as a favor? A massive, monumental favor for his best friend’s kid?
“I can get us a replacement Santa.” There's more confidence in my voice than I really feel.
She shakes her head. “Not for tonight. I need you to head home. Our original Santa was caught in the storm while driving down the coast. It’s going to get worse here within the hour. Go now.”
“For tomorrow, then.” I follow her into our office and throw on my long parka. Where are my mittens? I wind my scarf around my neck twice, loop my purse across my body, and shove my hands in my pockets. “Don’t tell them Santa can’t make it. Just tell them he’s going to loop back here after he delivers all the presents to all the kids around the world. Please?”
“You think you can make that happen?”
In my pockets, I cross my fingers. “I will do whatever it takes.”
“All right. Good luck on your mission, Christmas elf! Now go home.”
Outside, I flinch against the cold, driving snow and make a beeline for the parking lot. I’m shivering by the time I get to my car, an old beater I inherited from my brother. I unlock it and throw myself behind the steering wheel.
Our original Santa was correct to not even try to make it to the party. I really hope tomorrow is better, weather-wise—but even if it’s not, Ford could probably walk over to the retirement home.
A hot, sexy Santa—most likely grumpy, too—strolling over from his lighthouse.He won’t do it.
He did once upon a time, though.
Part of me has to believe he will again.
I put the key in the ignition to start the car. Nothing happens. I try again, horror mounting. Fuck. My car battery is dead. Why didn’t I notice the car light didn’t come on?
Because you were thinking about climbing onto Ford’s knee and whispering your filthy Christmas wishes in his ear.
With a frustrated cry, I pull out my phone and call home. No answer because they’re probably still out caroling. I can imagine my father telling my mother, “McIntoshes go caroling no matter the weather!Neither snow nor rain nor gloom of night stays these carolers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds!”
I try my mom’s cell next, but there’s no answer. She probably left it at home.
Getting out of the car, I glance back at the retirement home, the lights warm and cozy in the distance. But then, my attention is drawn to the lighthouse. I’m equally close to both, and if I go see Ford, I can beg him to be my Santa Claus in person.
