Rebel Without A Claus

Very Bad Idea, actually. Capital letters necessary.

Either way, it wasn’t going to happen.

I tied the strings together and paused. “That’s not too tight, is it?”

“No, it’s perfect.”

“All right. I’m going to double-knot them, so they don’t come undone.”

“You’ll have to help me out of it later.”

“I assumed as much.” I quickly double-knotted them as I’d said I would and stepped back. “Are you all right with the coat?”

“I don’t know. The buttons might cause me a few problems.” His blue eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Get dressed.” I shot him a look. “You have two minutes before I let the first kid in here.”

“Spoilsport.” He laughed and slipped his arms in the jacket.

“Why? Because I won’t fall for your flirting?” I asked, walking over to the camera to make sure it was ready for the photos. I would take a photo of each child if it was requested, then the parents could return the following evening to collect it.

Thank God Mom was going to handle the printing of those. I really didn’t think I had it in me to do that.

“Exactly that.”

“Well, you’ll have to get used to it. I’m not falling for it at all. We have work to do.” I turned on the camera and looked up.

He was dressed and bending in front of a small makeup mirror to adjust his beard. “We’ll see. Give me a hand with this fucking beard, will you? It’s ridiculous.”

I rolled my eyes and walked over to him. “No wonder. You’ve got the strings all tied up.” I unhooked them from his ears, straightened the ties out, and put it back on his face. “There. Now you just need your hat.”

He bent over and picked up the fluffy hat, setting it on his head and knocking his beard out of place. Nicholas frowned and adjusted it all, making it worse than it already was.

“Oh, come here. I swear you’re doing this deliberately.” I pushed in front of him, grabbed the glasses, and slowly slid them onto his face, making sure not to stab him in the temples with the arms. “Don’t you look smart?”

“Shut up and sort my beard out.”

I laughed and reached up again to adjust his beard. If only his stubble was longer—I could have just bleached it white and then I wouldn’t have to mess about with this. With his beard settled, I moved his hat until it was all situated correctly, then gripped the collar of the coat, shook it, and flattened it out.

“There.” I brushed my hands across his chest to smooth out the jacket. “You look like a real Santa Claus now.”

Nicholas smiled down at me. “Thank you.”

I held his gaze for a moment before I cleared my throat and stepped back. “Are you ready to start?”

“Not quite.” He turned and sat in the chair, wiggling until he got comfortable. “Now I’m a real Santa Claus.”

I smiled, picking up my clipboard. He really did make a great Santa. “Yes, you are.”

“What are the chances of you sitting on my lap by the end of the night?”

“Absolutely zero.”

He patted his leg with a wink. “I’ll be here if you change your mind.”

“Give it a rest.” I rolled my eyes for the thousandth time today and headed outside where I nodded at Demi, giving her the signal to move the rope and start taking people’s money.

Then I took a deep breath.

I could do this.

We could do this.

I hoped.

***

“And what would you like for Christmas?” Nicholas asked the little boy perched on his left leg. He was using a gruffer voice than normal—weirdly, it suited him.

Even more weirdly, I found it kind of hot.

I wasn’t going to think about that, though.

“A football!” The little boy—he was no older than six—pressed his hand to his mouth and giggled.

Aw.

“So I can fwow it at my sister!”

Never mind.

Nicholas chuckled. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll bring you a football, but you must promise me that you won’t throw it at your sister. If you do, I will know, and I’ll remember next year.”

The boy looked at him very solemnly, eyes wide. “Oh, okay, Santa. I pwomise.”

“Good.” Nicholas tapped him on the nose. “Why don’t you smile for my helper, then you can take your gift?”

“Okay!” The little boy turned to look at me and grinned a giant, cheesy grin that was so broad his eyes were closed.

I fought back a laugh, counted down from three, and snapped two photos. Nicholas handed him one of the wrapped books from the decorated Hessian sack next to him, and the kid ran to his mom, giggling the entire time. His mom thanked us profusely, taking the photo number from me, before she ushered him out of the side door.

“One more,” I said to Nicholas, motioning to the door. “Then you’re done.”

“Unless you want a turn.” He half-grinned at me.