Kissmas Wishes (Love In All Seasons 3)

“Hey, don't do that,” he says as he takes his place on the golden chair.

“Do what?” I ask.

“Get lost in your head.”

I adjust the Santa hat, meeting his eyes. “I’m here,” I tell him. “I'm present. I'm yours.”

He kisses me softly, even though I know most of Snowy Valley is watching. Let them. This right here is my Christmas Miracle.

The next few hours fly by as toddlers and children line up to get pictures with Santa Claus. They whisper their Christmas lists to him and he gives his best ho, ho, ho and a candy cane. I take the hands of little kids dreaming of sugar plums fairies… well, probably PlayStations and Xboxes — by the hand leading them to Santa. It's a magical night.

There's big Christmas tree that glitters before us. With each flash of the light bulb as the photographer takes the pictures of Santa and the kids, my heart seems to grow a little bit more because this is the kind of Christmas celebration my granny would have loved to see.

She would see me happy here with Filson and that would give her a sense of reassurance that I was going to be okay after she was gone. She always wanted me to date, to find someone special. But I think deep down she knew Filson was my something special.

Over the years, she'd say things about seeing him in town. Maybe running into him at the grocery store or gas station and ask if I ever wanted to rekindle the friendship we had. But I just shook my head. She would tsk-tsk, saying under her breath that he was a boy who needed a little tender loving care.

And I would nod, agreeing with her but also not saying anymore because maybe I felt like I was just a little girl who needed tender loving care too.

Yes, I had a granny who provided for me and helped me go to college, but I've always been missing something. And now as I look at Filson doing this for me, totally out of his comfort zone, I know what I've been missing is him. Now I just need the guts to say it to him out loud.

As the last child has whispered their wishes and the carolers are packing up for the night, Annabelle comes rushing over to us.

“Hey, sweetie,” she says, wrapping me in a hug. “I wanted to come over earlier, but I was helping Carla with the hot cocoa.”

“No worries, we were busy all night too.”

Annabelle presses her lips together, eyeing Filson. “You were the talk of the town tonight,” she says.

“Yeah?” Filson runs a hand over his beard. “Hope it was all good things.”

“It was for a lot of things,” Annabelle says.

Cheeks reddening, I’m guessing she heard about my kiss with Filson. “We’re dating,” I blurt out. “Sorry I didn’t say anything. We aren’t really official and I—”

Annabelle laughs. “No need to explain. I just want you to be happy. I mean,” Annabelle continues. “Clearly he’s into you. You got the Grinch to be Santa tonight!”

“Maple certainly has changed my perspective,” he says squeezing my hand.

“Okay, you two are too cute. You better call me this weekend. I want the whole story,” she tells me, kissing my cheek. Then whispering in my ear, she adds, “Is the house on the market? You can’t keep stalling.”

“Tomorrow,” I tell her. Relieved with my answer, she waves goodbye. Minutes later, Filson returns. I exhale. “So, that was Annabelle.”

“I know her. I mean, I went to the same school as you guys.”

“Right. I knew that, but you were gone for most of high school.”

“That’s true,” he says, looking up at the sky. I wonder if he’s thinking about the fact it took him a few years before he was able to get his GED after dropping out. “I know I’m not a fancy-ass like Asher Martin,” he says. “But I am what I am, and I hope—”

I cut him off. “I want a man who wants me for me, and I want to do the same. You don’t have to explain yourself.” I stand on my tippy toes and kiss him again as snowflakes begin to swirl around us, along with the cinnamon scent of Christmas.

Back at the house, I invite Filson inside. “I was thinking maybe you could stay for a nightcap?”

He grins. “Sounds perfect.”

“Does Santa like whiskey in his eggnog?” I ask walking toward the kitchen.

“If you're pouring it, I do,” he says.

I make us some spiked eggnog and join him in the living room where he is stoking a fire.

“I didn’t even know we had any firewood.”

“Found a few logs in the basement.” Once he has a nice blaze going, we sit down on the couch together with our eggnog in hand.

I curl my feet underneath me. “This is cozy,” I say, relishing the calm after such a bustling night.