Super Secret Santa

Maybe they got that question a lot. I wasn’t sure how many other families were signed up who lived off base.

Mark sat and licked the beaters, as I put the rounded balls of cookie dough on the baking sheets. As the cookies came out of the oven, I placed them on racks to cool, the smell wafting through the house.

I was just pulling the last batch out of the oven, as the doorbell rang. (I had taken a break from baking around dinner time and it was now around seven.)

Neil, as Santa, was at the door with a burlap bag of presents.

Mark was super excited as he picked out a couple of them. Neil was also exuding an unrestrained energy. It was infectious, but I tried not to fall under Neil's spell again as I had in high school.

I wasn't sure what his agenda could be now, other than just wanting to bed one more woman. I'd read enough to know I didn't want to be just another page six story.

Mark ran off to his room with his new toys and Neil's hand went up to my face, stroking my cheek. His fingers were electric on my skin.

"What are you doing?" I demanded.

"I’m sorry. You had some flour or something on your face. I was just trying to help.”

Even as Santa, he was working his magic on women. Neil seemed put off briefly, like he didn't know how to read me. He definitely didn't appear to be used to this reaction.

"Look, I planned this out so you would be the last house on our list,” he told me. “It wasn’t hard since you’re off base. I was hoping we could catch up. I also have something for you, and I was thinking I could help you with it."

"I'm not sure what you have in mind but my son is here, and I generally don't let strangers around Mark.”

"C'mon, Becca. We’re not strangers. You know me, or at least you did once. I've never understood what happened that last month at school, but I'd like to find out. I brought a change of clothes in the truck. If you’d let me, I would like it if I can change and then came back to talk?”

I just looked at him without saying no, and that was enough to make him press even harder.

“I wouldn't say no to those cookies I smell either.” He smiled, looking past me to the kitchen. “I can send the driver on to drop off everything and I can always get an Uber home in a bit."

"Ok. But only because I made too many cookies."

I was lying, of course. I also wanted to understand what happened back then, since he seemed intent on clearing the air. And maybe I liked being around his ripped body and handsome face—so sue me. A girl can enjoy her own personal Santa on Christmas Eve, can’t she?

Neil came to the door several minutes later in his street clothes, knocking this time. I could barely take my eyes off him, noticing how he had changed. His dark hair was cut short, and he was clean-shaven. Even wearing a button-down shirt under a sweater, and jeans, I could tell his body was chiseled.

Look at Neil Bowman all grown up.

Mark came bounding down the stairs to see who was at the door now, ripping me out of my thoughts. Mark must have recognized Neil from television.

"Holy bejoly, Mom! It's Neil Bowman."

Mark sure came up with some strange exclamations. I blamed the old Batman and Robin reruns.

"How do you know him, Mark? When do you watch football?"

Am I the only one who didn't know my former high school crush was a famous football player?

I was hoping Mark hadn't heard the same things about Neil and his off-field adventures that I had been reading about.

"When you and I visit David and his mom on Sundays, David and I watch it in his room sometimes,” Mark informed me. “Neil is number 82."

"Do you have a football, kiddo? We can go outside and throw it around," Neil said.

"I have an old one, with the laces worn. Is that ok?"

"Sure thing. That’s how I got my start. Get the ball and your coat."

"There will actually be a new football for him under the tree in the morning, but he doesn't know that," I told Neil, after Mark had left the room.

“I’m sure he’ll love it,” Neil said.

Neil and Mark went outside to the front yard, coming in about thirty minutes later. Both had red cheeks from the cold and wind, but neither seemed to mind.

I was waiting for them in the kitchen with cookies and cocoa.

"Wash your hands, boys. That means you too, Neil."

I smiled at Neil and pointed in the direction of our first-floor bathroom.

"Mom, I showed Neil the moves I learned in football camp," Mark said, after he’d returned to the kitchen.