Kissing Santa, A Clover Park Novella (Clover Park, Book 4) Contemporary Romance (The Clover Park Series) (4 page)

The first kid ran over to him and climbed up on his lap. It was a boy, probably about four.

“Ho-ho-ho, what’s your name?”

“Tenny.”

“Okay, Tenny, what would you like for Christmas?”

“Not Tenny! Tenny!”

“Okay, um, what would—”

“It’s Tenny! Tenny!” The boy was working up a good shade of red.

Rico looked to the boy’s parents. His mother rushed forward. “It’s Kenny. He has trouble with his Ks.”

“Okay, Kenny, what would you like for Christmas?” He smiled encouragingly.

“I want wego staw waws pace tip commandaw, wego staw waws,
blah, blah, blah
…” The kid went on and on. Rico had no idea what he was saying. Santa lost his smile, and his eyes started to droop.

“How about a picture?” Barry asked, giving Rico a little shake.

Rico nodded. Barry raced over to the camera he’d set up on a tripod. He held up a squeaky cow toy above the camera. “Moo-ry Christmas!”

Rico smiled into the camera. The boy scampered off with Barry elf. Rico’s eyes widened at the line that had formed in the meantime. Was three hours enough to get through all these kids?

The next family approached. He got one preschooler on each knee, and the mother placed the baby in the crook of his arm. The baby burst into tears. Rico sighed. This job sucked.

Many, many crying babies and kids pulling his fake beard later, he went for his fifteen-minute break. He had to tell Barry to stop saying Moo-ry Christmas. It was wearing on his last nerve. And was it just him or was “Jingle Bell Rock” on repeat on that playlist? He feared he’d never get it out of his head. He wanted The Boss back.

“How’s Mrs. Claus?” Ryan O’Hare, Trav’s older brother, asked when Rico passed him on the way to the locker room.

Rico scratched his beard with his middle finger and kept going. He heard Ryan chuckle in the distance.

He ripped off the hat and wig in the locker room and scratched his head like crazy. Harold owed him big time for this. Ficus tree or not. He couldn’t believe Harold volunteered to sit in an itchy wig and sweltering suit every year. If he had to hear one more request for a pony, he’d puke. No one was getting a freaking pony! He stripped down to his boxers and fanned himself with the Santa hat. His fifteen minutes passed way too quick, and he reluctantly put the suit back on and returned to his throne. First thing, a toddler with a full diaper that could’ve wiped out a herd of ponies was placed on his lap. Could this gig get any worse?

Trav O’Hare, his best friend from way back (way, way back, they met in kindergarten in New Jersey, making him more like a brother), stepped up with his one-year-old son, Bryce. Rico tensed. He was sure Bryce would recognize him, and Trav would never let him live this down. Trav’s wife, Daisy, stopped Trav and adjusted a little Santa hat on Bryce’s head. Trav placed Bryce on his lap. His friend did a double take when he recognized Rico under all that velvet and white curls.

Trav burst out laughing. “Wait, wait,” he gasped out. He pulled out his cell and snapped a picture.

“Shhh,” Rico said.

Bryce stared at Rico and patted his face. The boy definitely recognized him. Rico smiled.

Bryce bounced up and down. “Ree-Ree!” he squealed. At least he couldn’t talk that well yet.

“Tell your daddy to shut it,” Rico whispered.

Trav couldn’t stop laughing. Tears came out of his eyes he was laughing so hard. Daisy gave Rico an apologetic look and pulled Trav away so Barry could take the picture.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, next up was Maggie O’Hare, Trav’s grandmother. She wore a red velvet dress with a black sash and knee-high black boots. He hoped she wasn’t auditioning for the role of Mrs. Claus. Why she wanted to sit on Santa’s lap at her age was beyond him. But he forgave her for her kooky ways because she was light enough not to hurt his legs, and, much more importantly, she’d taken him in like family when he moved to Clover Park for the job at Trav’s company.

“Oh, Santa, I’ve been really nice this year,” Maggie said. “I made a lot of people happy and set up a lot of love matches, but what I really want is more great-grandbabies. Can you please use your Christmas magic to tell my grandsons to get busy?”

He choked back a laugh.

She turned. “Is that you, Rico?”

“Shhh. Yeah. Harold was sick.”

She winked. “I won’t give your secret away. Now I’ll tell you a little secret. You’re next on my love-match list. I already took care of Ryan, Trav, and Shane.”

Her three grandsons. This was one time he didn’t want to be family. He already had his mother arranging marriages for him. And what a disaster that had turned out to be. Samantha Dixon, despite her stunning beauty, was definitely
not
the one for him.

“Ho-ho-ho!” he exclaimed jovially. How could he politely get her off his lap? A line of kids were waiting to see him. “No need for that, ma’am. I’m married to Mrs. Claus.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She patted his arm. “I’d also like some new fuzzy handcuffs. Jorge lost the key to the last pair.”

Rico cleared his throat. “Is that all, ma’am? We’ve got lots of other children waiting their turn.”

She smiled sweetly. “Thank you, Santa. I can’t wait to meet the future Mrs. Claus.”

She turned, smiled for the camera, and left with a coloring book.

He let out a breath of relief. Some bigger, heavier kids showed up, and his legs ached from all the weight on them. They asked the tough questions—Are you really Santa? Where's your reindeer? How long did it take you to get to Clover Park from the North Pole?

He checked the clock. Half an hour to go and still a long line of kids. When he got out of here, he was gonna rip off all his clothes and jump into a cold shower. He felt like he’d lost ten pounds between the suit and the kids. It was like a freaking steam bath in this velvet straitjacket.

The last thirty minutes dragged on and on and on until finally there was only one kid left. His jaw dropped. It was a little girl in a red dress with her hair in pigtails, but that wasn’t what had him gaping. Next to the girl was Samantha from the date from hell. Was Samantha a single mother? His mother had left out
that
important detail. Geez. Samantha didn’t even glance his way, her focus was solely on the little girl, so Rico took his time admiring the way Samantha’s pink fuzzy sweater clung to her rack and her black jeans and black high-heeled boots showed off her shapely legs. She wasn’t too tall; he always checked that first when he met a woman. He was five nine and a half, and she was still a good inch shorter than him in heels. Damn, he really would’ve liked to feel those legs wrapped around him just once. If only the woman hadn’t been so freaking surly.

The girl ran over and climbed in his lap. She beamed at him, revealing pearly white baby teeth with a few gaps.

He found himself smiling back despite his hellish morning. “Ho-ho-ho. And what’s your name?”

“Gabriella.”

“And what do you want for Christmas, Gabriella?”

She cupped her hand over his ear and whispered, “A puppy.”

He nodded. At least it wasn’t a pony. Maybe she’d get one.

"Ho-ho-ho, we'll see what we can do in our workshop." He faced the camera. “Smile.”

They smiled for the picture. Gabriella got her coloring book and ran to Samantha. "Your turn, Auntie, tell Santa your secret Christmas wish."

Auntie. That was better than mother. Despite the long morning and his aching legs, he found he wanted to stay a little longer. He wanted Samantha on his lap.

Samantha bent down to Gabriella’s level and smiled. “That's just for kids, silly.”

Gabriella looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes. “How else will your wishes come true?"

Samantha straightened, looking thoughtful.

He crooked his finger at her.

~ ~ ~

Samantha looked at her niece’s pleading eyes and blew out a breath. Oh, what the heck. Harold was a good sport. Look how he was inviting her over. She’d met him several times already at the Santa breakfast. She always went with her sister and Gabriella to the pancake breakfast, only this year her sister’s morning sickness kept her away. Her sister would take Gabriella to meet Santa at the mall later. Harold probably wouldn’t mind if she made a Christmas wish. Lord knows, she could use one.

“Okay, sweetie,” Samantha said. “Wait for me at that table.” She pointed to where she wanted her. “Go ahead and start coloring.”

Gabriella skipped away. Samantha walked over and plopped down on Santa’s lap. She took comfort from the fact that she couldn’t quite see Harold’s face under the hat, wig, and huge beard. She focused on a pretty snowflake decoration across the room. It was almost like going to confession with Father Jensen, very private, just the two of them. The cafeteria was nearly empty now, except for a few volunteers cleaning up. Even the elf had taken off.

“Oh, Santa, I know it’s silly, but I always dreamed of a sweet romance like you read about in books and see in the movies. It just doesn’t seem to be happening for me. And believe me, I’ve tried to move things along.” She sighed. “It just seems like everyone’s already married or gay or divorced with a lot of baggage. I just want to meet my Prince Charming, you know?”

At Santa’s continued silence and good listening, Samantha confided all the heartache she’d endured over the last two years due to her failed romance attempts. First she told him the worst—the Tim Johnson affair—just to get it off her chest and explain what started her on her quest for romance. Then she moved on to the day her hair and makeup were ruined in the August heat while she waited for a mysterious Mr. Hunk to arrive on the scene to change her flat tire (and yes, she confessed, she’d let the air out on purpose) and how a toothless old lady had arrived instead to inform her she had a flat. She’d had to change the tire herself, ruining her white skirt and new heels. She told him of the British hottie who moved in next door to her parents’ house that looked a little like Hugh Grant—she’d loved him in
Bridget Jones’s Diary
—and just when she was thinking they might really be moving from borrowing sugar (she had a huge stash now) to actually hanging out, his boyfriend showed up.

She sighed and continued on with the advice she took from her friend to look for someone at a wedding and how that had turned out to be a second cousin she’d never met. “Luckily my mother told me before things moved off the dance floor,” she whispered.

Santa merely grunted, so she went on. “Online dating was horrible. All those men cared about was my…well, let’s just say it wasn’t working out.” She blew out a breath. “I have a huge hammer collection from all my trips cruising the aisles of Home & Tool for an eligible bachelor. I could never use them all.” She shook her head. “Besides, those guys are all married.” She straightened, suddenly indignant. “And the worst, my mother tried to set up an arranged marriage with this total player who was too handsome for his own good. He was all—” she waved her hands in the air “—look at me! Don’t you want some of this sugar? And I was all, get away from me, you phony! The
lines
that came out of this guy’s mouth! If my mother had known what he was really like…” She exhaled sharply. “Don’t get me started on my mother.”

Finally, she wound down.

“This was all my niece’s idea,” she said with a rueful laugh. “Since I’m here…my Christmas wish is to meet a handsome, smart, charming man that will just make my head spin with the happiness of true love." She warmed to her topic. "Make him be someone who brings me flowers and candy just because, writes poems for me, serenades me, and likes to hold hands while we go shopping, ice skating, or maybe even walking along the beach." She let out a dreamy sigh. "I guess that's too much for one Christmas wish."

Santa’s voice went low and husky. "I'll see what I can do."

Her eyes flew to his, and she took a good look at the guy she’d just spilled her guts to. He smiled, and her hand went to her throat. This man didn’t have wrinkles, pasty white skin, and blue eyes. This wasn't Harold! This was someone much younger with caramel skin and brown eyes behind those spectacles.

Santa was coming on to her!

She leaped off his lap and jabbed a finger at him. "You're Santa. You can't pick up women. You're married to Mrs. Claus."

Dear Lord, what had she just told this complete stranger? Her cheeks burned.

The Santa-Harold imposter stood and raised his palms. "I'm off duty. You want to get a cup of coffee?"

She whirled and hurried over to her niece. "Come on, Gabriella, we're going."

"Bye, Santa!" Gabriella called. "Merry Christmas!"

"Ho-ho-ho, Merry Christmas, Gabriella! I'll make sure the elves know about your Christmas wish and yours too, Samantha!”

She froze. Omigod. He knew her name. She’d never said her name. And that voice. Her mind quickly put the pieces together, that beautiful caramel skin, the brown eyes. It was her horrible blind date—Rico.

She took Gabriella's hand and speedwalked to the parking lot. Samantha had never been so embarrassed in her life. She buckled her niece in, muttering to herself about the nerve of some guys.

They drove home, and Samantha prayed she never, ever ran into that Harold imposter again.

Chapter Four

Rico went straight to the locker room and peeled off the Santa suit he'd taken a sauna in all morning. The experience had gone from okay to flat-out horny with the curvy, beautiful Samantha dropping into his lap and sharing her dreams with him. Women didn’t usually confide their dreams to him. Probably because he never spent much time talking to the ladies. He preferred physical action. But Samantha’s confession intrigued him.

She was a romantic at heart. So was he. He’d written twenty ballads all about love on his guitar. That might be something she’d be interested in if he could convince her to see him again. He grabbed the Santa outfit and headed for his truck.

A short drive later, he stopped at Harold’s apartment to drop off the Santa duds. His daughter answered the door.

“You should take this to the dry cleaner,” Rico said. “I sweated off ten pounds in there.”

She nodded. “How did it go?”

“Not so bad,” he said, thinking of Samantha. “Actually, it turned out pretty good.”