Substitute Santa, page 5
“Fine, maybe not the ninth. Maybe just the seventh or eighth. But it’s bad. You have to know it’s bad. Didn’t Petey tell you?”
“Sort of,” Wade said. Mira had to stop herself from getting distracted by the sheer number of collapsed folding chairs he was able to pick up at once, all without missing a beat or breaking a sweat. How strong was he? “But I think it’ll be okay.”
“So you’re just one of those blithely optimistic people.”
He shot her a grin.
God, Mira thought as every nerve ending in her body seemed to light up at once. I’m as bad as he is. I brush his foot yesterday, and he looked like it was better than sex. He smiles at me while hauling chairs around, and I feel like a slot machine that’ s just hit the jackpot.
“Something like that,” Wade said.
She took her measly two chairs across the room with him to stack them out of the way. There was all kinds of noise around them as everyone else banged their own chairs together, started running the ancient and always-groaning snow machine, and more, but all she could focus on was Wade.
“By the way,” he said, slinging his own chairs onto the rack and then reaching for hers, “I listened to some of your podcast last night. Actually, I guess I should say we listened to it.”
The sinking feeling from Marsh sticking her with carol-oke was nothing compared to this. This was like falling into a bottomless, ice-cold well.
He had a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. No wedding ring, so it wasn’t official, but—he had someone.
If that was true, then why was he flirting with her? She couldn’t be imagining the chemistry between them, could she? And it wasn’t like he was fighting it.
“We?” she said, trying to sound as casual as possible.
“Me and Fiona. My cat.”
His cat!
“Oh!” Mira exclaimed. So much for casual: her relief had to be obvious. She did what she could to spin it in a less embarrassing direction. “I have a cat too! A tiger-striped boy named Bigfoot.”
“Does he have big feet?”
“Absolutely enormous ones. Huge. He could kill me with one blow of his mighty paw, but he’s the sweetest cat to ever live, so he refrains.”
“Pictures?”
They engaged in the ritual of mutually admiring each other’s cats, and she thought they were both sincere about it. It would take a heart of stone not to be moved by a beautiful goof like Bigfoot—who radiated a sunny absence of thought—and Fiona was a certified cutie. Mira especially loved the thin white stripe that ran down her chin like a spilled drop of milk.
“So Fiona likes my podcast, huh?”
“We both did,” Wade said. “We started with Christmas in Connecticut, obviously, and then moved on to—”
“Santa, we need you!” another elf called out. “We’re about to open the gates!”
“Rain check,” Mira said with a smile. “You can give me your review later.”
Standing so close to him and tilting her face up to look him in the eyes was having a definite effect on her. She felt like a sunflower turning towards the sun. The rest of the day wasn’t going to have much going for it, so she should soak up these last few seconds of Wade time while she had the chance.
“It’ll be a good one,” Wade said. “Five stars.”
If she stayed like this any longer, she was going to kiss him. She wanted to do it. Maybe a frenzied day in the Christmas Village, a mediocre lunch, a lot of daydreaming, and an irritating morning meeting made for an unconventional first date, but the time together was what mattered, right? Not what they’d been doing. And she felt as swoony now as she ever had when a guy had walked her to her front door.
But there was a big difference. If a date walked her to her front door and she felt like this, she could invite him inside.
She couldn’t invite Wade anywhere right now. He was about to take center stage in a whole bunch of holiday memories, and she was about to get stuck with a malfunctioning carol-oke machine.
Maybe ... tonight? Or would it still be better to just wait until the holidays were over and everything with her parents was settled, so she’d have peace of mind? That was certainly what she’d been thinking last night, but looking up at him like this, it was hard to remember why she’d been so sure that waiting was the smart decision.
She was all set to make the dumb decision instead, and the only thing that stopped her was that she wasn’t sure she wanted a whole Christmas Village’s worth of coworkers to share in their first kiss. She forced herself to take a step back.
“Great,” Mira said. Her voice was coming out all squeaky again. “I ... look forward to it!”
She hurried off before she could risk hearing him laugh at her, but even with her ears involuntarily pricked up for any indication of that, she didn’t catch even a suppressed chuckle. Then she remembered how he had blushed with her earlier, and she felt better. Maybe they were both a little awkward on the dating front.
“Oh my God, do you and Santa have a thing?” Becky-the-elf said to her.
Mira had never expected a seventeen-year-old girl carrying a ton of plastic candy canes to ask her about her love life, but that was the kind of thing that happened in the Christmas Village. The overall youth of the seasonal employees made her feel like she was back in high school.
But that wasn’t always a bad thing. It was kind of nice, for a few seconds, to feel like she was back in the giddy, fizzy, anticipation-filled days of being young and in the middle of one hell of a crush.
“Nothing’s happening,” Mira said. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “Not yet, anyway.”
“But it will?” Becky didn’t even wait to see if Mira would nod. “Good for you! He’s cute in a dad kind of way. Once you get the beard off, he’s like ... farmer’s market hot. Your generation says that, right?”
Farmer’s market hot. Mira had never heard that exact combination of words before, but it was easy to picture walking hand-in-hand with Wade through a farmer’s market. He wouldn’t complain about getting up early on a Saturday or her lingering over the scented candle and goat’s milk soap booths—he struck her as a guy who took life as it came and enjoyed what it had to offer. He would probably volunteer to carry her tote for her. What would he like to look at? As much fun as he was to fantasize about, she didn’t actually know him that well yet.
She wanted to.
Before the kids could come flooding in and get the day kicked off, Mira pulled out her phone—thankful once again that the Galadriel costume at least came with pockets—and opened her Notes app.
What do you like to get at farmer’s markets? she wrote.
As busy as she was going to be today, she didn’t want to count on her carol-oke rattled brain to remember a random question like that. If she thought of anything else she wanted to ask Wade when they finally got some uninterrupted time together, she would add it to the list. It was practical. It was elegant. It was the answer to the surprisingly relevant question of What Would Galadriel Do, if she was too busy ruling her sliver of Middle-Earth to go on a date.
Also, fine, she was losing her mind a little bit. But the holidays did that to you sometimes.
Mira steeled herself and picked up the carol-oke microphone. To start the day off on the right note, the mic instantly let out a high-pitched whine of feedback.
“Fantastic,” she said. “Off to a good start.”
Chapter Seven
A crowd of six- and seven-year-olds—whose families were apparently using the Christmas Village for free babysitting—had been insisting on singing an ear-splittingly loud rendition of “Jingle Bells” non-stop for an hour straight.
The parents stuck in line with their own children were slowly wilting, their faces getting pinched from incoming headaches.
“I guess it could be worse,” one dad said glumly, scooping his daughter off Wade’s knee after she had recited her lengthy Christmas list of DIY crafting sets. “It could be ‘The Little Drummer Boy.’”
Wade sort of liked “The Little Drummer Boy,” but then, an hour ago, he had liked “Jingle Bells,” too. No Christmas song could stand up to an hour of this.
“Or ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas,’” the next mom in line added as she brought her son up.
Everyone in earshot shuddered.
“Don’t give them any ideas,” the dad said, with a distinctly haunted look in his eyes.
“Can I do carol-oke after this, Mommy?” the little boy asked as he got a fistful of Wade’s beard.
Wade resigned himself to the upcoming yank, and—yep. There it was.
He was glad the glue was strong enough to hold no matter how much the kids pulled at it, but that was a double-edged sword. It meant they really were tugging at his face, almost like they would have been with a real beard, and it hurt.
“Santa will bring you two more presents this year if we leave right after this and go home and take a nice, long, quiet nap,” the mother said.
“I will,” Wade promised.
The boy looked skeptical, but he agreed and started in on his own list, which involved more reptiles than Wade would have imagined.
He eyed the line. It wasn’t too bad right now, since a fair number of kids had insisted on trying out the carol-oke before their meet-and-greet with Santa. Under normal circumstances, this would have been a good time to take one of his breaks—not his hour-long lunch, since it was only ten in the morning, but one of his two fifteen-minute periods of much-needed peace and quiet. It would give him just enough time to get some aspirin from the Outpost. The parents weren’t the only ones with a headache.
But there was no way anyone’s head was throbbing more than Mira’s. Wade had guessed that all-day carol-oke would be rough, especially with the machine on the fritz and the microphone always squawking. And like Petey had said, the machine didn’t have a lot of songs loaded in, which meant this wasn’t even the first “Jingle Bells” marathon they’d been stuck with today. Mira was dealing with a lot.
That was the whole reason he’d prodded Marsh into ordering him to take over the station for a while; he had wanted to give Mira a little relief. Still, his imagination hadn’t come up with anything as exhausting as the last hour.
He might want a break, but Mira needed one.
He finished promising little Sammy a whole terrarium’s worth of Christmas presents—Sammy’s mother seemed willing to agree to any number of pet lizards if that would get them out of there before the next round of “Jingle Bells”—and dutifully posed for the picture. Then he stood up.
That was the cue for one of his more traditionally garbed elves to swoop in. This one was a freckle-faced college student named Milo, who was studying Comparative Literature and liked to stand behind Santa’s chair so he could surreptitiously do some of his reading without anyone noticing. Wade was happy to play along, especially since Milo, distracted or not, was quick to notice when they changed gears.
“Santa will be back in just a few minutes, everyone!” Milo said, hiding some French novel behind his back. “In the meantime, feel free to have some presents wrapped or drop by the refreshments stand for some holiday treats.”
It was a pretty good deal, honestly. A lot of life involved standing in line, and it would be better if someone always offered you gingerbread or hot chocolate as compensation.
This was where everyone expected Wade to head into the sheltered back areas of Santa’s Village, where you could easily take a shortcut to the Outpost. At the very least, it was a quick way to duck out of sight and chill for a minute or two.
Instead, Wade made a beeline for carol-oke.
Up close, it was easy to see that Mira was at the end of her rope. Her cheery elf smile was in place, but she was seconds away from being a Galadriel who really would take the One Ring and transform herself into an all-powerful dark queen ... if only it would stop this endless caterwauled performance of “Jingle Bells” in its tracks.
Wade gently touched her shoulder, and she practically folded into him, her face cracking open into obvious distress. Since the kids had just started another round of the song and would keep themselves going for a while, he didn’t hesitate to pull her to the side.
“I’m sorry,” Mira said, dabbing a few tears of frustration away from her eyes. “I’m good with them normally, I promise. It’s just so loud, and the same song, over and over—I tried to get them to switch it up, but they don’t want to do anything else—”
He wished he could wrap his arms around her, but that would just draw attention to her, and he could tell she wouldn’t want that. She didn’t even want to cry in front of him.
“I have to get through this,” she said, raising her chin. “I need the bonus you get for making it through the whole holiday season. Marsh knows it, though, and that’s the problem. And he doesn’t like me.”
She didn’t mention that one of the reasons Marsh had turned on her lately had to be because she’d stood up for Wade’s validity as a last-minute replacement Santa, but Wade knew it was true.
We have caused problems for our mate, his bear said, its head sagging down. We didn’t mean to. Let’s eat Marsh.
Tempting, but I think we can manage something a little more efficient and a little less, you know, illegal and terrifying.
But less effective, his polar bear said.
That was technically true, so he didn’t bother denying it. Besides, he wanted to focus on Mira, not his own vengeful subconscious.
“You’ll get through it,” Wade said. He would make sure of it, no matter what bullshit Marsh tried to pull. Treating her like this was ridiculously horrible and unfair. “Slip into the back for a minute, or go get yourself some hot chocolate, or whatever you think will help. Definitely take some aspirin. I’ll cover for you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Mira wiped at her eyes again and gave him a shaky smile. “Okay. You’re my hero, you know.”
We’re her hero! his polar bear enthused. We should eat—
Don’t say the kids, Wade thought quickly.
I wasn’t going to say that, it said, sounding injured. They’re just cubs. I was going to say we should eat the noisy machine.
Huh. Destroying the carol-oke machine? That wasn’t a half-bad idea, and everyone here would thank him for it.
But Marsh had put Mira in charge here. He would have to allow Wade to take over for short intervals like this one, since he was the one who’d told him to do it, but Wade had the not-so-funny feeling that if anything went wrong, Marsh would make Mira pay the price. Marsh’s Christmas Village wasn’t the awe-inspiring success he had dreamed up in his head, and he’d already decided to take his frustrations out on the one person who would put up with them.
If she needed the bonus, then Wade needed to make sure she got it. Even if it meant biting his tongue to keep from antagonizing Mash any further.
Even if it meant letting the carol-oke machine live.
As the children wound down their latest performance of “Jingle Bells,” Wade cleared his throat and stepped in.
“Santa!”
“I don’t think any of you have been up to see me yet,” Wade said. He wished he could have managed a boisterous ho-ho-ho, but he didn’t think he could pull it off. He tried for a twinkle in his eyes, instead. “Is carol-oke more important than making sure I know what to bring you for Christmas?”
“It’s not!” one mom called, her voice edging into frantic territory. “It’s really not. So not.”
“Carol-oke should be on the naughty list,” a dad added, not quite under his breath.
The “Jingle Bells” choir at least agreed with the mom: carol-oke was not as important as Christmas presents.
“But now we have to get all the way at the end of the line,” one of them said, kicking a tuft of artificial snow. “Maybe we should just sing until the line’s gone.”
She reached for the machine to restart “Jingle Bells.”
Wade eased in front of it just in time, blocking her with a wall of red velvety suit.
“The line only looks long from here,” he said. “It’ll go by so fast. But if you stay out of it, more people will just keep coming and coming, and it’ll never get any shorter.”
The kids traded looks. “I don’t know,” their elected representative said, drawing the words out.
Wade almost settled for the pyrrhic victory of telling them that they could keep singing if they just switched the songs up a little more often, but then he had a better idea.
“As an early Christmas present, let me see what I can do about the line,” he said. “And don’t start the carol-oke up again yet—it interferes with Santa’s magic.”
That was an angle he’d certainly never tried before. The choir looked a little suspicious about it, but no one immediately grabbed at the carol-oke machine the second he stepped away, so he’d take it.
He hurried over to the line.
“One of our elves would love to treat everyone in line to free cookies and hot chocolate over at the snack stand,” he said. “All you have to do is step out of line for a minute or two and go have a delicious treat.”
“God, yes,” the “carol-oke should be on the naughty list” dad said. “Isn’t that great, honey?” he added to his daughter, in a perkier voice. “Free cookies!”
“But I want to meet Santa!”
“You will,” Wade promised. “I just thought you looked a little hungry.”
The girl considered this. “I am a little hungry.”
“Everyone good with free cookies and hot chocolate?”
The parents all nodded so adamantly that Wade was worried they’d give themselves whiplash. The children, who were seemingly impervious to the racket their peers were making, needed a moment to mull the offer over, but in another couple seconds, they started peppering him with questions about sprinkles and whether or not it was cruel to eat gingerbread men feet-first. He would let them sort that out.
He ushered them out of line and waved Milo over.
“We can’t give away free stuff, can we?” Wade asked, already resigned to his fate.
