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

  Rico put both hands up and slowly backed away. "I'm no Santa.”

  He was a young, fit, non-jolly man with a rep for being good with the ladies. Definitely not Santa material.

  She thrust the red Santa suit and white curly wig and beard into his hands. He pushed it back.

  "It's from nine to twelve at the high school,” she said. “Just go to the cafeteria. You'll get breakfast out of it."

  "I can buy breakfast."

  "Please, my dad doesn't have many friends. You were on his emergency contact list."

  "I was?"

  She thrust the red suit into his hands again. Then she handed him a glasses case. "Yes. And this is an emergency."

  He pushed everything back. No way was he dressing up like a jolly old elf.

  She gave him a pointed look. “Ficus.”

  Rico groaned. He knew that would bite him in the ass one day. But, come on, Santa? His parents had given him a ficus tree to celebrate his new job at Trav’s landscape company ten years ago. He’d kept it alive all these years, liking the reminder of his family and how proud they’d been of him. He’d grown sort of attached to that tree and asked Harold to water it whenever Rico was away. Harold had done so for the past ten years, refusing payment or anything in return. Now Harold was calling in that favor. Argh.

  “Give it to me,” Rico said, holding out his arms. “Then tell him we’re even.”

  A guy like him playing Santa was much worse than ten years of looking in on a ficus tree.

  She grinned, dropped the outfit in his arms, and shut the door. He looked down at the red velvet suit with the huge white beard. Ay Dios mio. And ho-ho-ho.

  So it was that Rico found himself putting on the big red suit early Saturday morning. He told no one and prayed no one recognized him. It would just be a bunch of kids, he reassured himself. He stuffed a pillow down the front to look more like ol’ St. Nick. He went to the bathroom mirror and put on the beard, wig, and Santa hat and burst out laughing. There was no way he could pass for the pasty, white-skinned Harold. He put on the round spectacles. Nope. Still looked like Santa Stud. Couldn’t be helped. Ah, well. It was just a few hours. He didn’t want to disappoint all the kids.

  He got in his truck and drove to Clover Park High. He was sweating already. He should’ve waited to change when he got there. He always ran hot, even in the winter. The wig was itching like crazy over his short-cropped hair, but he was afraid if he showed up half dressed, he’d ruin the magic for the little ones, so he suffered through it.

  When he walked into the cafeteria, he was greeted by the joyous sound of The Boss, Bruce Springsteen, belting out “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” over the loudspeakers. He bobbed his head in time to the music. If you had to play Santa, no one better to have sing about it. Rico was from Jersey, and in Jersey The Boss was king. None of the kids had shown up yet. He checked the big clock on the wall. Fifteen minutes until they officially opened.

  He breathed in the scent of brewing coffee and pancakes and took a moment to appreciate how Christmasy it looked in here for the kids. His nieces and nephews would love this. There was a large wooden throne with dark green velvet cushions at the far end of the cafeteria, sitting on a frayed red rug. That must be for Santa. Near the throne was a Christmas tree twinkling with multicolored lights, silver garland, and red ball ornaments. An angel perched on top of the tree. Taped to the wall nearby was a painted fireplace. All the long cafeteria tables alternated red and green tablecloths, with a bowl in the center filled with round peppermints with candy canes hanging off the edges. He grabbed a mint. Might as well have fresh breath for the kiddies.

  He spotted Shane O’Hare, Trav’s younger brother, and his fiancée, Rachel Miller, getting breakfast started in the back. He debated braving the ridicule for a cup of what he knew would be awesome coffee. The pair owned Something’s Brewing Café in town and brewed the best coffee he’d ever had. A few volunteers he didn’t know were running around setting out plates, utensils, cups, and assorted condiments.

  “Oh, look, Santa’s here! Hi, Santa!” Rachel waved.

  He walked over. “What’s up?”

  “Rico?” Shane asked. Then he cracked up.

  Rachel peered at him. “You’re Santa?” Then she cracked up too.

  “Very funny,” Rico said. “I’m helping out my neighbor Harold. He was too sick to do it. Can I get some of that coffee?”

  “Wouldn’t you prefer hot cocoa?” Shane asked.

  “And cookies?” Rachel asked.

  They dissolved into laughter.

  “Forget it,” Rico huffed. “Geez, try to do the right thing. I’ll be over here on my throne.” He headed over to the large velvet throne, ignoring their peals of laughter.

  Barry Furnukle from The Dancing Cow, a frozen yogurt shop in town, showed up in a green elf costume complete with pointy shoes with bells on them and a pointy hat. Rico felt a little better about the Santa duds.

  “Merry Christmas, Santa,” Barry said. He peered closer. “Rico?”

  Rico sighed. “Yeah, it’s me.”

  His brows scrunched together. “I never expected you—”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

  Barry stood straight as a soldier. “I’ll be your helper and photographer.”

  “Great,” Rico said. “Nice costume.”

  Barry preened and did a little jig that had the bells on his pointy shoes jingling. “Thank you. So I thought I’d let each kid tell you what they want; then I’ll take the picture and bring them over here.” He gestured to the side where he had set a large basket. “I’ll give them a coloring book, crayons, and a coupon to The Dancing Cow.”

  “Awesome.” Rico shoved a hand under the wig and scratched. “How many kids show up for this thing anyway?”

  “This is my first rodeo, so I don’t know. We’ll be ready for anything, right, Santa?”

  “Right. Do we get a break? You know, to feed the reindeer or something?”

  “Let’s do a fifteen-minute break halfway through.”

  He wiped some sweat off his brow and readjusted the Santa hat. “Yeah, okay. Oh, I see some kids. Get ready.”

  He settled himself on the throne and tried to look jolly. Should he smile? Nah, he’d better save it for the cameras, or he’d be smiling for three hours straight. He waited. The kids came running in all at once, followed by parents pushing strollers with little ones dressed in red dresses and little suits for their holiday pictures.

  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 weari
ng 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 starte
d 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."