Page 19 of Sexy Claus
He saw me crying.
If he knew how difficult pushing him away was, would he use that knowledge to his advantage?
Lowering her head, she stepped close enough to turn the deadbolt and then the lock on the knob. As metaphors went, locking him out seemed like a good one, even when part of her didn’t want to.
Her gaze strayed upward without her permission as she started to turn, catching sight of a fogged pane in the bottom row.I ? Ufilled the steamed-up square.
The simple message woke memories of him doing the same thing on her bedroom window hundreds of times. He’d rarely let a cold day go by without telling her how much she meant to him that way.
On the verge of bawling, she rushed toward her bedroom. Halfway there, she detoured to the dark bathroom and shut herself inside. Sleeping would be impossible with his presence lingering in her personal space and his masculine scent clinging to the pillows and blankets. Another night in her father’s room with his indifference haunting her wasn’t an option, either.
The couch? The bathtub? My car?
She sat on the toilet lid and buried her face in her hands. Returning to Creekside, even temporarily, had been a disastrous decision. The man who’d barely tolerated her existence should’ve named someone else—anyone else—his beneficiary.
The low hum of an engine outside the bathroom window, the crunch of gravel, and the flash of headlights across the wall announced Sven’s departure. Only near-darkness and her gasping sobs remained. Instead of bringing relief, being completely alone pushed her to the edge of despair.
Not once since she’d packed her suitcase and bought a bus ticket to Cleveland had she surrendered to grief. She’d fought tooth and nail to stay strong and forget the past. Her life had consisted of working in the library, going to class, studying, and squeezing in a few hours of sleep when she couldn’t keep her eyes open. She’d been self-reliant and self-sufficient by necessity as much as choice.
Her mindset hadn’t allowed anything to change during her internships or numerous jobs after graduating twice—stay busy, help her patients, and move on when the time felt right. She’d faltered twice. Her body, if not her heart, had betrayed her. Two kind men had convinced her to give them a chance, leading to adequate sex and a pair of marriage proposals that had ended soon after. Neither breakup had been painful or terribly disappointing.
Sven wanted her to show her entire self to him, including all the broken parts she’d had to acknowledge during her most-recent attempt to find peace. The psychologist had subtly convinced her to find closure in Creekside, but being here had reopened old wounds rather than healing them.
Too exhausted to continue rehashing her ghastly history with interpersonal and familial relationships, she trudged to the couch, curled up in the corner farthest from the recliner, and dropped her forehead to her knees. Only her professionalacquaintances had brought normalcy to her life since she’d become an adult, but that was at risk with her association with Brenna.
After tomorrow’s fundraiser, Mrs. Claus would turn back into a pumpkin to finalize settling Walter Rime’s estate, pack up her few belongings, and make a quiet exit. Self-preservation would save her again.
Holdingon to her wig and bonnet, Christy hurried along the vaguely familiar corridor, theclick,click,clickof her black lace-up ankle boots echoing off the walls. Despite last night’s turmoil, she’d fallen into a deep sleep and awakened to bright sunshine forty-five minutes before Claus for a Cause and Mrs. Claus’s Cookie Kitchen were set to welcome patrons. A quick shower and a lot more makeup than usual later, she’d put on her costume in the faculty restroom near the main office and hightailed it to the other side of the building.
It's a good thing I have lots of practice pretending to be happy.
As she approached the old Home Ec. room from her high school days, Brenna rounded the corner not far beyond the classroom entrance, clad in a green tunic and candy-cane striped leggings. Red pointy-toes slippers matched the outfit. Her long strokes propelled her along the straightaway much faster than Christy could run in her heels. She coasted the last several yards, adjusting her Santa hat as her chair slowed. “You look amazing! Thanks again for agreeing to help with the cookie decorating and pictures. You really saved the day.”
“Glad to help.” Christy followed her guide into the festively decorated space. Luckily, the wire-rimmed glasses she woredidn’t have lenses to blur the lighted snowflakes hanging from the ceiling or the strands of white lights framing the windows. Round tables with red-and-green plaid tablecloths were set with laminated placemats, child-sized butter knives, small tubs of colored frosting, and shakers of sprinkles. More supplies were organized on a long counter at the back of the room. The aroma of freshly baked sugar cookies filled the air. Not until she’d lived on her own had she associated the smell with Christmas. “How did you not have a hundred volunteers for this job?”
Brenna’s genuine laughter added to the ambience. “Mrs. Barber has claimed it for as long as I’ve been alive, and I needed a substitute in a hurry. You were in the right place at the right time. The bakers will be wheeling out trays of cookies at ten on the dot and your helpers will be arriving any minute. Text me if you have any questions. Ten minutes until the invasion. I’m off to check on the craft room, the toy workshop, and the retail shop. And I need to text Santa to be sure he and the outdoor elves are ready to pass out pellets to feed to the reindeer.”
An involuntary shiver raced through her. “Brr. It’s cold out there today. Better them than me.”
Brenna grinned and pivoted toward the doorway. “Right? See you at lunch. Ten after twelve in the teachers’ lounge. You have a thirty-minute break starting at noon, so don’t be late!”
“Got it. Time for a stop in the restroom and a quick bite to eat.” Christy saluted her supervisor. “I’ll save a cookie for you.”
“Ha! I already snagged one from the kitchen before you got here, but thanks for thinking of me. You’re the best.” Brenna glanced over her shoulder with a sweet smile exactly like her father’s. Then she zipped into the hallway and out of sight.
Ignoring the knot in the pit of her stomach, Christy crossed to the supply counter to familiarize herself with the setup. Low voices carried into the room from the corridor, and she braced for the first test of her disguise.
A trio of women sashayed into the Cookie Kitchen, dressed more for a night of clubbing and hookups than a morning of frosting and nonpareils. Their gold, silver, and black sequined halter tops caught and reflected the light from the snowflakes. All three aimed death stares at her as they continued past the tables.
The blonde in the middle stopped and the others followed suit, like they’d never matured past the high school cliques they’d obviously been a part of. “Who did you sleep with? Was it Sven?”
Hmm. I know that screechy voice.
Thoroughly confused by the woman’s question, Christy set down the tub of icing she’d picked up and mentally crossed her fingers the popular girls weren’t the volunteers Brenna had mentioned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Their spokesperson pursed her blood-red lips and narrowed her spider-lashed eyes. “How did you get the job of Mrs. Claus? There’s a waiting list for when Mrs. Barber dies or can’t do it anymore, and I’m pretty sure you’re not on it. I’ve never seen you before, so you must not be from Creekside.”
Well, I’ve seen you, and you haven’t changed a bit.