Page 14 of Make You Mine This Christmas (Holly Ridge #2)

Brody

Any worries I have about sharing space with Austin—well they are probably warranted. In hindsight, getting through a full conversation about why I left the way I did was the easy part.

What I haven’t worried enough about are things like how it would feel to see him sleepy-eyed and bed-headed, walking to the bathroom in the morning.

Or the joy it brings me to see him so excited to order a new holiday beverage for me at Jitters before our next stint as Santa and elf.

The impact of getting to know this older and wiser Austin.

We fall into a pattern of asking one question each night.

Sunday, it happens when we’re on our way to pick up my curbside order of essentials.

Highest on the list is underwear, because I cannot spend another night of Austin shooting not-so-covert glances at my crotch or another morning worried he’ll call me out of bed for breakfast before the dark spot where my dick leaked in his pants overnight dries.

“When you go out on a first date,” he asks, “what appetizer do you order?” I think for a moment, unsure if I should admit it’s been a long time since I’ve been on a date.

“I’d have to go with an appetizer platter, if they have one. That way there’s a little bit of everything and gives me more of a chance I got their favorite.”

“You wouldn’t ask them what they wanted instead of taking a guess?” He bites into the granola bar he grabbed from the snack table in the gym when we changed.

“Nah, this way I look decisive. The truth is I really can’t pick one option I want for myself, but they benefit too.”

After we pick up my order, I ask my question. “If you could be any animal, what animal would you be?”

“An otter, definitely,” he answers, needing no time to consider at all.

“Why an otter?” He lets my bonus question slide.

“They eat several times a day, get to hang out and float in the water, and they’re just so cute.”

“Well, nothing to argue with there,” I say, and we lapse into a comfortable silence.

“C’mon Santa, let’s get you home,” Austin says, turning onto the bridge to cross into Winterberry Glen.

* * *

Monday, the questions come earlier, while we’re walking back to the gym from Santa’s Workshop.

“If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?” Austin asks, our shoes crunching the packed snow made extra hard by the still freezing temperatures. Tomorrow is supposed to get into the twenties, and I can hardly wait.

“A town the size of Winterberry Glen, but in a climate like San Francisco. Somewhere it’s not as hot in the summer as it is in the South where I grew up, but it’s not as balls cold as it is here right now,” I say, a shiver racking through my body.

“You wouldn’t live in a city? After all your time in New York?”

I decide to give him a hint into what my life has been for the last three years. “I actually moved to Stamford three years ago. I don’t need to be in the city every day, so living there gives me a close enough commute, but also got me out of gridlocked Manhattan.”

I watch Austin absorb this information, his eyebrows moving up and down slightly, his lips rolling in and out of his mouth. He’s building a new Brody in his mind.

A few minutes later we’re changing and I decide to ask the same question. “How about you? Where would you live?”

Austin pulls on his sweatshirt before he answers, his head popping out of the neck hole with his hair deliciously ruffled.

“I know you can’t picture me anywhere but here, but sometimes, I do wonder what it would be like to live in a city.

Public transportation, more than a drive-through or pizza place open past eleven.

I don’t know I could do it forever, but it might be nice to quicken up the pace. ”

I bend down to tie my shoes, giving myself a few extra beats to answer. “You fit here and play a role in what makes this town so great. Doesn’t mean you couldn’t fit somewhere else too.”

He’s looking at me, expression guarded, like he’s not sure he should believe me or not. “Somewhere with a community but isn’t quite so small town. That’s where I see you,” I say, satisfied I’m correct in my assessment.

“Say, would that be somewhere like Stamford?” he asks, a shit-eating grin on his face.

I flush. “Sure, Stamford may come close to fitting the bill.” I lock down my racing mind feeding me images of us sharing a community, a home. He’s teasing, and that’s not anywhere close to what he’s thinking.

“C’mon, let’s go. The chicken you put in the crock pot before we left is calling my name.” He holds open the locker room door so I can catch up. I never want to make him wait for me again, if I can help it.

* * *

On Tuesday, we’re wrapping up for the night when pounding at the back door rings out again. Austin gets there first and greets the visitor. “Susie,” he says, without any surprise in his tone. Apparently, this is how she makes an entrance.

“Oh good, I caught you all before you left.” Her eyes bounce from me to Austin and back again. “They were able to clear the steps of the ice with some ice melt and help from the sun showing its face again today. You can go up and grab whatever you need now.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m getting by with the few things we grabbed the other night, but I’m anxious to check on my Santa suits. Plus, days without yoga and constantly in Austin’s presence have really given me the need to unwind.

“Oh no, I’m sorry, Brody. You can go grab your things, but you’re not going to be able to stay.

” Susie misreads my reaction as expecting to get my space back.

I try not to let more relief show at the prospect of more time with Austin.

“Between the carpet and drywall damage and the time of year, I think it’s best if you plan not to be able to stay there again until your time with us as Santa is through. ”

She looks at Austin expectantly, and I fight the urge to join her.

I don’t want to put pressure on him he doesn’t need.

“Let me know if I need to put out the call for another room or place to stay. I’m sure there are plenty of people willing to put up the Santa who’s done such wonderful things for all the children who have come to see him.

” I bite back a laugh—subtlety is not Susie’s strong suit.

“No, it’s fine,” Austin says, quicker than I expected. “I’ve got the space, and Brody’s already set up there. It may not be the most comfortable bed in the world, but I think it’s okay.”

“Well, dear, you could always spring for a new mattress. How old is the one you’re sleeping on now?” Susie’s eyes glint with a devilish twinkle.

“What? No. We don’t share a mattress. It’s a pullout. In the guest room. I guess we could get a topper . . .” Austin trails off as he realizes he’s been got. I’m not successful at stifling a laugh this time, which turns his glare on me.

“In any case, I’m glad to hear Santa’s being well taken care of. You boys let me know if you need any help loading up Brody’s stuff. I’ll come to the bottom of the stairs and cheer you on.” And with far less fanfare than she entered with, Susie disappears back into the night.

“I guess we better go get changed and then go get your stuff,” Austin says.

“I guess so,” I say. Austin walks ahead of me toward the back door, and Jimmy sticks his hand out low for a high five as I walk past. I barely even feel bad about returning it.

* * *

Luckily, the pipe burst away from where most of my stuff is stored, so beyond everything having a bit of a damp feel, nothing is ruined.

Some clothes may need a few spins through a hot water cycle to remove a faint smell of mildew, but with our day off tomorrow, I should have the time.

I didn’t want to open the bags holding my suits in that environment, and my knee bounces nervously on the drive back from Holly Ridge, everything I brought with me piled in the back of Austin’s Bronco.

“Where did you find your suits? How did you learn how to take care of them?” Austin asks.

I smile. First, because he’s doing a great job of skirting around asking me flat out how I ended up a professional Santa.

And second, because I didn’t mention my anxiety around the state of the Santa suits, but he still figured it out.

“There are professional Santa schools in various places around the country—a big one in New York. They have a lot of resources for where to get quality materials, plus it’s a friendly community. For the most part, fellow Santas are more than willing to help.”

“Imagine that—people who play Santa being a welcoming and friendly bunch,” Austin says, his tone a little sarcastic.

“There are definitely folks who take it really seriously and are territorial of the yearly gigs and connections they’ve made. But most of us are there because we want to feel good about what we do, professionally or as a side gig, and want to spread the joy.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry for making a joke. You definitely don’t want Santa to be a cranky guy or a drunk.”

“Another perk of being involved in more professional Santa organizations, like the schools. Those who are in the know look for vetted professionals to avoid those types of awkward scenarios. Bad cookies can still slip through, or people go through hard times, of course, but it helps.”

We’re silent as we cross into Winterberry Glen. Once again, I take in the great job they’ve done of decorating the streets.

“They’ve asked me to consider doing some lectures next summer,” I say quietly. It’s the first time I’ve told anyone. “They want me to talk a little bit about how I started the charitable arm of my business, so others can consider it, even on a much smaller scale.”

“Brody, that’s awesome. I really think you’re doing something great with your charity—kids are getting the joy from meeting you and also getting access to other resources at the same time, without even knowing it.”

I nod. “I had the means to make it happen. I wanted to do some good for once, after feeling so bad for so long.” We’re parked now, and Austin waits quietly to see if I’ll continue. After a few moments, he breaks the silence, clearing his throat.

“Well, let’s go get your suits looked at and start a load of your clothes. You can do a search to see which dry cleaners have the processes you’ll need, and then I can vet if they’re trustworthy or not.”

We go up and get started. The suits are in great shape, thanks to the heavy-duty bags I keep them in.

I still want to get them cleaned, along with the one I’ve been wearing for the past few days, to be sure no musty smells creep in.

Austin approves one of the places I find, right down the street, and promises we can go first thing in the morning and get a same-day job from them.

Turns out, while he never worked there, he did work for the auto shop the family owns a few years back, so they’ll give him as many favors as he wants.

Leftovers from last night’s chicken have been cleared and we’re sitting on the couch, each with a beer in hand.

Austin gave me the remote and didn’t complain when I put on a Hallmark Christmas movie.

I’d go as far as to say he’s even enjoying the hijinks of three brothers trying to care for a baby dropped off on their front porch.

“Why don’t you have a Christmas tree?” I ask during the next commercial break. “Or any decorations, really?”

He shrugs, taking a sip of his beer, his lips curling tantalizing around the long neck bottle. “I typically spend Christmas at my mom’s and we decorate there. I’m usually at the Christmas tree farm for such long hours too—I get my fill of pine.”

“But you’re not there this year?” I ask. Austin asked a follow-up question last night, so I’m choosing to believe those are in play for this unofficial game of Twenty Questions we’re volleying back and forth.

Austin picks at the label on his bottle.

“No. They needed to downsize after the fall festival. I had seniority with how many years I’ve worked for them, but a young kid needed a job more.

I asked them to give it to him instead.” He shrugs, like willingly putting himself out of a job in the middle of winter is no big deal.

I wouldn’t have expected him to do anything else.

“We should go get you a tree tomorrow. Is the lot open? I’ll pitch in.”

He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say I can’t afford a tree.”

I put a hand on his arm, hoping I didn’t offend him. “No, I know. But I meant I’m staying in your space, rent free, and I’m the one suggesting you decorate. I can pitch in.”

“You were staying at Jitters rent free too, right? Would you have helped Susie get a tree?”

“If I believed an iota of undecorated space existed in Jitters to put a tree, absolutely I would.” We both laugh—I can’t say for sure, but I imagine Susie starts decorating on November first.

“And you want to decorate a tree, do more Christmassy stuff on your day off?” His eyes meet mine then, and I read the doubt in his eyes he’s not saying. Is it smart, is it safe, for us to do such a domestic thing together?

I keep my tone light. “C’mon, I’m a professional Santa. Of course I want to help decorate.” Our eyes stay locked, and I hope he reads in them what I’m not saying. For you, Austin? I’ll do anything.