Page 5 of Make You Mine This Christmas (Holly Ridge #2)

Brody

I stretch, and roll out of bed, wincing as my feet hit the cold floor.

I add slippers to the mental list of things I’ll need to grab at some store, sometime.

Middle of the night last-minute packing means some things are going to end up left behind.

Unintentionally left behind and forgotten.

The exact opposite of what I’ve done with Austin, despite my best intentions.

After taking a piss, swallowing my morning meds, and adding slippers to the actual list on my phone, I unroll my yoga mat.

I logged into YouTube on the SmartTV last night and now see my favorite YouTube instructor uploaded a new Christmas-themed flow.

The next thirty minutes pass in the blink of an eye as I center myself and get ready for the day ahead.

After the video wraps with one of the most peaceful versions of O Christmas Tree I’ve ever heard, I roll up the mat and get ready to shower for the day.

I started doing yoga in the months after I left the firm.

Giving up my old gym routine was easy enough, but I like the way yoga keeps me moving my body in a more forgiving way and helps to quiet my thoughts.

During the other ten months of the year, I alternate between the studio down the block from my house and more traditional videos.

But during Santa season? Something about starting the day with a Christmas-themed routine really gets my jolly jumping.

Post-shower, I stand at the mirror wrapped in a towel.

The hair coloring powder I use to turn my beard and hair an acceptable more salt-than-pepper combo sits on the sink.

As I comb it through and let it set, I stare at the reflection looking back at me.

Blue eyes, ready to twinkle. Relatively neat, trimmed beard being a Santa under forty lets me get away with.

Round cheeks with a tendency to turn pink much easier than I would like.

My eyes trail downward, eyeing the dark chest hair I’ve stopped shaving.

The darkening trail disappears under my towel, which no longer falls flat like it used to, but curves out with the flesh of my stomach.

Acceptance of my body’s natural burly and stocky form came hand in hand with the work my therapist and I did to unwrap my guilt at leaving the career I worked so hard for, but found such little fulfillment in.

If Austin had been surprised when he saw me without my full suit on, he hid it well. My towel starts to rise a little more as I remember the heat in his eyes as he took me in, his gaze like a ghost of all the touches we shared before.

Shaking myself, I test the powder on my beard, which should be fully set by now.

My hand comes back free of residue, which means I’m free to get dressed and get on with my day.

Pulling on my clothes, I wonder how I’ll see Austin again.

From my internet stalking, it looks like the place he’s been working at during the fall holds a bustling Christmas tree farm in the same location.

Yesterday’s favor must have been on one of his days off.

Suit garment bag slung over my arm, I make my way carefully down the outside stairs leading from the studio apartment Blaire arranged for me to stay in.

Apparently, one of the perks of staying in this particular location includes a daily allotment of coffee and pastries.

Trying to get Austin off my mind last night led to a deep dive into their holiday festival-themed menu.

I can’t wait to try most of the drinks on offer, so I can pick a favorite.

“Welcome to Jitters!” someone calls as I walk through the door, hit with a wall of warmth and the smells of fresh ground coffee and baked goods. This may ruin me for other Santa jobs.

“Brody!” Susie smiles at me from behind the counter. She met Blaire and me last night at the apartment and gave me the lay of the land while Blaire ran off to get home to something.

“Hi there, Susie. Tell me, which do you like better? The Eggnog Latte or the Gingerbread Macchiato?” Considering the products she stocks the bathroom with upstairs, I have a pretty good guess.

Susie doesn’t disappoint. “The Gingerbread Macchiato. Sometimes I make it for myself in July as a little pick-me-up.”

I smile, feeling a kindred spirit with a fellow Christmas lover. “I’ll take one of those, please, and a bacon and egg croissant.”

She gives my order to one of the runners and looks at me appraisingly.

“I feel like I’ve seen you around before.” My face must look as confused as I think it does, because she laughs. “Before last night, I mean.”

“Oh. I lived in Winterberry Glen for about eighteen months a decade ago.”

“Oh, and here I thought you only swung by every December twenty-fourth.” She winks at someone to my right, and I look down to see a young girl around seven studying me carefully.

I give her a wink too, and put my finger to my mouth, indicating she should keep me being here a secret.

My gaze returns to Susie to find her looking like she just ate a canary. “But thanks for confirming the rumors.”

These blasted cheeks of mine heat right on cue, and her smile softens.

“It would have passed by unnoticed five years ago. But since he’s best friends with the husband of one of Holly Ridge’s shining gems, he filters through the gossip mill more and more.

Plus, the feud between the towns is mostly old news now. A wider whisper network.”

My cheeks burn even warmer. There’s no pretending I don’t know which “he” Susie’s referring to. My heart warms right along with them though, hearing how Holly Ridge regards Austin as such a staple around town, like Winterberry Glen does.

She hands me a paper cup of coffee and a white bag holding my sandwich.

I know I need to let her get back to work, but find myself saying, “I wondered what changed. I remember the Christmas festival, but when I saw it rebranded as the Holly Ridge–Winterberry Glen Holiday Festival, I almost thought somewhere else had stolen your names.”

“You should ask him about it. He was there, he knows all the insider details.”

All the warmth at the mention of Austin goes out at the reminder of my current situation. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m not even sure when I’ll see him again.”

Susie gestures out the window with her chin. I follow the path of her gaze in time to see Austin walk past the café. He’s headed toward the gym. “You never know what those Christmas elves will rustle up for the right person.”

Her cheer and optimism are infectious and the locked-up organ in my chest starts to hope. Maybe this isn’t a foolhardy, overly-impulsive plan after all. I lift my cup in thanks. “Well, I better get this breakfast eaten and get myself ready for another day of spreading cheer.”

“I’ll be sure we have an Eggnog Latte and egg sandwich ready for you at eleven tomorrow.”

I thank Susie again and head back out into the cold, annoyed that carrying my suit means I can’t dig into this sandwich emitting smells from heaven.

After pushing my way into the locker room, I peek down a couple of the rows of lockers, not seeing Austin anywhere.

I guess he had another destination after all.

With my suit safely hung in one of the lockers, I sit myself down to enjoy my breakfast. A moan even I have to admit sounds a bit orgasmic leaves my lips after the first bite. It’s going to be hard to try any other sandwiches on the menu when the croissants are this good.

“Susie’s are good, but the ones from Buzzed over in the Glen are better.” Austin’s voice startles me so much the sandwich falls out of my hand and lands at my feet. I stare at it, telling myself repeatedly I can’t pick it up off a high school locker room floor and eat it.

“Fuck,” I say, taking my drink and holding it with both hands. I can’t lose two things so closely together.

“Now, would Santa really have that kind of a mouth on him?” Austin says, walking over to stand in front of me. He holds out a white bag, a familiar scent wafting out of it.

“Oh no, I can’t take your breakfast,” I say. “I have some protein bars in the pocket of my garment bag. I’ll have—”

The bag shakes in my face, the smell increasing. “Blaire gave me this when I got here. I already had one from Buzzed on my way in. I don’t need both, and Santa can’t get hangry. Consider it a peace offering.”

I look up at him, wary. “Just like that?”

He shrugs. “Once the shock wore off, I’m over it.” He keeps his eyes steady on mine. The Austin I knew couldn’t lie for shit and still held a grudge against his next-door neighbor for something from second grade. I take the bag from him.

“You’re over it?” I feel like a parrot, repeating what he’s saying. But yesterday, the looks he shot my way—when he bothered to acknowledge I existed—could freeze Winterberry Lake the whole way to the bottom.

“I’m over it.” Austin’s eyes dart once to his shoes, the same tell he’s always had when he’s lying. His eyes widen once he realizes I’ve caught it, and he whirls around, taking away my ability to read his expression.

“So, what are you doing here?” I ask his back.

“I’ve decided to lean into this new tights fetish I’m developing,” he says, his tone dry. “I took the job. Blaire needs my help; I need the work. Shouldn’t we get ready? Blaire said you wanted to be at the workshop at 11:30 to go over some reports? I’m your elf escort for today.”

“Right,” I catapult myself into action, finishing the last of the sandwich.

I go to wash my hands, not wanting to touch my suit with greasy fingers.

When I get back, Austin’s leggings are on, and he’s pulling the tunic top over a stomach with abs much more defined than the last time I saw him with his shirt off.

He clears his throat. We really need to stop getting caught staring at each other’s stomachs. “So, uh, you take this Santa stuff really seriously, huh? Uh, what happened—”

His question is cut off by a few high school aged boys coming into the locker room. One whispers something to the other, which makes the second boy snicker. They move quickly to the stalls at the back of the space.

Austin and I finish getting ready in silence until the outer door shuts behind them again. By then, we’re both ready to go and there’s no sense in delaying any longer.

“After you, Santa,” Austin says, holding the door and ushering me into the gym. I look around at the bustle of activity, something dawning on me.

“Wait, school’s still in session, right? Massachusetts didn’t change some law giving them off between Thanksgiving and New Year’s? How can we be in their gym?”

He holds open the door to the outside, and we bundle our coats against the cold winter wind.

“The students use their gym periods during the weeks between Thanksgiving and holiday break to help out with festival stuff—it gives them a community service unit on their transcripts. And besides, if there was a new law, wouldn’t you know about it?

” He waves at a few people as we make our way across the square, taking special care to greet the kids who point at us as we walk past.

“Not a lot of call for keeping up with K-12 Massachusetts educational laws in the corporate world,” I say, my tone as bitter as the chill from the cold.

Austin shoots me a questioning look, but lets it go.

“The community service thing was Blaire’s idea.

They used to coordinate out of a huge tent in the parking lot of the high school, which is not ideal for obvious weather reasons.

” He pulls his scarf up over his mouth, his words mumbled. “A lot of this is thanks to her.”

I nod as we reach the back door to Santa’s Workshop, and Austin pulls out a key, unlocking it and letting us inside. We both breathe a sigh of relief at the warmth. “She really seems like Superwoman. Cole’s a lucky guy.”

“Of course he is. An awesome wife and a great best friend. What more does he need? Well, I guess now—” The door opening cuts Austin off. A kid who barely looks eighteen walks in the door.

“Mr. Santa. Mr. Austin.” He nods at both of us.

“I’m Jimmy. Ms. Blaire sent me, said you were looking for someone to head up the cookie and picture station.

” My eyebrows rise. Jimmy rolls his eyes and keeps talking.

“I know, I look fifteen, but I’m actually twenty-two.

I’m finishing up my last semester at the community college, getting my non-profit management certificate.

Ms. Blaire said you have a foundation that funds gifts for some of the kids who come through? She thought I’d be the perfect fit.”

I stick out my hand to shake his. “It’ll be great to have you, Jimmy. I prefer to have the same person running the stand when we can, to be sure the right information is being exchanged without the kids catching wind of anything. Come on over. I’ll show you how it works.”

Austin looks at me quizzically for a beat before shaking his head and heading off to check the bathroom is ready for the public. As Jimmy and I walk past the open bathroom door, I hear something that sounds a lot like a muttered, “I’m over it, goddamnit.”