Page 102 of Santa Daddies

“Fine, so you have bags and itty-bitty hammers, sure. But besides Emma, how many people are going to save the bags, much less remember the joy of smacking the pigs?Butif we sell stuffed pigs along with the peppermint ones, people can treasure the memory forever!”

“I love that!” Emma declared. “Granted, not every member is going to want one, but I’d bet there won’t be a Little who doesn’t. Oh, we could sell different sized ones. Like the family of our candy ones!”

And just like that, they were off. I sat back, looking at my friends smiling in indulgence as everything from campaign names to clothes for the stuffies was discussed. Even Greg was asked whether he thought Piggie Pals or Porky Chums was more appealing.

His tip percentage increased when he gave it some thought as he set down plates of food and finally shrugged and diplomatically declared, “Why not offer both?”

Two hours passed in the blink of an eye as we marked another year of being blessed down in our memory banks. Marcie lifted her dish of ice cream to spoon up a semi-melted bite when the spoon paused halfway to her mouth. She quickly slapped the dish back onto the saucer.

As if that was going to keep the slip of paper I’d placed on that plate hidden.

“Finish your ice cream, babygirl,” I instructed. This time the side eye might appear accusatory to some, but I found it adorable.

“It’s melted,” she declared.

Poor Little girl. I might have bought the fact that melted ice cream wasn’t appealing if she hadn’t followed that statement by not only putting the spoon between her lips that held the paused bite but then licked it quite thoroughly when she removed it.

“Are you done?” Greg asked, reaching for the plate and bowl.

I watched the battle taking place within her. It was so easy to see that part of her wanting to declare yes, thus removing the dish and plate from her existence. Then again, on the opposing side was the fact that she knew if she’d seen the paper waiting for her, someone else could as well. The deciding factor had to bewhatthey’d read and, since the slip was folded, she had no clue as to what they might be. Though I supposed the fact that she was aware I was remaining silent, letting her direct her opposing forces on her own, didn’t hurt.

“Almost,” she said, wrapping her fingers around the small dish.

“No hurry, enjoy,” Greg said, moving around the table to remove those dishes people were finished with.

“You’re one very sneaky Santa Daddy,” Marcie whispered, tilting the dish just enough so she could slip her fingers beneath it to pull the slip free. Her fingers closed into a fist around the paper, making holding her spoon awkward.

I reached over and slipped the spoon from her fingers and scooped up the remaining bite of ice cream. Holding it to her lips, I said, “Open.”

If I thought her adorable before, the flaring of her nostrils and the instant dilation of her pupils as she parted her lips, made her the most beautiful creature on the planet.

She took the bite and swallowed before shaking her head. “Remember those Santa Clause movies?”

“How could I forget, we binge-watch a marathon of them every year.”

“Then you’ll understand that you’re not Tim Allen’s Santa, you’re Martin Short playing Jack Frost.”

I chuckled. “Except for one thing.” Her nose crinkled and I leaned forward so only she could hear. “Jack Frost gets off on making things cold and uncomfortable, while I plan on making you very hot.”

“And bothered,” she quipped without hesitation, and I laughed so hard, every head at the table turned toward us.

“Care to share?” Leo asked, the smirk on his face letting me know he knew I’d rather not.

“We’re just talking about which Christmas movie is our favorite,” Marcie said.

She wasn’t only adorable and beautiful; she was quick on her feet as well. As titles were tossed out, coats were gathered. Bigs helped Littles into them, and we formed a line to weave our way back to the front of the restaurant.

“Merry Christmas,” Greg said, his smile sincere. “Come back anytime.”

“We will!” a dozen voices proclaimed, and I knew, pig or no pig, we were all truly blessed indeed.

Chapter Seven

Marcie

I didn’t slip the paper from my hand until we were seated in our car and on the way home. I fiddled with it, not sure what to expect. Since the first “piece,” there had been things my Santa Daddy had requested, but all of those had been printed on a sheet of paper like any old regular list. The only difference was that after completion, I’d use a red pen to make a checkmark in the box that preceded each one. Daddy would then check the list himself and add a second check mark to show the chore as completed. It was his way of reminding me that Santa Daddy was “checking it twice”.

The slip of paper I’d discovered beneath my ice-cream dish was only the second that had come as a separate “piece”. My pulse was racing as I wondered what I’d find when I unfolded the slip. Would it be something as mundane and boring as having to untangle strings of Christmas lights that I’d just tossed into a box last year without winding them around their plastic frames? Believe me, after spending three whole hours doing that, I knew I’d never just bunch them up again.