Page 42 of Santa of the Creek

Of course he does. We read together every week. He nods as if he knows, but that’s the only thing he says.

“Where are the parents?” I hiss to Echo.

He points at a booth in one corner.

Oh.They are done for the day, glazed eyes staring into glasses full of mulled wine.

I look at Echo. “I guess it’s down to us, Mister Elf.”

“I guess it is, Santa.” Echo turns to children. “Hi there, I’m Mister Elf, Santa’s helper for today. Who wants to meet Santa?”

Chapter Nine

7th December

Echo

Dean sits bare ass naked on my bed. You have to understand, this is not usually a problem. Who wouldn’t want to have a hot, naked man in his bed? And Dean makes my mouth water and my dick think happy thoughts.

Or it would do, but he’s moaning again, and he hasn’t stopped since we arrived home from the bar.

“My feet are going to fall off.” He pokes at his feet as if he expects them to do just that.

“If you keep poking at them of course they’ll hurt,” I point out, trying to be reasonable.

“But they hurt,” he whines like a five-year-old, poking at them yet again. I’m ready to cuff his hands together to make him stop.

“You should try being on your feet for an eight-hour shift every day,” I snap.

I’m cranky too but not because of my feet.

Deep breath, Echo, he’s just decompressing.

I limp into the bathroom and stare at my frazzled self in the mirror.

Be nice. The Creekers will never forgive you if you kill Santa.

Arms wrap around me, a warm body presses against mine, and Dean rests his chin on my shoulder.

“I’m being a pain, aren’t I?”

“No. Yes. A bit.”

His lips twitch. “You’re always trying to be nice to me.”

“I’m a bartender. Being nice to people is my specialty.”

“I can see that. Especially to whingy, whiny folk like me.”

I sigh as I lean against him. “I’m tired too. It was a long afternoon.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Dean had not stopped thanking me since our impromptu gig finished. As some of the thanks involved a heated make-out session in the back of the bar, I’m not complaining.

“I had fun,” I tell him for the umpteenth time.

He grimaces. “You cray cray.”