Page 8 of Santas' Elf
He smirked. “You’d think that, especially from somebody with the language skills of an editor. But there were days when I’d wished their tantrums would have devolved into wailing.”
He sighed and rested his elbows on the table, a distant look in his eyes. “Looking back, I think they were as stressed as the rest of us, but shouldered more of the burden. Time constraints, space constraints… If they were considering two different articles to assign, but had to choose one, which would be more likely to attract eyes and sell papers? Still, it wasn’t the environment for me.”
He shook his head. “And what do you do? Or are you Santa for parties year-round?”
“No, the rest of the year I offer legal services to small businesses. Usually things like contracts or other documents, though occasionally we’ll give other kinds of advice.”
“Oh, cool!” he replied. “Pete does the same thing.”
Another laugh. “I’d hope so! It’s our company!”
Benny turned bright red with a blush, and I had the strangest urge to kiss him.
“I… I had no idea,” he stammered.
I shrugged. “Pete probably didn’t say anything. When he’s Santa, that’s the only thing on his mind.”
He laughed. “I noticed. Did you know he lets out a big ‘Ho, Ho, Ho’ every time he finishes putting on the costume?”
“Not just the costume,” I replied. “He practiced for at least a week before Santa duty officially started. Our receptionist had to tell him to knock it off because it was confusing potential clients.”
“You’ve gotta be joking,” he chuckled.
“Oh, no.” I shook my head. “Pete probably would do the Santa thing year-round if he didn’t also love working with business clients. He can’t get enough of the smiling kids.”
Benny grinned. “That’s so sweet.”
I nodded. “Pete’s the biggest softie you’ll ever meet.”
There was a commotion in the hall, and I turned to see people who had to be the temps strolling in.
It was time to be Santa.
Chapter 7 - Benny
~December~
The toddler who’d been bawling only seconds prior broke into a huge grin as I waved a big yellow duck above the camera.
Pete—seeing his chance—hugged the little boy and matched the grin.
Snap! Snap! Snap!
I breathed a sigh of relief as the boy was ushered off Pete’s lap and into the waiting arms of his mama.
Pete and I shared a glance. At some point over the past two weeks, we’d developed the ability to communicate without words, and his expression told me he needed a minute.
I nodded, then checked my memory card. I had a bit of space left, but it was as good an excuse as any. I motioned to the handler, who was headed to get the next child. He walked over.
“Give me three,” I said softly. “I’m going to switch memory cards and reconnect to the viewing laptop.”
“Got it,” he confirmed before proceeding to the payment table.
Out of sight of the line, I held three fingers to my chest, telling Pete how long I’d requested. He smiled and boisterously asked if any of the kids had seen reindeer on the roof of the mall.
Even when he was ‘off’ he was ‘on.’ I covered his need for a break by switching memory cards, and he covered me by playing it up for the line and re-centering himself.
The scared and crying children were hard on him, and that one had been the fifth screamer in two hours. He hid it well, but he thrived on their smiles and laughter. If he had his way, every child would run up with an excited ‘Santa!’