“Those are part of the costume," she protested when I slid off her wire glasses, itching to free her hair from the ugly cap.
She frowned stepping into a nearby supply closet and returned with a small pillow. Unbuckling the belt, I held open the red velvet jacket. Her cold fingertips touched the pillow to my undershirt, grazing my stomach as she positioned it and fiddled with the belt, repositioning my false stomach to adjust the belt lower. And lower.
Oh my god, I cannot play Santa with a hard-on. I wrenched the belt from her grip and tightened it myself.
To regain composure, I reached into my briefcase for mints, holding out the tin case. “Santa’s breath probably smells like candy canes, right?”
Her smile widened as she took a mint. Maybe I could actually pull this off.
“Ready?” Her eyes brimmed with hope, looking ridiculous in her costume, yet somehow adorable. A genuine grin crossed my face.
Maybe we could pull this off.
”Ready as I’ll ever be, wife.”
Her brows lifted in surprise as her gaze dropped to her fidgeting fingers.
Oh shit, I had to nip this in the bud.
Since I’d slipped on the ugly jacket matching her awful cape, I’d been thinking of her as my North Pole wife … but I hadn’t meant for that word to slip out. Girls got the wrong impression when I gave them even a shred of attention.
My career came first. Aside from this quick cosplay, there was no chance of a Mrs. Alexander Clarke, at least until I made partner, and no family until I could financially support them.
I cleared my throat, which suddenly felt tight.
“Hey, I know I’m playing your husband, and this sexy beard and suave suit make me practically irresistible,” my voice dripped with sarcasm, and those cautious hazel eyes lifted. As I ran my hand over the scratchy beard, my cheeks warmed. “But you have to agree not to fall in love with me, ok? And …”
To make things seem fair, I added, “I promise not to fall in love with you.”
Like that would ever happen.
She lifted her little finger like kids making a playground dodgeball alliance. “Pinkie promise?”
My little finger wrapped around hers. She brought our interlocked hands to her lips and kissed her thumb. Even though it felt super childish, I sealed the vow, only the width of our joined hands between our lips, my gaze locked on her striking hazel eyes.
Every day, I wrote contracts securing deals into the millions; somehow, for a flash, this agreement felt just as significant. Which was ridiculous. It was a pinkie swear, for Christ’s sake, between two consenting adults.
“I should remind you I’m not your lawyer and this agreement is in no way legally binding.”
As she unraveled our grip, she mockingly replicated my stern expression. “I’ll take that under consideration, Counselor.”
Chapter 5Alex
Grace led me down a corridor adorned with paper snowflakes and twinkling lights, and my mood lightened. Hospital staff lined the route to clap and sing ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town.’ In the festive pediatric community room, the families waited in plush chairs. I lifted my hand from my pillow belly to wave and boom, “Ho Ho Ho, Merry Christmas.” The kids’ faces, some pale and gaunt, lit up with excitement, and my joy didn’t feel as manufactured.
Grace guided me to a makeshift Santa chair, the same stiff guest chair from Dad’s hospital room. It smelled like the sanitized bed sheets draped over it, softened by a fuzzy red blanket and round peppermint pillows. Grace stood between me and the Christmas tree at the front of a line of patients. She welcomed a little boy in snowman pajamas and introduced me, “Santa, this is Antonio.”
He looked nervous so I held out my hand, which he tentatively shook before climbing onto my lap. “What do you want for Christmas, Antonio?”
“A firetruck."
A wrapped present slid into my hands with Antonio’s handwritten name. He tore off the paper to reveal a red ladder truck. He hugged me as his mom’s eyes welled with tears. Grace leaned to whisper in her ear and I tried to eavesdrop, but it sounded like Spanish. Antonio lifted the car for a photo before his mom guided him away.
The line moved slowly to give each patient attention, and Grace handed me the perfect gift for each one. The children were fragile but full of hope, all pulling together a smile for Santa.
I understood now why Grace criticized my attitude: These weren’t simply her patients, these were her kids. She knew them all, and their families trusted her. Seeing how they respected her, I didn’t want to disappoint them … or her.
The next patient climbed onto my lap while his dad balanced an infant. After I handed the boy a teddy bear, the dad asked for a picture and I happily obliged. When he asked for another one with the baby … and I froze. I could handle kids once they followed directions, but it had been years since I held a baby. What if I dropped her and the hospital got sued for an unlicensed Santa? Even if I represented the hospital, the parent might win the lawsuit because I was completely unqualified.
I’d litigate a good case, though. I’m sure we’d settle out of court.
My panic must have shown because Grace reached for the baby, who leaned into her outstretched arms. Lifting the boy onto my hip, I stood close enough to Grace to smell the mustiness of her costume, the floral notes of her shampoo, and the peppermint of her breath. My hand rested on the small of her back — for the picture, of course — and felt her quick intake of breath.
Behind the camera phone, the dad’s eyes lingered on Grace’s smile. I forced a grin while restraining the urge to wipe the longing off his face. He shouldn’t look at another man’s Mrs. Claus like that.
The line shortened as the pile of toys dwindled. I breathed a sigh of relief as the last kid slid off my lap. As I stretched my nearly-numb legs, preparing to wrap up and get back to work already, a high-pitched voice yelled, “Did we miss it? Please tell me he’s still here!”
An enthusiastic girl tore into the community room at top speed. Barrettes dangled from brown pigtails tied with oversized red bows, matching a frilly dress. When her wild eyes landed on me, her smile beamed like a pre-lit Christmas tree.
“She made it,” Grace whispered in relief. Her face softened as she looked affectionately across the room at the little girl, like she’d anticipated her arrival. “That’s Ruby, she’s four. Well, she’d tell you she’s four-and-three-quarters.”
A nurse intercepted Ruby, using her stethoscope for a quick pulse check and whispering something in her ear, while a woman old enough to be Ruby’s grandma — hell, old enough to be my grandma — slowly made her way over to Grace’s spot by the tree.
“Sorry we’re late,” the grandma whispered, wheezing slightly. She had lines etched on her face like she hadn’t slept in a week. “Ruby was so nervous we were going to miss this, she talked faster than usual the whole way over.”
After Grace huffed an understanding laugh, she asked under her breath, “I haven’t heard from Mariana. Any word on her dad?”
