I’d tried to avoid a situation where he’d be forced to kiss me. But after the last patient he interlaced our fingers, tugged me underneath the dangling sprig, and asked the kids, “Don’t you think Mrs. Claus looks amazing in her new dress?” and twirled me into another staged kiss.
It wasn’t really a kiss, only a peck. Not enough to call it a smooch.
He did it because the kids would like it.
I wonder if he knew I’d like it too.
“That was barely a kiss,” I told the social workers.
“I heard,” Nicole said, “that he showed up in a brand new suit —”
“He’s particular about his clothes —”
“And Grace had a new dress too. A short one.”
I snapped my mouth shut.
When Alex showed up with the costumes, he said his Santa wouldn’t be caught dead with Mrs. Claus in that ugly mop cap and calf-length cape. Why have a warehouse full of elves if none could sew a simple dress for their matriarch? I’d tried to protest, but he insisted.
I’ll admit, the new dress was less itchy than the hospital’s hand-me-down. It reminded me of the fidgeting little girls in church benches on Christmas morning, constantly touching the soft red velvet.
“It fell just above my knee, very modest.” My father wouldn’t have thought so, but he wasn’t here to judge. “It’s not like he gave me a mini-skirt.”
“Oh, he gave you the Mrs. Claus dress?” Nicole arched her brow.
Shoot, I didn’t mean to let that slip.
“He said he bought them as a set.”
They hummed in shared skepticism.
“Would you stop?” I snapped. “I was in a bind, so I found a pinch hitter.”
My boss Jennifer returned. I sighed in relief, hoping to return to our intake procedure discussion, “I heard Grace’s Santa looked hot.”
Et tu, Brute?
“He is hot,” said Megan, Bruce’s assigned social worker. “But when I was in his dad’s room, he never looked up from his laptop. The nurses say the only time he stopped working was when Grace visited.”
Before I could speak, a knock came on the door behind me. From the coy look on my coworkers’ faces, I knew who I would see when I swiveled.
Alexander Clarke leaned in the door frame. His dark hair was gelled away from his freshly shaved face. He wore a wool sweater over a button-down with sleeves rolled up to his elbows and pressed slacks that clung to his muscular thighs. His blue eyes, brimming with mischief, locked on my face.
Nicole elbowed Megan. “Is that him? Holy shit.”
I covered my lack of chill with a dismissive scoff, a move I’d learned from him. “I’m in a meeting, Alexander.”
He must have recognized the move as he crossed his arms, biceps bulging. “No problem, I’ll wait here while you finish this incredibly important conversation about your Hot Santa.”
I pressed my mouth into a firm line. “You are enjoying this way too much.”
“I’d say I’m enjoying it just the right amount.” That crooked grin smacked me so hard that if I weren't sitting down, I would keel over. His attention shifted to my coworkers. “How’d you all like the pie Grace and I made for you?”
Jennifer whispered in awe, “He helped you make the pie?”
“Did she take credit for all my hard work?” He clucked his tongue in disapproval, unfurling his arms and lifting his palms for sympathy. “I have apple-slicing calluses.”
Megan shot me daggers as if I’d intended to hurt him, and Nicole looked ready to kiss them better. I rolled my eyes in mock disbelief. “What do you need?”
“Dad said you had something to show me.”
Oh no. I’d told Bruce that I wanted to show them the sensory room.
All the Clarkes together. As a family.
Not me and Alex, alone in a small room with soft music and mood lighting. My coworkers would never let me live this down.
If I couldn’t dodge this, I’d have to finish quickly, before rumors could start … or escalate.
I glanced imploringly at Jennifer, hoping she’d take pity and continue the meeting. She tore her gaze from that grin, looking a little punch drunk, and wrapped up early.
Shoot.
Chapter 10Alex
Dad told me that Grace had a surprise. Eavesdropping on her team meeting had been an unexpected joy … although now that she was speed walking down the corridor, I wondered if I’d pushed too hard.
