that costume was hamming it up. He hugged the little ones as they reached for him and headed for the chair set up in their “North Pole” for him to greet children. Jenny, who was running the camera, gave Amy a look of surprise.
“Ho, ho, ho,” Caleb said again, and made it up to his seat. “Is it time for me to greet the good boys and girls?”
“I-I think so,” Amy stammered, flustered. “Shall we get started?” She turned to the front of the line and beamed at them, remembering that this wasn’t about her; it was about the kids. And Caleb was going to be magnificent, so it made her job easier. Her smile was huge as she turned to the first shining face. “All right. Who’s ready to see Santa?”
CHAPTER NINE
Caleb watched Amy all night.
It was a little difficult to do so, given that children with sticky hands and runny noses were plopped into his lap over and over again, and he had to play the role of Santa. Because she was Mrs. Claus, she was in eyesight at almost all times, talking to parents, collecting tickets and distributing photos, and moving the line along. He’d thought Painted Barrel had a small school system, but there was an endless line of kids here to see him, so he kept ho, ho, ho-ing and stroking his big fake beard and hamming it up.
Strangely enough, this Santa shit was easy.
He’d been petrified at first, certain that his tongue-tied habits were going to get in the way, but the moment he put the beard on, he realized no one could see his face. Those kids didn’t know it was him under there. And really, kids were easy to talk to. They didn’t have expectations like adults did.
So it was easy to be Santa. Easy to haul each kid into his lap and listen to them talk about what they wanted for Christmas. One little guy immediately started crying and confessing that he’d been bad, and Caleb had to talk him off a ledge before the poor kid had a breakdown. Most just wanted to sit in his lap, wide-eyed, and ask for Legos or books or dolls. It was easy. It was kind of fun, too.
And Amy was delighted with him. She was beaming in his direction, her smile so wide that he felt as if he’d hung the moon. Shit, if he’d known this would get that much of a reaction out of her, he wouldn’t have been dreading it so much. His gaze moved over her as the latest kid got out of his lap and Amy ushered him away. Her hips swished in the skirt, and even though she was supposed to be his elderly, pink-cheeked wife, all Caleb could think about was the way her tits had practically jumped out of that costume yesterday, her nipples at attention.
She was a lot less chesty tonight, and he wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved. Relieved, he eventually decided. It would be a nightmare if Santa popped a boner.
Even so, he couldn’t resist reaching for her. She was his wife in this little game, right? As she walked past, he noticed she hobbled a little, her feet hurting. So he reached out and boldly snagged his arm around her waist, drawing her into his lap.
A few of the parents chuckled.
Amy went stiff in his arms, her eyes wide with surprise behind Mrs. Claus’s wire-rimmed glasses. Their gazes met, and this was his moment. He wanted to ask her out. He wanted to confess that he’d been the one that gave her some of the gifts this week, and while they weren’t jewelry or endless vases of flowers, he hoped that she’d go out with him. Just once. Just a coffee.
But as he stared into her eyes, no words came to mind. He just held on to her and gazed into her eyes.
“You okay?” she whispered. “Do you need a break?”
He nodded once, mentally cursing himself. It was all right. There was still plenty of evening. He could ask her out later, maybe, when all this was done. They could go for coffee afterward. There was a little coffeehouse about a half hour away and—
She patted his shoulder and turned to the others, climbing off his lap. “Santa needs a fifteen-minute break, guys. We’ll be back.” When the child at the front of the line groaned, Amy picked up her clipboard and wrote with a candy-cane pen. “Don’t worry.