I'll Be Your Santa Tonight - Rebecca Sharp Page 0,4

wasn’t what kept my lungs vacant.

It was the soft sweep of his thick blonde hair and the way his blue eyes glittered like crystals—no, like snowflakes with their own intricate and mesmerizing design. He had a prominent ridge in his nose that I hadn’t noticed earlier before it sliced down into the fullest, yet most balanced set of lips I’d ever seen—ones that parted to unwrap a bright white smile.

“Let me help you.” His voice, like his laugh, made me think of molasses. Thick and sweet, but made of something raw—something essential. “Please.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, watching as he began to untangle one balloon from another, freeing me from my caribou captors.

“You put up quite a fight there.” One corner of his lips quirked up and a small dimple appeared.

If I could put that smile on the top of a Christmas list, I might just consider having one.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

My mouth dried when he extended a hand to help me up, but as I reached for his fingers, my attention was snagged by something bright red. And floating.

“Oh, no…” I gasped, cupping my hand over my mouth as I watched in horror as jolly, grinning Santa floated toward the ceiling.

While I’d gotten caught in the ties to the reindeer, I’d freed the ones attached to Santa and his sleigh, allowing them to slowly drift higher and higher.

Directly toward the lights.

And their heat.

And—POP! POP!

My eyes went wide like I’d been shot. The cries from guests in the lobby suggested they thought the noise could be gunshots, too.

But no.

Not gunshots.

Just Santa and his sleigh exploding because of me.

Because of Holly Jolly.

And if that wasn’t enough, the plastic confetti of carnage drifted back down and landed on top of me.

I whimpered in horror.

Nice work, Holly. Day one on the job and you just took out Santa.

“Sorry about that ladies and gentlemen.” The man with the molasses voice boomed calmly through the open space, nonchalantly plucking a piece of red suit off his dark jacket. “It looks like some balloons got away from us,” he reassured them. “Nothing to worry about.”

My wide, mortified eyes locked on him. Calm, cool, and collected until his focus returned to me—then, his eyes were anything but cool.

Wordlessly, his hand reached back out to help me off the ground.

Unexpected heat exploded at his slight touch as he pulled me upright like I weighed no more than a balloon. Taking my hand back, I rubbed my palm along my side, attributing the warmth I felt to the magnitude of my embarrassment—which only grew as more splattered pieces of plastic balloon fell off of me.

“Are you okay?” he repeated, ignoring the mess I’d made.

I stayed silent for a long second. Numbly. Dumbly.

“Am I okay?” I finally choked out, pressing my hands to my cheeks that felt like they were on fire. “I was just attacked by reindeer, assaulted by Rudolph”—I pointed to the other balloons first before my finger angled to the ceiling—“and now”—my nostrils flared, and I hissed in a very low voice—“I blew up Santa.”

He burst out laughing and my mouth dropped open, infuriated. “I blew up a blow-up Santa!” I repeated hysterically.

He shouldn’t be laughing. He should be horrified.

Granted, I wasn’t the fat man’s biggest fan, but I wouldn’t have wished internal combustion on him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied with a calm smile. “I’m just glad you didn’t hurt anything when you fell… or tried to escape from the reindeer.” Only my pride.

At least he had the gentlemanly decency to not call them balloons.

“I thought only grandmas were supposed to get run over by reindeer,” I mumbled wryly, feeling parts of my body start to ache. Mostly from the fall. Mostly.

I caught how he held back more laughter.

“In their defense,” the gorgeous man countered with a grin. “I think you were the one to run into them.”

My lips pursed. “I reached out for help and they attacked me. Reindeer are vicious—”

“Balloons?” Now he said it.

“Creatures,” I insisted firmly.

This time his broad shoulders jostled with a full laugh. Even though I knew it was because of me—and not in a good way—I never wanted the warm, rolling sound to end. And it might’ve been the first time I didn’t feel like a complete festive failure.

I bit back a groan. Not even five minutes here and my season of unfortunate events had already started.

My life was filled with embarrassing Christmas situations like this one, though the last time—the holiday mishap that ended my previous relationship—was enough of