O Come, All Ye Kellys (Love & Luck #7) - Isla Olsen Page 0,7

the diaper bag for a bib and some snacks. I fasten the bib around Chase’s neck and then unwrap a cheese stick, handing it to him.

Josh groans. “Cheese? Really? I’m going to end up with this all over my shirt.”

I shrug. “Would you rather I get out the blueberries?”

“Oh, god no.”

By the time we reach the front of the queue, Chase has eaten another cheese stick, the blueberries, a couple apple slices, and half a saltine cracker. He’s also pooped again, with Josh diving on the bomb this time, and he’s spent about twenty minutes snoozing in his stroller. Fortunately, despite the ridiculous wait, there haven’t been any outbursts or tantrums, which is more than I can say for many of the older kids in the line.

But that all changes once we finally get up close to Santa. It’s like the second I set Chase on Santa’s lap, a switch flicks and my sweet, happy little boy turns into a screaming little monster.

“Oh my god! What’s happening?” I ask Josh, my eyes wide with horror. “He was fine two seconds ago!”

The elf working the camera manages to snap a photo of Chase screaming his head off while a frazzled Santa tries to soothe him—great memories, right there. When it becomes abundantly obvious that Chase isn’t going to calm down, I step forward and pluck him away from Santa, holding him close. Chase’s screams cease, but he’s still sobbing and he buries his head in my neck like he does when he’s scared.

“What the fuck did that asshole do to him?” I growl once we get out of the enclosure. My free hand is clenched into a tight fist as I glare back at Santa, who’s now smiling at a giggling little girl sitting on his lap.

“Con, I really don’t think—”

“Look at him—he’s terrified!” I gesture to Chase, who still has his head buried in my neck, tears streaming down his face.

“He’ll be fine,” Josh says calmly. “Here.” He reaches down into the stroller to retrieve Chase’s monkey and hands it to him. Chase immediately clutches it tight to himself, the battered ear going straight into his mouth.

“Do you want to wait for the photos?” Josh asks me unenthusiastically. “They’re not going to be very good.”

I narrow my eyes. “Oh, I definitely want to see those photos. I want to see if they managed to catch whatever that so-called Santa did to our son.”

Josh lets out an exasperated groan. “Connor, calm down. He didn’t do anything. A lot of kids Chase’s age are afraid of Santa—it’s completely normal.”

I stare at Josh, wide-eyed. “What?”

He nods. “It’s because they’re aware enough to know some random stranger with a scary-looking beard is holding them, but not aware enough to know he’s not a threat.”

“I was a random stranger with a scary-looking beard! Are you saying if Chase met me for the first time now he’d be afraid of me?”

Josh offers a gentle smile and reaches up to graze his hand over the scruff on my face, which I’ve only just recently started growing into a beard again after shaving my last one off because I was sick of getting globs of Chase’s food stuck in it. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be,” he reassures me. “You’re his dad. He’d know you anywhere.”

I smile gratefully at Josh, ducking my head a little to brush a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks.”

As Josh predicted, the pictures of Chase with Santa are pretty horrible, but we buy them anyway; it’s my first Christmas with my son and I plan to treasure every memory, even the not so great ones.

“You know this wouldn’t have happened if Jessi Ramsay were the Santa here,” I say in a huff as we start moving away from Santa, threading through the busy mall crowd.

“Yeah, she’s a fictional character, babe.”

6

Heath

* * *

“The Biebs? Seriously?” My sister asks, her face screwed up in disdain as Justin Bieber’s “Baby” starts blaring from my phone.

I roll my eyes as I tug it from my back pocket. “It’s Melissa’s ringtone,” I tell Lila. “You know, the woman who’s carrying our baby?”

Lila just shakes her head. “Whatever. There are literally a million other songs you could have used instead. Like “Be My Baby” or “Baby on Board” or “Baby, it’s You” or “Baby Love” or “Hey Baby”…”

She continues rattling off song titles but I tune her out as I answer the call and put the phone against my ear. “Hey, Melissa.”

I can hear the bustle of Manhattan in the background