Do You Believe in Santa? (12 page)

“For Regal Hotels, I'm not sure,” Jake confessed. “Maybe we're better off sticking to the cities and suburbs. But for me—I just can't let it go.”

He could tell her about quiet lakes with ducks and geese, or thin mountain air that fought back against his lungs on his morning jog, or little shops and restaurants where at least two-thirds of the people knew Mandy by name. But that wasn't what he'd fallen in love with.

He hoped Lorraine wouldn't curse him for a jerk. But he looked her in the eye and told her what he should have made clear at the beginning.

“I met someone there,” he said.

Intelligent gray eyes studied him. “And . . . it's complicated?”

He thought about Mandy—her sparkle, her openness, her strange contradictions. “Complicated” was one word for it, but . . .

He shook his head. “She's amazing.”

 

 

“I usually stick with the reds and greens,” Mandy admitted. “But I'm pretty traditional. There's nothing wrong with thinking outside the box.”

Across the table from her, Renee was fast finishing the first project of The North Pole's new Tuesday-night Christmas craft class: a hand-painted wooden ornament. Mandy had started with the simplest project she could think of, something that would be easy for someone of any skill level to complete and take home. She'd been especially pleased when Renee, the mother of the two girls she'd met with Jake, had shown up.

Now the four other women in the class peered over the table with murmurs of admiration at Renee's Christmas stocking, painted in purples and golds, with striking results.

“I had to use purple,” Renee said. “It's Bailey's favorite color.”

Mandy glanced at the clock. “You've got time for at least one more. Maybe two.”

In the center of the table, along with the paints, Mandy had laid out a selection of precut shapes in neat stacks: candy canes, Christmas trees, stockings, gingerbread men.

Renee reached for another stocking. “This one's for Rosie. It's going to be worse.”

“Pink?” Mandy and the other women said in unison.

Renee grinned and nodded. “I think every little girl goes through the pink stage.”

Mandy wondered if Emily, the niece Jake talked about, liked pink.

She glanced at the clock again and tried to calculate how long she'd gone without thinking about Jake. He'd been gone a week, and he called her regularly, but their quick catch-up phone conversations were no substitute for his presence.

The craft class had been a good idea, one she should have thought of years ago. It was a perfect way to bring people into the store during the off-season. Still, her reason for starting the class had been entirely selfish. It gave her one more way to stay busy.

Debra looked over the assortment of shapes on the cookie sheet and reached for a gingerbread man. “I'm surprised,” she said. “You don't have any Santa Clauses.”

Mandy decided to skip her
it's-so-hard-to-get-Santa-right
spiel. Debra had known her in elementary school. She knew all about Mandy and Santa.

“You're right,” Mandy said. “I'll have to remember that next time.”

Debra persisted. “Do you still believe in Santa Claus?”

Mandy didn't hesitate. “Sure,” she said. “Doesn't everyone?”

It had become her standard answer, and people usually didn't have a follow-up question. Mandy brushed some darker green shading onto the Christmas tree ornament she'd been painting.

“Bailey told me your story about seeing Santa Claus,” Renee said. “She loved it.”

Mandy kept concentrating on her work, aware of a few more eyes on her. Renee was the only person at the table who hadn't grown up here.

Tish asked, “Did you ever stop believing it?”

Five heads turned expectantly in Mandy's direction, Renee's expression more curious than the rest.

Mandy did what she'd learned to do way back in grade school. She played it light.

“Three things I never argue about,” she said. “Religion, politics, and Santa Claus.”

“You mean it really happened?” Renee asked.

All five of them waited.

“I saw him,” Mandy said cheerfully. “Plain as day.”

Five faces, including Renee's, looked at her with varying degrees of puzzlement. Then they all got back to work.

This was the way it had been for years. People gawked a little, sometimes teased her, and life went on. This wasn't elementary school anymore. The ground didn't open up; it was a fact of life. She'd have to remember that when she talked to Jake.

But, nice as the women were, their reaction didn't matter nearly so much.

Chapter 12

Mandy carefully aligned the second newspaper clipping in its frame, eyeing it from the front before she turned it over to fit the backing into place.

She'd bought the frames weeks ago—one red and one green. She'd kept them quietly stashed away so Mrs. Swanson wouldn't bring them up. October was half over, but Mrs. Swanson had given her until the beginning of November. Now Mandy stashed them one more time, far back on the shelf under the counter. Putting the clippings in their frames was one more step.

The last step would be to hang them. After she talked to Jake.

He'd be back tonight. The thought set a jumble of emotions tumbling through her like clothes in a dryer. Excitement. Apprehension. Uncertainty. On the phone, he'd given her updates on his progress, frustrations and setbacks at the Scranton office. She'd filled him in on the craft classes and the cold nights they'd been having up here lately. Now they'd been apart almost as long as they'd been together, and she wondered if they'd have to get to know each other all over again.

The last week had been the hardest. His supervisor had kept him an extra week; apparently Jake was the only person fit to present the next quarter's projections to the corporate higher-ups. He'd had to reschedule his meeting with Winston Frazier, and Jake hadn't sounded happy about it.

The front door bells jingled, and two women drifted in. One was Renee; the other, with matching dark blond hair, had to be her sister.

“Hi,” Renee said. “This is my sister, Brenda. We wanted to pick up a couple of your needlepoint pillow kits.”

“Great.” Mandy came around to the craft table. “We've got three over here. They're the most popular ones. Then we've got some more in that row near the back.”

Brenda said, “Do you have any with cats?”

Mandy grinned and pointed again toward the back. Business was definitely picking up. The chillier the nights and the shorter the days, the more people seemed to find their way into the Christmas store. Next week they'd start interviewing temporary part-time employees for the holiday season.

As the two women moved away, the phone rang.

“Welcome to The North Pole,” Mandy said into the phone.

The now-familiar filtered sound of a cell phone connection reached her ear. “Mandy?”

Not another delay
. “Hi, Jake.”

“Would you be able to go on a break in twenty minutes or so?”

Her heart jumped. “Why?”

“Because I'm about nineteen minutes away. And . . .” The phone went quiet, and Mandy thought they might have lost the connection. “I miss you.”

Mandy glanced over her shoulder at the two sisters huddled in the craft aisle. “Mrs. Swanson's gone for the day, so I can't go anywhere, but . . .” She felt a smile spread over her face. “Come on in.”

Renee and Brenda came up a few minutes later, each with a pillow kit. Mandy chuckled as she rang them up: one with a puppy design, one with a kitten. “Cats and dogs?” she asked.

“We fought like cats and dogs when we were kids,” Brenda said.

Mandy eyed the clock as she made small talk and learned that Brenda was visiting from San Diego. At last Mandy sent them on their way with a “Merry Christmas” and three minutes to spare.

Two minutes later, Jake was in the store.

As he made his way toward her, Mandy had time to take in that he'd had a haircut; that his eyes were a deeper brown than she remembered; that he had a five o'clock shadow and his shirt looked slightly rumpled, as if he'd been traveling since early this morning.

By the time Mandy made her way from behind the counter, he'd reached her.

He took her in his arms, and it was almost a collision. Mandy held on tight, feeling his lips on her face and in her hair. He felt so warm and solid, so
real,
Mandy couldn't believe he'd felt so far away all this time.

“Sorry,” he murmured against her hair. “I've been dying to do this for hours. Weeks.”

Mandy glanced over his shoulder at the door, wondering if she would have heard the store bells if anyone walked in. Seeing no one, she pulled him behind the Christmas tree at the end of the nearest aisle. He kissed her, long and full, then held her so tightly she felt completely, blissfully engulfed. She could feel a heartbeat between them, but she couldn't tell if it was hers or his, or whether they'd synced up perfectly.

Resting a cheek on the front of his shirt, Mandy felt a giggle well up in her throat. “Welcome back.”

His voice muffled in the hair that fell alongside her neck, he murmured, “I hate Scranton.”

A little out of breath, she asked, “Why?”

“Because you're not in it.”

She smelled wonderful, that indefinable combination of whatever soap and shampoo she used, along with the faint hint of cinnamon. Jake breathed her in and savored the feel of her small build in his arms. Slowly, he raised his head and reluctantly started to disentangle himself, self-conscious now about his bull-in-a-china-shop version of a reunion.

“I haven't checked into my hotel yet. And I'd better let you get back to work.” He kissed the top of her head, not moving any farther just yet. “Sorry for stomping in like this. It's been a long three weeks.”

“Don't apologize.” Her arms squeezed around his waist.

He cupped her face in his hands and drank in the sight of her blue eyes, like deep, refreshing pools. “I'll go get checked in and cleaned up,” he said. “Can I pick you up here at five?”

She nodded.

Jake stepped out the door of the store, hearing the jingle of its bells, feeling the fresh slap of the mountain air. It might be colder here than in Scranton, he realized. The weeks he'd been gone had brought a marked shift in temperature up here. This might be Southern California, but it felt downright wintry.

He climbed into the truck—not the same one he'd rented last time, but close enough—and drove the two-and-a-half minutes to the same hotel. As Phyllis checked him in, he couldn't tell if she was happy to see him again or not, but he'd worry about that tomorrow.

 

 

The last two hours before the store closed dragged by, in spite of the sales of several of the fall items, a pinecone necklace and a reindeer cookie jar.

From time to time Mandy glanced under the counter where the two framed clippings waited, safely enclosed in their shopping bags. She could hang them now, and there'd be less chance of losing her resolve.

But she still felt two inches off the ground just from being back in Jake's arms. What could one more night hurt?

At four-thirty, a couple came in with an adorable little boy somewhere around six years old. Mandy smiled at the mother as she guided her son cautiously past the shiny glass bric-a-brac. Definitely weekend visitors. It was Saturday, and they were in no hurry. Murphy's Law. You could always count on last-minute customers when you were hoping to get out of the store early. Mandy knew she wouldn't get a head start on closing the register tonight.

Mandy stayed at her post behind the counter and listened to the soft hum of chatter as the family drifted from one shelf to another. By the time they brought their son to the register with a Christmas stocking, it was nearly five.

The bells on the door jingled, and Jake walked in.

Mandy smiled past her customers at him, then rang up the stocking. She looked down at the little boy. “Are you going to hang this up over the fireplace this year?”

He nodded, his wide dark eyes adorably serious under straight black bangs.

Mandy bagged the purchase and handed it to Dad as he put his wallet away. He passed the bag to his son, who looked up at him questioningly.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Ask her.”

A frosty thrill crept down the back of Mandy's neck. She knew exactly where this was headed. She met the little boy's eyes and waited.

“Are you the lady who saw Santa Claus?” His voice was low and shy.

Mandy's eyes darted from the boy to Jake, who glanced up from the pumpkins at the fall display.

She'd never turned a child away in her life.

“That's me.” Mandy came around the counter and did what she'd always done. Resting her hands on her knees, she brought herself closer to the boy's level, meeting those wide dark eyes. “Want me to tell you how it happened?”

A somber nod. Mandy's mouth felt dry. She was aware of the boy's parents, aware of Jake in the background, but when this moment came there was only one audience that mattered. As she started to speak, the words flowed out of her.

“Well, it was the night before Christmas, and I was eight years old,” she began. “I stayed up late, and I was in my living room all by myself. Not a creature was stirring. Not even a mouse. . . .”

 

 

Jake stood a few feet away and watched Mandy weave magic.

It was time for the store to close, but he knew she wouldn't have told the family that for love or money. She spoke to the little boy in earnest, hushed tones—the perfect storytelling voice—and Jake heard every word. Even from where he stood, it was easy to forget that he was standing in the middle of a store on a late afternoon in October.

Her account built to a dazzling finish, with Santa vanishing up the chimney in a flash of light. For a moment everyone was silent.

“Did your mommy and daddy believe you?” the boy asked.

Something flickered in Mandy's eyes. “My mommy did,” she said. “My daddy wasn't home.”

“Were there reindeer on the roof?”

Mandy appeared to consider. “I didn't hear any prancing and pawing,” she said. “But I think flying reindeer might be very quiet.”

When no other questions came, Mandy straightened slowly and reached into the bowl on the counter. “Would you like a candy cane?” she offered. She smiled at the parents. “For after dinner, that is.”

The three of them nodded. Mandy bent again to hand the boy the wrapped candy cane. “Merry Christmas,” she said softly.

The little boy's eyes shone, and Jake felt like the witness to a timeless ritual. He watched the family file out, accompanied by the light jingling of the sleigh bells on the door. He turned to Mandy, whose gaze followed her visitors as they passed the store windows outside.

He was afraid to say anything that might break the spell, but Mandy beat him to it. As soon as the family was out of sight, she crossed to the front of the shop, turned the “Closed” sign around and locked the door.

“I'll need to close the register before we leave,” she said. “It'll take a little extra time. Sorry.”

Her tone was bright, almost brisk, as she pulled the drawer out of the cash register and slipped into the back room.

As Jake walked her outside the store, the cold air had a particularly sharp bite to it, and Mandy let herself huddle closer against his arm. She hadn't met his eyes since the family left. She knew he'd been listening, and she knew what was coming next.

She'd put off facing this for too long already, and she didn't think she was going to get the
one-more-night
she'd been promising herself.

When Jake climbed into the driver's seat, he turned to her before he started the car. “That was the sweetest thing I've ever heard.”

She met his eyes and saw a faint echo of what she saw in the faces of the kids when she told them her story. He almost got it, she thought. If he could just be different from everyone else . . .

The trouble was, he was twenty years too old.

Mandy bit her lip. This was it. Before they'd even had dinner. If she didn't say it now, she never would, and he'd hear it from someone else.