Sleeping With Santa (2 page)

Mesmerized, she took his hand. The firm strength of his long, thick fingers wrapped around hers, transferring his energy up her arm, warming the right side of her body. There it was again—
zing!
She held on longer than the usual greeting only because it felt so good.
Safe. Warm. Connected.
Before he wrenched his arm away, she let her grip go limp, leaving her hand naked without his touch.

“Lily!” Bob’s Italian accent invaded her bliss as he leaned his torso out the door, aiming scissors at her. “Whaddaya doin’ out here?”

Wishing for a few more moments in heaven with Nick
. “Be right there, Bob.”

Her boss jutted his chin in their direction. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is, um, Nick.”

“Say goodbye and get back to work.” Bob disappeared inside.

“Well, thanks for the talk.” With a quick, tight-lipped smile, she wheeled the cart toward the door, afraid if she opened her mouth she’d say something stupid, like rattle off her phone number—or worse, ask for his.

“Uh-oh. You’re not in trouble, are you?”

“No. Bob’s all bark. It’s his wife whose bite you have to watch.”

“Good to know.” He nodded, seeming to take it all in. “What time do you close?”

“Why?” Her fingers itched with excitement. “Looking for a trim?”

He raked a hand through dark, wavy layers. “Well, I just had my annual grooming about two weeks ago.”

“
Annual grooming
?” She chuckled.

“Here, I’ll show you.” He dug his wallet from his back pocket and flashed his driver’s license.

“Whoa,” she said at his marvelous mug shot. But more than his shoulder length rock star locks, what caught her attention was his birthdate. Her dizzy brain couldn’t do the math on the spot, but she estimated he was a decade older.

“Do I need an appointment?” He opened the door.

“It’s a barbershop.” Lily pointed to the sign in the window:
NO APPOINTMENT NECESSARY—WALK-INS WELCOME
.

“Lily!” Bob barked from his workstation. “Shut the door!”

“I gotta go.”

Nick lingered as if waiting for something more, then turned and strolled away.

She watched him go, hoping he’d run back to her like in the movies. Only this wasn’t a movie, and he was already gone, lost in the crowd.

Hours passed.

Lily was losing hope that he’d return.

It was crazy to think she met her Mr. Right, finally, after all these years, right here in town. In the liquor store no less. What a stupid idea. He probably forgot about her already.

She sat in her empty chair, overhearing Bob and his customer talk about something about someone in a fire department somewhere. Long story short, a firefighter made the ultimate sacrifice battling a raging blaze over the weekend.

Geez.
The tragic news was a cruel reminder that life is too short, too fragile. It solidified her mother’s golden rule—
never, under any circumstances, fall for a firefighter.

To avoid the rest of the gruesome details, she hid in the backroom, where she found a laundry basket of clean white towels to fold. But still the inescapable thoughts followed, flooding her mind.
Was he a father? A husband?

Familiar with the aftershock of such a devastating loss, she closed her eyes and whispered a string of prayers.

Lily hardly remembered a thing about her father’s death. But she’d never forget how hard the years that followed were for her mother. The woman lost her husband and her mind all at once.

Scattered memories squeezed the air from her lungs like a vise. Good thing she was already sitting, hanging her head between her knees before the lightheadedness overwhelmed her and the bosses found her passed out. She waited for the sick feeling to pass, but it never would. Not really…Not completely…

“Lily! Customer for you.” All the way to the backroom, from behind the cash register, Sophia’s shrill voice chased away the ghosts—for now.

“Be right there.” She blinked back tears before they could fall.

An eager little boy rushed to Lily’s chair, and she tried not to let her disappointment show.

“Santa’s coming! Santa’s coming!” he squealed. “I saw his mailbox on the sidewalk. You better hurry up and send him your letter so he gets it in time. I can’t believe Santa’s almost gonna be here!”

Despite being two months early for Christmas, she played along. “Wow, I can hardly believe it! I better write a letter quick.”

Once she finished cutting junior’s honey-brown mop-top, she jotted the requirements for her farfetched Christmas fantasy on the back of a blank slip from the receipt book. It seemed pointless, but she spelled it out anyway. Her same request for the past few years—a tall order for an
emotionally available
man, something Santa could never deliver.

This year, though, she dared to get specific and scribbled Nick’s name just in case miracles do come true.

Until someone made a reasonable offer to buy her rickety old bungalow, she needed another way to supplement her salary. She wasn’t keen on living with a stranger but... Out of pure desperation, she flipped to another blank sheet and wrote a
Room-For-Rent/Roommate-Wanted
advertisement.

Before heading home, she returned the shopping cart to Ray’s, then power-walked to the firehouse to tack her ad on the community bulletin board.

Circling back to get her car, she passed the red mailbox and dropped her little folded Christmas list in the slot with some big wishful thinking.

Chapter Two

“Where the hell have ya been?” Squinting through the haze of cigar smoke, the chief of the Scenic View Fire Department sat behind his big wooden desk. He checked his wristwatch then pointed to the calendar on the wall. “You know you’re a late, dontcha?”

Belated was better than reneging to come at all.

Nick set the big bottle of scotch on the desk. A thank you gift for the position and an apology for being two weeks behind schedule, all wrapped in a brown paper bag.

“I meant to check in sooner, but I’ve been kinda busy taking care of some personal stuff.”

“Have a seat, Captain Knight.”

“Call me Nick.”

“You got it.” The man needed no introduction with the shiny silver nameplate on the door:
Chief William Maresca.
“Sounds like
Fresca
, you know, the soda.” Wafting one hand to break up the sweet-smelling smolder curling in the air, he lifted the window with the other, the movement making the buttons on his white collared shirt strain against his protruding belly. “Want a cigar?”

“No, thanks.” Nick pulled out a stick of gum from his jacket pocket, folded it into his mouth, and rolled the thin paper between his restless fingers.

“I spoke to your chief in Star Harbor, and we set up this arrangement because it was mutually beneficial. This department is short-staffed. And you need a
change of scenery
—whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.” Maresca sat back, making the chair squeak beneath his weight. “Mind filling me in?”

Nick tried keeping it short.

But it was hard to keep it sweet.

Basically, the Star Harbor Fire Chief forced the issue of the transfer. Special assignment. Temporary relocation. However the hell headquarters wanted to file it. The town closed one of the sub-stations.
His
sub-station. They could’ve transferred anyone. But everyone else had roots. Wives. Kids. Mortgages.

Nick had nothing. Just himself.

And a crazy ex-wife who was taking a permanent vacation in his neighborhood.

The pretext of it all was Nick could use a change of scenery to escape his early mid-life funk. Might as well ship him some place he’d like so he’d never want to return to Star Harbor.

“The only reason I came to Scenic View is because my chief made me. He found a bunch of letters sent to the firehouse addressed to me from an attorney here in town.” Nick pulled out an envelope and flashed Maresca the label on the flap. “Being how I don’t have any business around here, I just chucked the letters every month without even opening them, figuring it was junk mail. His secretary thought they were thrown away by accident, so she picked them out of the trash and gave them to the chief. The day he dropped the bomb about the transfer, he pulled out a wad of envelopes. Opened one of them. Read it. Showed it to me. I thought it’s gotta be a joke. He figured it’s worth looking into.”

Maresca leaned on his elbows, inching closer with Nick’s every word. “Ya killing me with the suspense.”

Hesitant to admit his wondrous windfall aloud, like saying the words would be a gigantic jinx, he slid the paper out of the envelope and handed it to Maresca.

“Well, I’m not being sued like I figured. And no one’s looking for child support.”

“Ah-ha.” Maresca scanned the paper and nodded. “I should have put two-and-two together by the last name. You’re the one the town’s been looking for. Your uncle was a good man. If you don’t mind the pun, we considered him a regular
knight in shining armor
around here. He passed away a few years ago. You’re just coming around now to claim the estate?”

“Great uncle,” Nick said. “I never met him. Guess it took the lawyer some time to track me down. Glad to know the old man was a nice guy.”

“A regular saint. When the church burnt down, he paid for everything—from the building to the new Bibles. He was responsible for the community clubhouse. The upgraded playground in Rocketship Park. The expansion to the hospital. Even founded the Secret Santa Society we operate outta the firehouse.
Helluva
guy he was. God rest his soul.”

No saint himself, Nick wasn’t ready to accept the honorable challenge of filling the dead man’s shoes, although accepting the money had been pretty painless so far.

Maresca handed back the letter, and Nick folded it carefully, putting it away like it was something sacred. It was, after all, the million-dollar letter.

And if it weren’t for the Star Harbor Fire Chief forcing him to read it, he never would have known about his great, big, fat inheritance. He hoped the bottle in transit was enough of a thank you until he could do something more, like pay off the guy’s mortgage. Or the grandkids’ college careers. Something major like that.

With ten million in liquid cash, plus numerous real estate assets dotting Long Island, Nick went from getting by, to being able to buy anything. His first major purchase was a special order custom camper so he could cruise through his impending mid-life crisis in style. He was still a few years away from forty, but when it hit, he’d be ready.

“Well…I guess that’s it then?” Maresca sighed.

“What’s it?”

“You’re here to tell me you’re retiring now, aren’t you?”

Caught off guard, lost in a daydream, he half-nodded, half-shook his head, and shrugged in an awkward motion. “Wait—what?”
Old guys retire. I’m old…but not that old.
“I’m not retiring.”

“Well, that’s good, ’cause I need the help. Two guys are out on paternity leave ’til the new year. Headquarters is a little slow processing your paperwork, so you’re on limited duty for now. There’s plenty to do in-house. We’re a municipal department. Things are quiet for the most part. I need someone to handle the Training Officer slot and the Fire Marshal’s office. And we have Fire Prevention Day coming up…”

Nick was familiar with it all. “I can do that.”

“And the town can always use a few extra hands when it snows. The department helps whenever we can. Independent contractors get paid pretty good for plowing, not that you need the money.”

“No problem. I’ve got a plow for my pickup. Is that all?”

“Well, there is
something
else.” Maresca pulled up the vertical window shade. “See the red mailbox across the street?”

Next to the standard blue
USPS
box stood a twin painted red with white lettering—
NORTH POLE.
He’d spotted it yesterday on his way to the liquor store where he met that cute little redhead.

Lily.

He and his libido had a hard time resisting the rarity of a sexy Pippi Longstocking. Too bad she looked about half his age, with the creamy complexion and youthful spray of faint freckles. Her skin lacked the fine lines he noticed creeping into his daily reflection.

How young could she be if she was old enough to buy booze?

Still, he didn’t dare go back to see her at the barbershop. Not after her boss waved his pointy shears in his direction.

“If you’ll collect the letters, I’ll sort them out. I like to read them first before giving them to the Ladies Auxiliary. They give them back to the parents. Or if it’s too big of a request—like medical issues or families in crisis—the
Secret Santa Society
gets involved. We’ve installed wheelchair ramps for the elderly. Bought computers for kids. Paid the electric bill for out-of-work residents. That kind of stuff.”

Nick nodded. “Sounds like a good system.”

“It was your uncle’s idea.”

“Well, count me in on the Secret Santa stuff. Besides money, I’m pretty handy, I can donate my time.”

“Speaking of your time…” Maresca wavered, and Nick sensed the anvil coming. “I was hoping—since you’re new around here, and none of the kids know your face—you might be interested in playing Santa for them at the Christmas party.”

Wham! There it was.
If he agreed to play Santa, he’d probably get suckered in being the Easter Bunny, too. He fumbled for a viable reason to say no.

“I’d do it myself,” Maresca explained, “but I had a knee replacement last year, and I’m still working out the kinks. I can’t handle all those kids.”

Yeah, good excuse.
Feeling the guilt mounting, Nick gave a silent sigh, and said, “Yes,” without flinching.

“Good. Now that we got Santa squared away, you have a CPR class to give.”

“Now?”

Maresca checked his watch. “In about twenty minutes. I was gonna do it, but since you’re here…” He tore off a yellow page from the legal pad with
To-Dos
scribbled during their conversation and handed it to Nick as he limped around the desk. “Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour to the basement.”

Compared to the modern Star Harbor firehouse, Scenic View’s was a relic. Faded red brick on the outside with dark wood and brass trim on the main floor inside showed its age but looked well maintained. Memorabilia from yesteryear adorned the walls. Pale photographs and shiny plaques with names of past officers glinted in two lines along the narrow hallway.