The Billionaire's First Christmas - Contemporary Romance (8 page)

He finally got the skate he was
struggling with off and then he said, “Are you sure? You’re never
sure what they put in things.”

“Oh please, people eat vendor food all
the time and live through it. You’ll be amazed at how good it
is.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he
didn’t argue any further. He slipped on his boots and stood up.
Grabbing on to me he said, “Ouch, I may not be able to get out of
bed tomorrow.”

I laughed, “Yes, I thought of that
too. But now that the initiation is over, you can skate more and
your body will get used to it.”

“Hmm, I’ll have to give that some
thought,” he said it like he was going to give it no thought at
all. That’s okay; I wasn’t looking to turn him into a professional
ice-skater. I was just really hoping to help him learn how to have
a little fun. “I have a meeting on Monday afternoon with some
really important people coming all the way over from China.
Hopefully I’ll be there and not writhing in pain and agony in
bed.”

“I’m sure by Monday you’ll be as good
as new,” I told him.

We turned in our skates and walked
over to the area of the park where the fair was happening. There
were more than 125 boutique-style shops in the park. The aisles
were made from festively decorated trees and the shops carried
everything that a person might need to complete their Christmas
shopping and a lot of it was handmade, which I loved. Personally,
I’d so much rather receive something hand-made than something
designed and built in a factory. The sights and smells of Christmas
were overwhelming. It all made me happy. I looked over at Aaron and
realized it was having the opposite effect on him. His glow from
the ice-skating seemed to be fading.

I saw a hot dog vendor and looked at
Aaron.

“Hot dogs?” he said,
grumpily.

“Are you too good for a hot
dog?”

“Absolutely not,” he said. “But, I did
see a sign for steak sandwiches. Doesn’t that sound
better?”

“Oh, I see what you’re doing. I said
I’d buy and suddenly you want the steak. You’re not a cheap date,
are you?”

He threw his head back and laughed.
That was encouraging. “I admit it, you have me. I have hot dogs
every day. I was trying to get my hands on a steak on your
dime.”

“Well, as long as you’re willing to be
honest about it,” I told him.

“I’d even be willing to pay for half,”
he said. “Please don’t make me eat a hot dog.” It was my turn to
laugh. He sounded like an insolent child.

“Okay, steak sandwich it is. I’m
paying for all of it though,” I said. He opened his mouth and I
said, “I won’t accept any arguments.” He opened his mouth again and
I said, “Huh uh I don’t want to hear it.”

“But…”

He stopped walking and I said, “I’m buying, Aaron. That’s
final.”

“That’s fine,” he said, pointing up. I
looked up and saw the sign for the steak sandwich vendor. I’d
walked right past it.

“I was just going to turn around,” I
told him. He laughed, but to his credit he didn’t make fun of me.
We ordered two sandwiches and two coffees. When they were ready, we
carried them to one of the park benches and sat down to
eat.

Aaron took a bite from his and said, “Oh my God.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“This is the best steak sandwich I’ve
ever tasted,” he said. “I’ve had them in more than one country and
in more than one gourmet restaurant too.”

I smiled and said, “Told you so.
You’ll be an addict before long.”

We finished our lunch and I had to
agree with his assessment. The sandwich was delicious. He collected
our trash and deposited it in a nearby can. Then turning to me he
said, “What now, boss?”

“Shopping,” I told him. He raised an
eyebrow but he didn’t argue or complain. I led him to a little
jewelry stand we’d passed. The lady working the stand told me that
her pieces were all hand-made by her and her husband. It was all
lovely, sturdy jewelry made out of delicate silver and shaped or
hand etched with unique designs.

“Are you looking for something in
particular?” Aaron asked me.

“Nope, that’s the beauty of shopping
in a place like this. Whatever is here wouldn’t be something you
would have been looking for, because it’s all handmade and
original.”

“So, how do you know what you
want?”

“I look for things that match my
people,” I told him. “For instance, see this necklace? It looks
just like my friend, Heidi. She would love it.” I looked at the
price tag and sat it back down. “Unfortunately, Heidi’s friend
Robyn is on a budget, maybe next year.”

We left that booth and went to the
next one. It was all decorations for Christmas. “So here, you’re
not looking for anything in particular either?” Aaron asked
me.

“Well here, I kind of am,” I told him.
“I collect Santa Claus ornaments for my tree. I buy one or two
every year, but I have so many now I have to really look for unique
ones.”

“Hmm, Santa Claus, huh?”

“You’re not a believer?” I
asked.

He gave me a half smile and said, “Not
since I was about eight.”

“That’s too bad,” I told him. “What do
you like to put on your tree?”

He shrugged. Then he said, “I haven’t
had a Christmas tree in my own home ever.”

I thought that was so sad. “Why? You
really dislike Christmas that much?”

“I really do,” he said. I wondered
what had happened to him. It had to be something traumatic to make
him hate Christmas so badly that he left town because of it every
year. I didn’t want to ask him. I thought that he’d share it if he
felt comfortable doing so.

“What about your family? Do they
celebrate Christmas?” I asked.

As I watched his face change, I knew
that question too had gone one step too far. His eyes seemed to
cloud up; the light that had briefly come into them again while we
were having lunch was gone.

“No,” he said. “They
don’t.”

I let it go at that and changed the subject back to my own tree.
Picking up an old-fashioned looking Santa ornament I said, “What do
you think of this one?”

He barely glanced at it before saying,
“It’s fine.” I’d lost him again. I went ahead and bought the
ornament and we moved on. Between that booth and the next one was
another alley that stretched out lengthwise and was similar to a
midway at the fair.

“Let’s play a game,” I
said.

He pulled his brows together in the
middle and said, “A game?”

“Yes, you can win me a stuffed
animal,” I said. “I’ll pay for the game of course.”

He didn’t look thrilled, but he
followed me. I sought out a game I remembered from last year where
the prizes were all in the form of some sort of Santa Claus. Aaron
would have to shoot a gun filled with water into a clown’s mouth
and make his balloon burst before the others. He looked at the
three boys less than fourteen year’s old sitting on the benches and
then back at me.

“You want me to compete against three
adolescents for a Santa Claus doll?”

“Sure, why not?” I said.

“I can buy you one if you want it that
badly.”

“No, I don’t want a bought one,” I
told him. “It will mean more that you won it for me.”

He shook his head and smiled, “What is
your obsession with Santa Claus?” he asked me.

“I’m not obsessed,” I told
him.

“Okay, not obsessed but you seem
pretty fond of him. What’s the deal?”

“Tell you what, you sit down here and
win me one of these fine Santa’s and I’ll tell you why I love him
so much.”

He raised an eyebrow and then with a
sigh, he took one of the seats. He looked so cute sitting there in
his designer jeans in between the boys with their faded and scuffed
ones. I laid the two dollars down in front of him and the man
running the game picked it up. The bell rang and Aaron took out his
gun. His competitors had done this before; they already had theirs
in hand. They all started shooting before Aaron got his ready to
go. It took him several precious moments to line his water stream
up with the clown’s mouth.

I heard him curse and then say, “Yes! There we go,” when he hit it.
He seemed to be getting into it as I cheered him on. I hoped he
wasn’t looking to the sides of him and seeing how much more quickly
the other balloons were filling up. He was having fun and that was
all that mattered. We heard a loud pop and when we looked down
where it came from we saw a jubilant red-haired boy with a Santa in
front of him already.

The man running the game said, “Winner!” The boy picked up his
small Santa and handed it to the man who traded it for a larger
one.

“Oh well, you gave it your best shot,” I told Aaron. He didn’t
answer me. He didn’t look like he was satisfied with only taking a
shot. Instead of getting up to go, he reached into his pocket and
took out his wallet. After he lay another two dollars down in front
of him, he picked up his gun and aimed it. He was a fast learner. I
wasn’t surprised. I couldn’t help but smile at the determined look
on his face. I wish I had a picture of it to show him.

“Okay now, you’ve got this one,” I
told him. The other two boys had gotten up and wandered away
leaving only Aaron and the red-haired boy down at the
end.

“The heck he does!” the cocky little
boy said, holding his gun in one hand and looking like he was ready
for a shoot-out.

His attitude seemed to give Aaron an
even more determined look. He set his shoulders and clamped down on
the trigger of his water gun. When the bell rang, he came out
shooting. His balloon was filling fast, but so was the boy’s. “Come
on Aaron! You’ve can do it!” I cheered him. Unfortunately, his
balloon had different ideas. The little red-haired boy got a bigger
Santa Claus that time and before the man turned back around, Aaron
had lay down another two dollars. I put my hand on his shoulder and
said,

“It’s okay; you don’t have to keep
trying.” He glanced over at the little boy whose freckled face was
drawn up into a huge smile.

“The heck I don’t,” he said, mimicking
what the boy had said earlier. I laughed. I could suddenly see that
competitive spirit that led him to becoming a billionaire. He
wasn’t willing to give up when he knew he had a chance. Kind of
like the way I felt about him.

He played three more times before his
balloon finally popped. When it did, you would have thought he’d
won the lottery. He jumped up off his stool and wrapped me up in a
tight hug. He swung me around and I squealed and giggled. The
little boy was looking at us like we were crazy as he clutched onto
his giant Santa Claus. The man running the game lay a tiny little
key-chain sized stuffed Santa down in front of Aaron. He looked as
proud of it as if it had been a lottery check.

He held it up for me to see and smiled
broadly. “Congratulations,” I told him.

“You’re making fun of me,” he said.
“But that kid was tough. I’m thinking of offering him a job. He
would make a great HR supervisor.”

I laughed, “I’m not making fun of you.
I think it’s adorable.” I held out my hand to take the Santa and he
pulled it back. With a pout I said, “I thought you were winning it
for me.”

“I was, but I believe that you owe me
something first,” he said.

“What?”

“An explanation about the Santa
fetish?”

Giggling, I said, “It’s definitely not
a fetish. That makes it sound so sordid.”

“Okay, it’s not an obsession or a
fetish, but if you want this big guy, you’re going to have to give
me a story.” I laughed again, this time because he was calling the
tiny little thing in his hand a “big guy.” What was it with men and
size?

“Okay, here’s the story,” I said, as
we resumed walking through the market. “When I was eight years old,
some kids at school told me that there was no such thing as Santa
Claus. I was devastated. I cried all the way home. When I got home,
I told my mother what they’d said. I asked her point-blank if she
and my daddy had lied to me. I wanted to know once and for all if
he existed.”

“So what did she say?” he
asked.

“She didn’t really say anything. When
I think back on it now, I’m sure that she didn’t know what to say.
When you first tell your kids about Santa, it’s a fun fantasy. But
when they confront you about his existence later on in life, I’m
sure it feels like a lie. My mother never lied to me. She suggested
that we bake cookies and talk about it when my father got home from
work. I also know now that she knew he would know just how to
handle it. So we baked chocolate chip cookies; my mother’s were the
best… warm and gooey.”