Montana Secret Santa Page 11

  Jonah dropped the note into his pocket, knowing he couldn’t read well in low light. “Thanks. Both of you. Can we bring you anything from the food stalls? Are you warm enough?”

  Em pointed to a cord leading under the colorful tablecloth. “Mini-heater blasting away. We’re good. And our subs will be here in a few minutes. Be off with you, young people. Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?”

  The word fairly echoed off the nearby booths. Jonah’s cheeks went hot, but Krista laughed and answered for both. “Good point. We are so outa here. Merry Christmas.”

  *

  An hour and a half later, after the most delicious porterhouse steak he’d ever tasted, along with fabulous bits of culinary magic that had surprised the heck out of him—he had no idea Marietta had such a refined palette—he sampled the port he’d opted for instead of dessert. His date, on the other hand, had scoffed at his preference and ordered baked Alaska, which was due to arrive at their table any minute. “I’ve always wanted to try it. If not now, when, eh?”

  He recalled hearing that phrase in her podcast, and the question triggered a now-familiar response—desire. Pure and simple. Although nothing about their situation was simple and his timing surely sucked—a holiday romance? What could be worse?—he knew exactly how he wanted this night to end.

  “I didn’t realize the baked Alaska took so long to prepare. Do you think we’ll still be able to visit Santa on our way out?” she asked, checking the time on her phone.

  “You want to? I thought you were humoring Em.”

  Her beautiful bare shoulders lifted and fell with a grace that caught him mid-groin. “Maybe the wine has made me nostalgic. When I was little, my parents used to throw big holiday parties and they always hired an older, retired actor to play Santa to pass out gifts. He had the most beautiful, full white beard. I knew he was the real Santa, but my brother, Diego, said he was fake.”

  He made a face. “I think I was five when I asked Dad to explain the hyperspace dynamics required for eight tiny reindeer to pull a sleigh around the world—and from pole-to-pole—in twenty-four hours.”

  She snickered softly. “There’s one in every family.”

  “True. But I never shared that information with Grace or Daniel. What did you do to prove or, rather, disprove your brother’s allegation?”

  “I asked for the impossible.”

  The same thing I would have done. “Which was?”

  She lowered her gaze to her wine glass. “When it was my turn to whisper in Santa’s ear, I asked him to please make Mommy and Daddy not get divorced.”

  Jonah’s sip of port stalled midway down his throat, making moisture rush to his eyes. He swallowed hard, and as discreetly as possible used his napkin to dab his lips and the corners of his eyes.

  Before he could ask her to explain why she felt the need to ask for Santa’s help where her parents’ marriage was concerned, she added, “I’d overheard the other kids talking about Mom and Dad splitting up after the holidays.”

  The hint of old pain in her tone made him wish he could lean across the table and kiss her. “What did Santa say?”

  She twirled the stem of her wine glass, not making eye contact. “He was an actor. Experienced at improv. He never missed a beat. He told me, ‘Your parents will always love each other because they have you to remind them.’”

  She sighed and looked at him. “And, strangely enough, my wish came true. Mom and Dad haven’t lived in the same house for more years than I can remember, but they’ve never divorced, either.”

  He wondered if Santa’s answer might have placed the burden of keeping her family together on Krista’s shoulders? Before he could ask, she looked past him toward the kitchen and immediately started making room on the table. “Oh, my goodness, look at that.”

  The presentation at their table was truly YouTube-worthy. Their waiter set the artful dome of glistening toasted meringue in front of Krista then ignited whatever was in the long-handled copper vessel and poured the blue flame over the dessert. The fire, which nestled in the nooks and crannies of the shell only burned for a few seconds, but the dramatic impression brought applause from Krista and the surrounding tables.

  “It’s almost too pretty to eat,” she said, picking up a spoon. “But I’m going to, anyway.”

  She closed her eyes to savor the bite. “Oh. Oh, my.” Her groans of pleasure were pure torture, as was watching a blissful look cross her face when she swallowed. “You have to taste this, Jonah. You must. It’s so delicious.”

  She scooped a bit of every layer—sponge cake, ice cream and toasted meringue—then leaned across the table. “Please.”

  Powerless to resist, he opened his mouth. Their gazes held as his lips closed around the spoon, and he knew she felt the powerful heat between them. A connection that had nothing to do with food and everything to do with desire.

  “Sweet,” he said, licking his lips. “Mmm.”

  They finished what they could of the rich dessert, along with tiny cups of sinfully delicious coffee. He paid the bill and added a generous tip, and then they walked to the coatroom. It wasn’t until he checked his pockets to make sure his gloves were there that he felt the lump of paper Louise had given him. “Oh. I forgot about this.”

  He palmed the golf ball-size note, which appeared to have been written on lined newsprint—the kind of paper school-age children might use. “Louise seemed to think this was time-sensitive.”

  Krista took it from him but didn’t open it. “Let’s see how long the line is for Santa. We can read it there.”

  Jonah considered himself a good sport but sitting on some dude’s lap and wishing for something he didn’t want or need…?

  Krista held out her hand, her smile more a dare than an invitation to bed.

  Fine. There was one thing he wanted and needed, and since there was very little chance of his wish coming through, maybe the Graff’s Santa could work a little magic.

  Chapter Nine

  Krista draped her coat over one arm as they walked toward the area of the lobby set up for Santa. She couldn’t remember a more blissfully delightful date. Jonah was the perfect gentleman—smart, witty, generous, and attentive. No text messages or calls. In fact, no phone in sight. She’d kept hers turned off and in her purse, except when she checked the time. Then, she’d had to resist the temptation to find out how the pastry chef made her flaming baked Alaska.

  “I’ve really—”

  “The hotel is—”

  Small talk. Fill-in to avoid the husky polar bear in the room. She wanted to be with him. He wanted her, too, she knew. But she had a strict rule about first dates, and now was not the time to break it.

  “The Graff is amazing. I never saw it before the reconstruction, but the photos are nothing like this,” she said, gesturing toward the lobby where a twenty-foot fir stood, adorned with a million or so twinkle lights, scads of glittering glass ornaments, and yards of dark red velvet ribbon. The tree was a truly inspiring centerpiece against a backdrop of dark wood walls and gleaming marble floors. Everywhere, the addition of fresh pine swags and spectacular wreaths nearly took her breath away.

  “Very classy. And given the lateness of the hour, I bet the line for photographs with Santa is pretty short.”

  “Are you in a hurry?”

  His cheeks colored noticeably even in the muted lighting. “Honestly? I’m having a wonderful time, and it kills me to admit this, but I’m worried about Bindi.”

  If she’d been a little in love with him up to this point, his admission just took her feelings to the next level. Damn. Why couldn’t they have met months ago? Or the last time he was in town? Why did their first date have to take place on the eve of her crazy family descending on Marietta?

  Jonah wasn’t Thomas. He didn’t appear to have any interest in the limelight, but new relationships were fragile, easily crushed by loud, boisterous, spotlight-seeking thespians. Could a guy used to spending days—even weeks—in the seclusion of a lab survive the m
adness she called family?

  She stopped a few feet from the folding sign that read—Santa, with an arrow. “If there’s a long line, we’ll skip it. Okay?”

  “You’re a good sport. Thanks.” He held out his hand. “Shall we?”

  The sound of their footsteps was masked by a low hum spilling out of the hotel’s bar. Maybe a nightcap?

  She pushed away the thought. She needed to stay on her toes and not give into temptation. No doubt the nineteen new text messages from her family, each one wanting something from her, would kill any momentary weakness she might experience.

  “Whoa,” Jonah said a few seconds later. “Looks like we’re too late.”

  The person playing Santa was on his feet talking to a pretty young woman in an elf costume holding a professional looking camera. Both turned at the sound of Jonah’s comment.

  “Ho, ho, ho,” Santa called out in a booming voice. “Come on over. Just stretching a moment. I have all the time in the world… well, until December twenty-fourth.”

  The jolly fellow laughed at his own joke, motioning them to come closer. As fake Santas went, this one might beat out the Santa of her memory. Evenly rounded belly with no telltale lumpy padding. Nicely trimmed white beard that looked real. His classic Santa suit of plush, red pile fabric and pristine white fur trim was not the sort one picked up at a costume rental shop.

  She could sense Jonah’s reticence and nearly said, “Forget it. Let’s go.” But Jonah took her elbow and marched them toward the ornate—possibly a tad over-the-top—golden chair.

  Santa sat and motioned for Jonah and his assistant to move two sturdy-looking stools to either side of his throne. “No offense, but the knees can’t take the weight, anymore. When you’ve been doing this as long as I have, you learn to make concessions to age and gravity.”

  Krista felt a chill pass up her spine. Her father blamed age and gravity for all his physical complaints and limitations. “Are you sure we’re not too late?”

  Jonah’s eyebrows scrunched together. No doubt wondering what had happened to her gung-ho determination to check this box off her bucket list.

  “Absolutely not, my girl. Sit. Sit.”

  The elf produced ruby velvet tufted cushions for both seats then hurried back to her tripod to set up the camera. “I’m assuming you’d like a photo together, correct?”

  Krista looked at Jonah and nodded for both.

  “Wonderful,” Santa said. “Then let’s get the formalities out of the way. Krista, you first.” He leaned sideways and held one hand up to his ear to keep whatever she said between them. “What would you like Santa to bring you this year?”

  She swallowed hard. “How’d you know my na—” She shook her head. Em, of course. The woman had her fingers in every pie in town. “Never mind.”

  She inhaled deeply to calm her nerves, and then, on impulse, she whispered the one thing she truly wanted.

  Santa’s pleasant, smiling face revealed nothing. Not surprise. Not disapproval. Not even when she added a hasty footnote to the request.

  “Dually noted,” he said with jovial impartiality before turning to his left. “And you, Jonah, what is your deepest desire this holiday season?”

  Jonah pretended to pat down his pockets. “Where’s my list? It’s a long one, Santa. Darn. I must have left it at home. I’ll have to go off memory.”

  He made a show of leaning in and cupping his hands on either side of his mouth so Krista couldn’t read his lips. But the actual whisper took under a second. He rocked back with a hint of mischief on his lips.

  “Photo time?”

  “Huddle up, my dears,” Santa said, holding out his arms. “Say ‘Merry Christmas.’”

  An old-fashioned flash went off. Jonah jumped to his feet and held out a hand to Krista. “Thank you, sir. Have a wonderful holiday.”

  “You two, also,” Santa said. “And keep up the good work. I couldn’t do my job without your help.”

  Krista pressed her lips together the whole time Jonah filled out the form the photographer elf handed him. She was afraid she’d burst out laughing if she and Jonah made eye contact. The guy in the Santa suit blew it by letting on that he knew about their involvement in Secret Santa, which explained, of course, how he knew their names.

  After Jonah supplied his contact information, he dropped a couple of twenties in the donation jar before turning to her. “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you mind if I stop at the house and check on my patient before I take you home? It’s on the way.”

  She cocked her head. “That’s a pretty creative pickup line. Much better than checking out your etchings.”

  “Is that a yes? I hope. And for the record, I don’t have any etchings.”

  The temperature had dropped a good ten degrees since the stroll. They hurried to Jonah’s car, which he’d parked on a side street fairly close to the Graff since he’d known they’d be returning late. The windshield was solidly frosted over, but the heater and the vehicle’s strong fan cleared up their visibility pretty quickly.

  Krista had both hands in her pockets as she waited for the interior to warm up. When she went to blow her nose, she saw the note in her hand was not a tissue. “We forgot about this, Jonah,” she said, setting the slightly squashed wad of paper on the console between them. “Sorry.”

  He shrugged and put the car in gear to back up. “No problem. Bring it in when we get home.”

  “Did I tell you I walked all of the older neighborhoods when I was apartment hunting? Someone told me your parents might be interested in renting their basement. They weren’t, it turned out, but I had a nice visit with Bettina. She showed me the beautiful hydrangea and other flowers in the backyard. It’s a charming house.”

  “I agree. Where were the dogs?”

  “I don’t know. Somewhere with your father.”

  Despite the loud, somewhat daunting barks coming from inside the house, Krista sensed the dogs were very happy to see Jonah and didn’t mind too much that he’d brought a guest along.

  “Hi, Miss Bindi,” Krista said, reaching down to pet the little brown and white dog. Bindi’s rapier tail swished back and forth as if they were old friends and she bayed with an ear-piercing pitch that made Krista look at Jonah and ask, “Is she okay?”

  “That’s hi-how-are-you-what-took-you-so-long in beagle.”

  Bear positioned himself directly in Krista’s path so she had no choice but to hug him. Even River Jack, who she was afraid might associate her with his teeth-cleaning visit to the vet, greeted her warmly.

  “Guys, guys, let the poor lady in, for heaven’s sake. We’re just here to check on things. No wild parties? No poker in the basement?”

  Krista set the balled up note on the counter while shrugging off her coat, then picked it up as she followed Jonah to a closet on their way to the living room. “This might help avoid the worst of the dog hair,” he said, “but no promises. I swear the stuff breeds and multiplies asexually every night when the lights go off.”

  He gestured toward the grouping of chairs and sofa. “I’m going to throw another log on the fire. Can I get you anything?”

  “No, thank you. I’m still stuffed from my baked Alaska. I had a wonderful time tonight, Jonah. Being able to share your first stroll as an adult was pretty special.”

  He groaned and rolled his eyes. “Not a virgin joke. Dogs, do you believe it? I’m a rich, successful entrepreneur and this is how she treats me. Jeez.”

  All three animals gathered near his feet and studied his face worshipfully, hoping perhaps that he might have brought them scraps from his giant steak?

  She chose to sit in an overstuffed chair across from the sofa with a nice big coffee table between them. Why tempt fate?

  Once Jonah was seated across from her, she opened the hand-written note Louise had given Jonah and held in under the light of the brass reading lamp. Her breathing slowed to a stop as she read. A lump formed in her throat and tears started to form in her e
yes.

  “Oh, no.”

  Jonah sprang across the gap between them, going to one knee beside her chair. “What is it?”

  “Did your mother tell you about Harry Monroe? A local EMT who was killed by a hit and run driver over Labor Day weekend?”

  He shook his head. “I was in the middle of negotiations then. I don’t think so.”

  “The author of this note apparently knows the family well, and he or she is afraid they’re going to miss Christmas altogether because they’re so sad. No tree. No lights. No nothing.” She spelled the last word for him. N-u-t-t-e-n.

  “That’s sad… and understandable. Grace absolutely dreaded trying to fake Christmas for her kids this year. That’s one of the reasons Mom and Dad went down.” He grabbed his laptop and opened it on the coffee table between them. “Is his name spelled the way it sounds?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you know him?”

  “No.”

  He studied the screen a moment. “Here’s his obit. Age twenty-seven. Firefighter and EMT with Marietta Fire Department. He was doing a good deed—helping to change a flat—when he was struck by a hit-and-run driver.” He looked up. “There’s a link to more information about the accident and the search for the driver of the car that hit him.” He read for a minute then turned the laptop around so she could see the screen. “Here’s his photo. Handsome guy.”

  “It says he left behind his parents, four siblings, and a fiancée.”

  She watched him count the months on his fingers. “Three-and-a-half months? That isn’t a long time. They may still be in mourning.”

  “His parents? Yes. But what about the younger kids in the family?”

  He looked pained. “You’re saying Santa needs to step up and do something for this family. ASAP.”

  She looked at the clock on the mantel. “Would you be up for a little strategy session?”