White-Hot Holiday(14)

“I knew you’d come through,” Aaron said as Naomi wrapped the gifts. “And it’s barely closing time.” He leaned across the counter and lowered his voice. “I have another favor to ask.”

Why did her insides go all mushy when he spoke in that husky, mellow tone? She couldn’t do anything except nod weakly.

“Can you come shopping with me after you close up here? I sure could use your help picking out something nice for Tyler and Chloe.”

“You mean instead of a gift card?” she couldn’t help teasing.

“Who needs gift cards when I have a personal shopper like you?” His eyes sparkled, and she laughed, secretly admitting to herself that spending time with Aaron would be no hassle at all.

After checking with Tyler and Ally that she wasn’t needed anymore, she left with Aaron. Burronga’s main street was more crowded than usual. Saturday morning combined with Christmas Eve meant everyone was out and about. Giant Christmas decorations hung from flagpoles lining the street. Along the sidewalk were large wooden boxes planted with flaming red poinsettias. The smell of cinnamon doughnuts wafted in the warm breeze. Naomi breathed in the sugary scent and reveled in the heat of the sun beating down on them. Yes, this was the way Christmas should be.

They hopped into his Porsche, and she pointed him to a toy store, where Aaron decided to buy a bike for Chloe, even though Naomi protested it was too much.

“Every kid needs a bike,” he said, “and I noticed she’s outgrowing hers.”

He didn’t seem the type to pay attention to a five-year-old, let alone the state of her bike. Aaron wasn’t as hard-nosed as he came across, she thought. And that only made him more fascinating.

After strapping the bike to the luggage rack of Aaron’s Porsche, they had Tyler’s gift to consider. “I know just the thing,” Naomi said and directed him to a grand old hotel on the outskirts of town. The hotel housed a wonderful spa, she told Aaron, and Tyler would love a bit of pampering there. Aaron bought a deluxe day package and a huge basket of soaps, moisturizers, and skin treatments.

“I hate to think what you’re going to buy Luke,” Naomi said as they squeezed the basket into the Porsche. “What do you have in mind? A pool table? A giant TV?”

“Nope. I’ve already bought him a nice, solid wooden chess set this morning. We used to play a bit in college, but he didn’t like losing to me.” He grinned boyishly. “There’s nothing as good as a real chess set with beautifully crafted pieces.”

She looked at him with renewed interest. “So you still play chess these days?”

“Of course, but not as much as I’d like to.”

As they drove back to Luke’s house, Naomi couldn’t help wondering what Aaron would think of the gift she’d bought for him earlier this morning. The brushed metal, kangaroo-shaped cufflinks had seemed fun when she’d spotted them in the menswear boutique—she pictured them lending a little humor to Aaron’s sober business suits—but now she wondered if they were too frivolous. Well, it didn’t matter. If he didn’t like them, he could throw them away when he got back to the States.

The thought of Aaron returning home made her stomach feel a bit squicky. She’d been geared up for his departure two days ago, but now he was staying for Christmas, and though part of her was thrilled, the schoolmarmish part of her knew the longer Aaron stayed, the harder it would be to say good-bye.



Chloe gazed solemnly at the plate of cookies and glass of milk on a small table next to the Christmas tree. She had been inspecting them constantly ever since she’d set them there half an hour ago. She turned back to Aaron and Naomi, who were sitting near the tree hanging the last baubles.

“Sam at preschool can’t drink milk,” she said. “It makes his tummy sore. I hope Santa doesn’t get a sore tummy from our milk.”

Aaron glanced at Naomi, knowing he was no expert at Santa questions.

“He won’t get a sore tummy,” she said to Chloe.

Satisfied, Chloe switched her attention to Aaron. “Will Santa know you’re here?” she asked anxiously. “What if he doesn’t? You won’t get any presents tomorrow.”

Aaron hesitated. Oh boy, he never thought he’d have to answer these questions. But the five-year-old’s concern touched him. “Santa knows I’m here,” he said heartily, and out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Naomi’s watchful expression. “But who knows whether I’ve been naughty or nice? Santa might think I don’t deserve any presents.”

The girl’s face crumpled. “Oh, but you are nice. You can’t have no presents!” She looked ready to cry before Naomi leaned over to put her arms around the girl.

“It’s all right, sweetie. I’m sure Aaron will get at least one present.” She grimaced at him over the girl’s red curls. “He’s just being silly. Okay?”

Chloe sniffed. “’kay.” She broke free of Naomi and patted Aaron’s hand. “Don’t worry. My parents will get you a present if Santa doesn’t bring you one.”

Fortunately, at that moment Tyler arrived to put her daughter to bed, putting an end to the tricky questions. Aaron sighed and stretched out on the carpet, but Naomi was still glimmering at him with narrowed eyes.

“What?” He lifted his shoulders.

“You don’t deserve any presents after worrying that poor girl for nothing.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t usually get asked these difficult questions.” He gave her a disarming smile.

“You have two nieces, don’t you? How old are they?”

“Seven and five. But I leave all the hard stuff to their mom and dad. Personally, I think parents do a disservice to their children by not telling them the truth about Santa.”

Aaron expected her to fume at him for such heresy, but instead she shook her head sorrowfully. “I’m not surprised you think that, given your whole antipathy against Christmas.”

He picked up a small red bauble and rolled it in the palm of his hand. “But don’t you think Chloe will be devastated when she learns that Santa isn’t real? Weren’t you upset when you found out?”

“Not really. I figured it out for myself when I was about eight. I don’t remember being traumatized. I simply thought it was a bit of fun, like the fairy tales my mum used to read me. They were fascinating, but I knew they weren’t real.” She leaned forward, resting her hands on the carpet. “Why, were you disappointed when you found out?”

Disappointed wasn’t the right word. He’d been five when he’d suspected a connection between the toys at the store and the gifts that appeared beneath the Christmas tree each year. Disquieted, he’d asked his mom straight out if she and Dad were responsible for the gifts and not Santa. Sadness had clouded her eyes as she’d sworn it was Santa for the sake of his sister who—bless her—was vehement in her belief. At that moment, Aaron had realized two things: Santa didn’t exist, which crushed him, but, more importantly, he’d made his mom sad because he’d stopped believing. He’d shattered her Christmas illusions of childhood innocence.

Sensing he’d let her down, he’d pretended to believe her, had desperately gone along with the whole charade for the sake of his mom and sister. That was the first year he’d felt a disconnect between him and Christmas, and the unease was repeated each year as he acted out the pantomime of believing in Santa though he knew his mom knew otherwise. Christmas became a time of keeping up appearances for the sake of his family instead of enjoyment. And when Donna had finally cottoned onto the truth and realized he’d known all along, she’d been more upset with him for keeping her in the dark than giving up her Santa dream. He couldn’t win either way.

“Not as disappointed as my mom,” Aaron said. “She wasn’t prepared for me not believing in Santa. I ruined that Christmas for her.” He scratched his chin. “My poor mom. That wasn’t the only time I ruined her Christmas.”

“Oh?” Naomi glanced at him. “What else happened?”

“When I was about fifteen, I was going through a phase, being a difficult, know-it-all teenager. For no particular reason, I decided I was a vegetarian. Refused to eat my mom’s Thanksgiving turkey. She was much too nice to me, even made me a tofu turkey roast. But then, come Christmas, her cousins from Iowa were visiting, and Cousin Moira brought a special, aged ham and kept going on at me about ‘silly fads’ and to ‘just try a bite.’ Well, I never liked her, and I was a smartass teenager, so I gave her some lip. A lot of lip. I don’t want to tell you what I called her.” Aaron sighed, kneading the bauble in his hand. “My folks were mortified, especially Mom. When I saw her all red, her chin trembling, not knowing what to say, I felt so ashamed of myself.”

Naomi made a sympathetic clucking sound. “What did you do?”

“What else could I do? I apologized to Cousin Moira and ate her fricking ham, of course. And afterward, everyone pretended nothing had happened.” But word had got out, like it always did, and his mom’s friends had sympathized with her, which had made him feel even more guilty and different.