“Who invited the Santaholics in?” She was melting like butter against him and he cupped her shoulders, then ran his hands down her arms so they could link fingers. “Wasn’t that you who came in early today to host this special visit?”
“I came in early today, but I didn’t
She stiffened in his arms. “Give me a break. You know how I feel about this place. About the whole stupid season.”
He thought he really
“Let’s talk about you instead.” She pulled free of him and spun around, crossing her arms at her chest. “How did your dinner go last night?”
“Fine.” Damn it, she was dodging. And damn it, he was dodging too, but this was his line of questioning and he needed to follow it through. “But let’s get back to-”
“You.” She dropped her defensive arms and moved forward to wrap them around him instead. Her smile was as much crafty as it was seductive. “You left my inner sex fiend panting yesterday. You had her all hepped up with no place to go.” She rubbed her hips against his, the witch. “Or come, as the case may be.”
He groaned, knowing any protest was futile. He was a goner against this grown-up GND. “Bailey…” She cut off further words by drawing his head down and sliding her tongue into his mouth. Heat rocketed up his spine and his hands splayed along her back.
“I’ll make it up to you now,” he said against her mouth. His lips trailed to the sweet spot behind her ear. “Don’t make me wait until tonight.”
She stiffened against him again. “I’m…I’m afraid I have something I have to do tonight.”
“What?”
“My, uh, father stopped by the house yesterday.” She pushed his chest away. “When you were dealing with the lights.”
“I didn’t see Dan.”
She shook her head. “Not Dan. My real father. He shows up from time to time. The law firm told him where he could find me and he stopped by on his way to go beach camping in Mexico. He wants to take me out to dinner tonight.”
There was a weird, forced little smile on her face, which caused Finn’s sixth sense to start whispering in his ear. “Maybe-”
The jingle of the front door bells broke in. They turned their heads, then separated from each other as two people-a woman and a little boy-entered the store.
“I’m sorry for the interruption,” the woman said. She had on red sweat pants and a white sweatshirt. An official-looking badge from Beachside Preschool was pinned on her collar and stated her name was “Miss Michele.” Her mouth pursed and she sighed as she glanced down at the scruffy charge by her side. “Angel has something to say to you.”
Naming her son Angel must have been wishful thinking on his mother’s part. If his dark, wavy hair had been clean and combed at some point, he’d long ago found some sand to rub through it. There was a rip in the pocket of his shorts, and the neck of his stained T-shirt was stretched out as if he’d been hanging from it.
His black-lashed eyes were trained on the toes of his grubby sneakers that had parted company with the soles. If Finn had to guess, he’d say the kid was pretending he was somewhere else.
Miss Michele gripped the little boy’s upper arm, giving it an impatient shake. “Angel?” She cast an apologetic look at Bailey. “This one causes us trouble.”
Finn felt himself twitch. This one causes us trouble.
Frowning, Bailey flicked him a glance as if she’d noticed his reaction, then she crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her gaze between Angel’s face and Miss Michele’s. “What’s the problem?”
Miss Michele shook the little boy again. “An-”
“You can let go of him.” Bailey had enough ice in her voice to build igloos at the North Pole. Finn didn’t know if she was pissed at the woman, the kid, the interruption of her morning’s work, or all three. “Just tell me why you came back.”
“One of the other children let us know he broke something,” Miss Michele answered, dropping the little boy’s arm.
Bailey gazed around the room. “Broke what?”
Still staring at his toes, the kid dug his fingers in the pocket that wasn’t ripped. Out came a palm-sized, ceramic figurine of Santa Claus, now decapitated. He held the two pieces out in both grubby hands.
“The children were told not to touch anything,” Miss Michele intoned.
Bailey face appeared etched in stone. “I remember. I believe I was the one who made that request.” She stepped forward and the little kid jolted back, as if expecting a slap.
Finn froze. Then he shot a look at Bailey, wondering if she’d read it as he had.
“Accident,” the kid mumbled. “Didn’t mean to.”
Miss Michele sighed, looking less of an ogre now, and more just worn out. “Yes, well, Angel, you sure have a lot of didn’t-mean-to moments. The preschool’s sorry, Ms. Sullivan, and I’m sure Angel is too.”
It was Bailey’s turn to say something. “I-”
“Santa won’t bring me nuthin’ will he?” Angel’s words rushed out and he looked up, his gaze latching on to Bailey like a laser beam.
She stilled-the pose of a deer hoping she’d be lost in the forest camouflage.
“My brother says there’s no such thing as Santa. And that my mom won’t bring us nuthin’ either.” Angel didn’t blink. “What do you say?”
Slowly, oh-so-damn-slowly, Bailey turned her head and looked at Finn.
He didn’t know what the hell she was thinking, but he could imagine any number of things she might say in response to the boy.
Or perhaps what she’d told Finn in his loft that fateful night:
His gut clenched, his breath backing up in his lungs.
With a little shrug, she turned her gaze back on the boy. “Angel. Buddy.” She took the ceramic pieces out of the boy’s hands and fitted them back together. Then she held up the almost-as-new figurine. “All I can tell you…” She cleared her throat, started again. “All I can tell you is that you just gotta believe.”
Finn and Angel exhaled in identical relieved puffs of air. Even Miss Michele had her holiday face back on. Finn walked the boy and the woman to the front door. The two left for the Beachside Preschool with a happy jingle of the front bell. He thought he saw the little guy skip a couple of times down the sidewalk.
He turned around to find Bailey at the front counter, organizing the already organized space. “GND-”
“Do me a favor. Call that preschool. Get that boy’s last name. Get his brother’s name. And see if you can charm them into an address.”
He stared at her, silenced.
Her head jerked up. She pinned him with glittering eyes. “What? What are you thinking? Did you suppose I was going to spread my cynicism instead of holiday cheer? Thanks a lot.”
“Bailey-”
“He was just a little boy!”
A little boy with a label Finn knew only too well. He’d noticed the child during the class’s visit to the store, because he’d recognized the kid’s buzz of energy, his too-big movements, the way the teachers rode herd on him
