Stacy Connelly - All She Wants for Christmas

Gathering her wits and the edges of her jacket together, she asked, “How did you know where to find me?”

“You told me you were coming to Hopewell House.” He gestured to the brass placard near the front door.

Holly stepped back and took in the sight of the successful businessman in his full St. Nick glory. She still couldn’t believe her eyes. “Where on earth did you get that costume? I called all over and couldn’t find one.”

Looking uncomfortable, he confessed, “I already had it.”

Holly frowned. “If you had the costume, why’d you need Charlie?”

“I had the costume. I didn’t have anyone to wear it. No way was I going to make a fool of myself dressing like Santa at my company party.”

“But you’re here.” She waved a hand, gesturing to the costume and Hopewell House, glowing brightly behind them.

“Yeah, I am.”

Holly told herself not to read too much into his words, but how could she miss what his actions were saying? He’d been willing to make a fool of himself to do her a favor….

Swallowing, she tried to lighten the moment with a nod to the black limo waiting by the curb. “What happened to the sleigh and reindeer?” she asked as the two of them walked toward the car.

“Traded them in for four hundred horses.” He waved at the driver, who was hidden behind the tinted windows, and the trunk popped open.

The uniformed driver climbed from the limo. “Need any help with that, sir?”

“We’ve got it, Roger. Thanks.” Clay pushed the trunk open all the way.

If his arrival had shocked her speechless, the sight of the overloaded bags of toys sent words spilling from her mouth. “Look at all…Where did you… How did you have time to buy all this?”

“I had some help,” he confessed.

With a laugh shaky enough to reveal the tears she was trying not to cry, she asked, “Elves?”

“Close. Personal shopper.” His knowing gaze caught hers as he pulled out the first bag and passed it to her. “I thought about what you said and decided you were right. There are problems money can’t solve, but there are times when it works miracles.”

Heated embarrassment rushed to her face. “Mr. Forrester—”

“I think you can call me Clay.” He grabbed the other two bags of toys and closed the trunk.

“I’m sorry about what I said back at your office,” she told him as they walked back toward the house.

“You were right.” He slanted her a glance. “Don’t apologize.”

But she’d been wrong. Had anyone asked that morning, Holly would have sworn the successful businessman cared only about profit margins and saw people in terms of black and red: what they contributed in comparison to what they cost.

After their elevator mishap, she had thought perhaps she’d misjudged him but hadn’t expected him to give a second thought to the children waiting for a Christmas that might not come. Yet he’d taken time away from his own party to show up and play Santa. She felt as giddy and amazed as the children waiting inside.

Clay started to walk through the front door, but Holly grabbed his arm. “Wait.”

Setting her bag on the porch, she reached up, straightened the hat he’d pushed back, and carefully smoothed his dark hair beneath the white trim. Only when his surprised gaze locked with hers did she realized what she’d done. Stepping back, Holly cleared her throat. “Can’t have the kids figuring out you’re not really Santa.”

He reached up to adjust the hat, and she turned away, grateful to escape before doing something even more foolish. She opened the front door, and together they walked back to the parlor.

“Now, children, step back! Give Santa some room to breathe!” Sylvia admonished the kids who danced around him as they tried to peek inside the bags he carried.

Clay purposely lowered the bags to give the children a glimpse of gleaming tow trucks, blocks, and dolls before lifting them out of sight once more. Bobbing up and down on tiptoe, Mary Jane turned to the little girl beside her. “I saw a Barbie doll!”

Clay must have heard the exaggerated whisper. Once he settled into the parlor’s wingback chair, the fireplace and Christmas tree on either side, he motioned the two girls forward and pulled out a Barbie for each of them. Their eyes bright with excitement, they had the boxes open and were exchanging accessories within minutes.

The children’s happiness was contagious, and Eleanor and Sylvia seemed just as excited. Clay’s belly laugh filled the cozy room, and the blue eyes that had given him away in the first place danced.

If Holly had taken the job of matching the toys up with the children, she couldn’t have done better. Some, like Mary Jane, were easy, but for shy toddlers like Lucas, picking the perfect toy was more difficult. And even then, Holly couldn’t fault Clay’s choice.

Prompted by Holly, Lucas ran over just long enough to grab the yellow fire truck Clay held out. Holly tried to show Lucas how the battery-operated vehicle worked, but he wouldn’t let go of the toy to set it motoring across the floor.

As Eleanor walked toward the kitchen for refills of the fragrant, steaming cider, she stopped at Holly’s side. “That man is a wonder,” the older woman whispered. “When he called for directions, he asked about the children’s Christmas lists, but I never expected this.”

So that was how Clay had known what to buy. The knowledge didn’t lessen Holly’s amazement. She was touched he’d thought to research which presents would mean the most to the children. “I never expected it, either.”

“Wherever did he come from?” Eleanor asked.

Still awed that Clay Forrester was playing Santa for their party, Holly shook her head and mumbled, “Fortune 500.”

“Excuse me, dear?”

“I said I was fortunate to find him.”

He picked that moment to glance her way, and the distance separating them did little to dim the effect his appraising gaze had on her. The rest of the room faded away, leaving only the two of them.

Dressed in the Santa Claus suit, he should have looked silly. Sweet, at best. So how was it that she found him every bit as sexy as when she’d seen him in his designer suit?

“I can see how this might turn out very fortunate, indeed,” Eleanor said, with a delighted chuckle.

The older lady’s thoughts weren’t hard to follow, but Holly shook her head. “It’s not what you think.”

“This isn’t about what I think. This is about facts. Like the fact that your Mr. Forrester is the first man you’ve ever invited here.”

“He isn’t the first man I’ve invited,” Holly refuted softly. “He’s just the first to actually show.”

She’d asked Mark to visit the group home with her several times while they were dating, hoping to ease him into the idea of fostering Lucas. But there’d been nothing easy about it.

At first glance, Mark had been everything a woman hoped for: handsome, smart, charming. Only later did Holly realize he’d been playing a part to get what he wanted. Before long, their entire relationship was based on his needs.

And one thing he hadn’t wanted was to even consider the possibility of raising someone else’s kid.

But it didn’t matter whether or not Clay was anything like Mark. Clay Forrester had a pedigreed family history; Holly had never even found out who her parents were.

The differences that started at birth had continued throughout their lives. He was the CEO of a multimillion-dollar company; she struggled to make ends meet working at a flower shop. He was champagne and caviar. She was soda pop and tuna fish. A chauffeur-driven limousine compared to a VW Bug.

And Holly knew better than to fantasize that any of those things mixed, no matter what Eleanor thought.