Secret Santa Read online

  Was that shiver traveling up her spine merely from the cold, or perhaps a spark of anticipation? She felt almost giddy inside, aware that her skin tingled as she neared the corner with an excitement she hadn't felt for her last Secret Santa adventure. What surprise waited on the other side?

  Nothing you can‘t live without, she told herself, attempting to rein in the sudden burst of girlish enthusiasm. Your friends don’t exactly have time for big, dramatic gestures after all…

  Colleen stopped, her eyes widening with surprise at the scene ahead. A small outdoor skating rink, the speakers blasting the rest of “Sleigh Ride,” as couples whirled across the ice, some elegant, some shaky with beginner’s syndrome. A few took a tumble to the good-natured amusement of their companions.

  Her gaze turned slowly to the building beside her, the familiar envelope tacked to its bulletin board. She knew what was inside even before she popped it open: the ticket for all-day admission to the park’s mini skating rink slid into her palm.

  This was crazy. Sure, she’d liked the idea as a kid, but skating on your own, as a grown adult, didn’t equal quite the same thrills. Especially if you have no clue what you're doing, she thought, with a shake of the head.

  Still holding the ticket, she crossed to the rink, hesitating on the fringes where spectators watched. She hugged herself, debating whether she should chicken out. It wasn't too late to bequeath her ticket to the first person she saw. The girl at the skate rental booth eyed her with expectation, but she could feel her stomach dropping, the fear of looking silly outweighing the need to conquer an old challenge.

  The song changed to a tender version of “White Christmas,” the skaters slowing to match the rhythm. Couples holding hands and swirling in graceful, fluid motions made her feel incredibly out of place. On the verge of walking away, Colleen saw something that made her heart turn over.

  A masculine figure was seated on the second bench, his face angled to study something in his hand. Dark hair curled across his forehead, a crimson silk scarf tucked inside his black coat. As Colleen drew close, he glanced up, a spark of recognition flashing in his brown gaze.

  “Jack?” she blurted. “What are you doing here?”

  *****

  “So you’re the familiar face I was instructed to look for.”

  Jack’s tone was casual, his expression innocent as he waved the sheet of stationary in his hand. Its message constructed from a series of crookedly cut magazine letters pasted over a masked Santa motif.

  “Wait–you got a Secret Santa message too?” Colleen's forehead furrowed, her thoughts a jumble of confusion and anger. If this was her friend’s way of arranging a romance for the Christmas season then they could expect a refund very soon.

  “This was in my apartment’s mail slot,” he explained, handing it over with a shrug. “I thought it must be a joke, but it didn’t seem too ominous, so I took a chance.”

  Colleen scanned the message, her eye brows inching higher as she read: “Secret Santa needs your help! Take this ticket to Hartley park and use an old skill to help brighten a friend’s holiday season. Be at the skating rink by ten o’clock and wait for a familiar face to appear.

  “I can’t believe this,” she murmured, shaking her head. “Other people aren’t usually part of the game,” she explained, offering Jack an apologetic smile. “My friend must be trying something new with our holiday scavenger challenge.” A weak explanation, but she couldn’t tell him her real analysis of “Santa’s” motives.

  “Sounds like fun,” said Jack, with a nod towards the crazy invitation. “At least, it’s more creative then the annual white elephant gift exchange at the law firm. Tacky neck ties and musical snowmen aren’t really my idea of a merry Christmas. ”

  “Yeah, well, I’m sorry you got roped into this. I mean–you must have better things to do with your weekend,” she guessed, crossing her fingers behind her back. Surely a handsome, successful attorney had Saturday plans, probably even a date or two.

  “Just a dozen or so client files to page through. And it’s actually kind of flattering to be included,” he added, “since my skating skills are all but forgotten these days.”

  “You skate?” she couldn’t help the shock in her voice, or the laugh that popped out at the same time. “I’m sorry,” she said, covering her mouth to keep another from following. “It’s just you don’t seem like…well, the type who’s into sports.” With a glance at his jeans, perfectly creased at the knees.

  “Backyard hockey,” he explained, a sheepish grin widening his mouth. “My uncle’s house had a pond that froze over every winter. My friends and I would face off with the kids in the neighborhood–I’ve got the scars to prove which team took the most beatings. ”

  She laughed, but this time for different reasons. His warm sense of humor crept over her like the morning sunshine, despite her attempts to stay frosty. “Really, you don’t have to do this,” she urged. Her tone lacked conviction, something that irked her almost as much as the pleasant tingle connected with the idea that he might stay.

  “But I want to,” he insisted. “That is, if you don’t mind a skating partner who’s a little rusty. It’s been a decade since my last hockey tournament, and I’m pretty sure I might’ve sprained my ankle even then. ”

  It seemed like giving the wrong impression to say yes, like a date almost. Still…the chance to fulfill a childhood wish tugged at her heart like a buried memory, the embers faint but still glowing.

  “OK, let’s give it a try. But I have to warn you,” she said, “I’ve only been on the ice a couple of times and both of those were spent falling down.”

  He shrugged, a playful gleam appearing in his eyes. “I’m not much of a coach but at least I’ll give you a cushion to fall on. Provided I don’t slip first, that is.”

  But when he stepped on the ice there was no sign of hesitation, his blades cutting against the surface in a smooth sweeping motion. His confidence made her reach for the hand he extended without a second thought. His strong fingers cradled her own as they intertwined, leading her slowly onto the ice.

  “Steady now,” he encouraged, guiding her forward in a gentle pulling motion. The other skaters seemed to blur, the strains of “Merry Christmas , Darling,” melting into the background. The sound of their blades scraping the ice–and her heart pounding insanely fast–were the only sounds Colleen registered as he lead her in a slow semi-circle.

  “See–you’re a natural at this,” he winked.

  When they had reached the middle of the rink, he released her hands and drew backwards, allowing a few feet of glistening ice to stretch between them. “Now just skate towards me, nice and slow.”

  “Like this?” she said, slightly breathless, her feet wobbling forward. The halting, awkward motion becoming a glide as she gradually closed the distance, almost close enough to touch his coat.

  “Just like that. Only further,” he grinned, skating backwards until he had almost reached the wall. A cocky gleam in his face she never would have believed possible, for a supposedly stuffy businessman.

  “Hey, no fair.” She pretended to pout, crossing her arms. Although she was actually starting to feel in control, the way a child does when their parent lets go of the bicycle for the first time. Her stride was even as she skated towards him, her eyes locked with his gaze. The fear of falling becoming lost somewhere in the curve of his jaw, the shock of dark hair across his forehead.

  Her hand reached for his, their fingers a touch apart. Until her feet slipped, her body colliding with Jack’s in a sudden whoosh. His arms caught her before she could hit the ice, pulling her upwards until their faces were mere inches apart.

  “Sorry,” she said, pulling back from him, her hand reaching to brush the curls from her face.

  “At least I caught you,” he grinned. “We may not be Olympic ready, but we’re doing better than some of our competitors.” With a nod towards one couple already sprawled across the ice, the girl laughing as her companion attemp
ted to regain his balance.

  She bit her lip, attempting to concentrate on the feel of the ice beneath her blades rather than the slight wobble in her knees. Was that weakness only because of the ice? Doubt warmed her cheeks as Jack led her in a slow circle, a smile widening across his face as they spun.

  “Thanks again for doing this,” she said, as they came to a halt, the music ending abruptly. “I guess I can cross skating off my list now.”

  “What else is on that wish list?” Jack asked as they rested against the rink’s partition, their faces glowing pink from the exercise. “Any other Christmas dreams that didn’t come true?”

  “A few,” she admitted. “But I’ve grown out of most of them. I mean, a Schwinn bicycle isn’t exactly practical, since I’m not planning on a paper delivery business.”

  “Says who?” he teased. “You might want a second career sometime. Something easier than crunching numbers and monitoring portfolios.”

  She tapped the toe of her skate against the ice. “For me, crunching numbers is easy. It’s the only thing I could picture doing for a job. Besides horse riding, maybe.”

  “Horse riding,” he mused, a quiet interest lighting his features. “Did you compete professionally–rodeo circuits, that kind of thing?”

  “Oh…” she trailed off, a little confused. Sharing personal information seemed unnatural somehow after so much small talk, so many boring conversations at tedious social functions. “I wanted to,” she admitted after a moment, “but you can’t really do that unless you own a horse. I never did, so riding was more of a hobby. One I can’t really continue with an apartment’s patio rooftop as a yard. ”

  He nodded. “My place on Baker Avenue is four floors up. The view from the living room is a blinking sign for Tanya’s Trout House. ”

  “Ugh.” She wrinkled her nose, her hands pulling her cap lower against her curls. Four teenagers whizzed past, hands held as they formed a chain.

  “Of course, I’ll have a better view for Christmas,” Jack continued, “since my uncle’s family is hosting this year’s dinner. If his pond’s frozen over, maybe I’ll round up a reunion hockey game,” he joked, nudging her elbow.

  “Sounds fun,” she said. “My family cancelled on me. Which means I’ll be opening gifts on New Year’s instead of our usual Christmas day dinner–and trading poached salmon for fish sticks.”

  “Sounds awful.” His brown eyes caught hers, sympathy pooling in their dark depths. He jammed his hands in his coat pockets, a hesitance crossing his features. Clearing his throat, he said, “Listen if you don’t have any plans–”

  Colleen’s breath caught, her mouth forming an automatic ‘no’, only to be saved the trouble by a welcome interruption beside the rink’s partition.

  “Would you care for a picture, my friends?” The park photographer wore a set of impressive white whiskers, his blue eyes shining brightly behind a set of spectacles. “A winter memory for the mantle, perhaps?” he inquired, his finger poised at the old-fashioned camera’s trigger

  “Oh, we really aren’t–” Colleen began. But the photographer had already pushed the button, capturing a mixture of surprise and happiness in the split-second of his frame.

  *****

  Colleen slid the all-day spa certificate inside the envelope, the first of her gifts to bestow as Secret Santa to the overworked Rosalyn. She slapped a stamp on it and placed it in the stack of outgoing mail on her work desk, a space already crowded with other less personal papers and pamphlets, as well as Christmas cards for longtime clients.

  Propped against her brass paperweight was something that seemed out of place among the sea of office supplies and tax related information. A photograph of herself and Jack at the skating rink.

  Almost a week had passed since that magic afternoon of navigating the ice together. An event never to be repeated, she told herself, sliding the photo out of sight into a desk drawer. If she saw him again, it would be at some function for Meg’s law firm and they would exchange a few polite words, maybe an awkward smile or two. But nothing more.

  Certainly no more Christmas gifts would be exchanged between them. She couldn’t believe her Secret Santa would dare have the nerve to arrange yet another activity involving Jack Bradley, no matter how perfect they imagined the first attempt. Or how lonely her holiday plans seemed to be this year.

  “You can’t spend Christmas by yourself ,” Meg had scolded when she learned about the Quinn family’s change of holiday plans. “At least come to my house–I mean, you know my parents, you practically spent half your childhood at their house…”

  “Thanks, but it’s fine,” she had insisted, with a careless air. “I don’t need a big, noisy gathering to know it’s Christmas. A cup of cocoa and some carols on the stereo will do just fine.” Although her thoughts had wandered automatically to Jack, and his plans to stage a hockey tournament at his uncle’s big family party.

  Don’t even think it, Colleen. She rolled the antique amulet between her fingers, confusion rippling through her. She jumped as the phone on her office desk rang, an irrational fear popping into her head–namely that it was Jack on the other end with an offer for her to spend Christmas day with his family. An invitation she irrationally imagined he was formulating when the photographer interrupted.

  “Hello?” she said, her tone a little breathless as she forgot her usual business greeting. The voice on the other end was not Jack’s however, but that of Mr. Collard, a longtime client.

  “Miss Quinn? I realize it’s almost your lunch hour but I had a question about my retirement account…”

  “Not a problem,” Colleen insisted. Relief that it was a regular client and not her skating companion made sacrificing a few minutes with her brown bag lunch of yogurt and chicken salad worthwhile. Tapping a pencil absently against the desk, she answered Mr. Collard’s concerns, her free hand flipping his file open to study a few percentage charts and future projections.

  “I can schedule an appointment to discuss your finances the first week of January if you want,” she offered, pulling up her electronic schedule with a few keystrokes. “How does the third sound? There’s an opening at–”Her voice stuck, her attention gripped by something taking place straight across from her.

  An envelope was sliding beneath her office door.

  “What–yes, I’m still here,” she stammered, jumping from her swivel chair as a shadow moved away from the door. “Two o’clock? Well, I suppose that could work–” She made a lunge for the door, stumbling half-way, as the phone cord reached its capacity. It tumbled from the desk, taking her jar of pens with it.

  “Mr. Collard, I’m sorry but I’ll have to call you back to confirm that appointment,” she said, “I’ll let you know sometime this week. Merry Christmas to you, too.” She flung the receiver aside and yanked the door handle only to feel firm resistance. Locked–a lunchtime precaution she wished she’d skipped for once.

  Fumbling with the knob, she pulled the door open and stepped into the hallway, feeling breathless and just a little bit silly. All that was present was a deserted space, the elevator doors firmly shut in transit.

  Rats. Four flights of stairs stood between her and the mysterious gift giver. Instead of sprinting for the exit, she stepped back inside and closed the door again. Peering out the window that overlooked the building’s side parking lot, she watched the figures exiting the building–just in case her Santa was looking for a fast lunchtime getaway via the street.

  Scanning the rows of cars, she spotted a few candidates right off the bat, including two red Mercury models that could easily pass for Meg’s vehicle hugging the curb. There was only one minivan that resembled Rosalyn's usual drive, but it was ruled out by the sight of an elderly man climbing behind the wheel.

  Colleen sighed as a few more figures strolled into view, most of them too bundled in coats and scarves to be recognized. A young couple climbed into the first Mercury, the girl’s red hair peeking from beneath a stretchy wool cap. The other car was
occupied a minute later by a tall brunette talking on a cell phone.

  So much for that brilliant plan. She lowered the shade, blocking the draft of cool air and turned back to her desk. Her eyes fell on the envelope that lay abandoned on the carpet, her name visible on the outside in typed letters.

  “Colleen,” read the message tucked inside, “the Christmas season should never be spent alone! Keep a festive appointment with a buried treasure on December 14th at seven o’clock for some seasonal socializing. P.S. If you can’t guess where this means, think the bottom of the sea.”

  Her eyebrows shot up as she scanned the bizarre message. Santa had arranged for yet another person to be part of her scavenger hunt surprises? Not if she had anything to do with it. A frown tugging her mouth, she punched the elevator’s lobby button. It was time to get some answers.

  “Hey, Colleen. Going out for lunch?” Marci the secretary for the first floor business, offered her a beaming smile over her computer monitor.

  “Actually, I’m sort of looking for someone. They came out of the elevator about five minutes ago. A woman about my age with…blonde hair?” she crossed her fingers, thinking Meg was the most likely culprit. After all, Rosalyn had mentioned a doctor’s appointment for this morning, hadn’t she? And Dawn had taken an early lunch for Christmas shopping–or so she said.

  “Let’s see…” Marci’s brow furrowed, her manicured nails tapping the desk. “I don’t remember anyone like that coming through the lobby recently. There was a young guy and a girl with red hair and an older man with a cane. There was an older lady too. Oh, and a guy in a business suit, I think.”

  Her shoulders slumped. Definitely not any of her friends, unless they had stooped to dyeing their hair for the sake of secrecy. “Thanks, anyway, Marci,” she said, pushing through the double doors to the front parking lot. Lunchtime traffic was in progress on Main Street, as she glanced up and down the road in search of–what? Certainly whoever slipped the envelope beneath her door wouldn’t still be hanging around.