Melt Your Heart
Chapter 38: Santa, Baby
One week later.
Sam was going to kill Derek Sanders.
He didn't care if he was the chief of police; Derek was going to die in mysterious but violent circumstances.
Well, okay, perhaps it wasn't really Derek's fault, but by choosing to spend the festive season with his sister who lived out of town, Middleton's police chief had landed Sam in an awkward situation.
Martha had pounced on him – entirely too early in the morning and before he'd even inhaled the steam from his first cup of coffee – and he hadn't had his wits about him enough to just say 'no'.
One did not just say 'no' to Mayor Tinsdale and live to tell the tale, unless you were Tom and even that was sometimes in doubt.
It did explain, however, why Sam was making a detour through town late on a snowy December afternoon, and parking outside the police station.
Derek grinned when he saw Sam come in, watching the other man stamp snow from his boots with probably more gusto than the task required.
"She's in back," Derek told him, and Sam didn't care enough to ask why the infernal item was being referred to as a 'she'.
The best thing Sam could say was that it at least looked like it had been dry cleaned; the worst thing he could say would probably have him spending the night in one of the cells here for breaching the peace, or whatever.
With a look of barely contained disgust, Sam picked up the garment bag, swinging it from his index finger by the tip of the hanger.
"Make good use of her, Sam," Derek was telling him, hardly bothering to hide how close he was to breaking into a fit of giggles. It really wasn't becoming for a man of his age, or his level of responsibility, but he couldn't help it. "Or should I say, Saint Nick?"
Sam took a breath, counted to three, and tried to think what he would do if he had the Chief of Police alone, in an exam room, with a freshly sharpened scalpel. Let's just say he'd be singing soprano in next year's Christmas choir.
"See you, Derek," he said gruffly and went back into the freezing Middleton street, grateful when the door swung closed and shut off the sound of his laughter.
He threw the garment bag onto the passenger seat of his car, slamming the door after it. He didn't know why he was so angry about being roped into the Christmas festivities, but he figured it must have something to do with how Grinch-like he felt lately.
Well, except for the pretty glow the Christmas lights made in the corner of his living room in the dark evenings, he was okay with that. But mostly because it was really the fault of Cassie's wilful, adorable children that he even had any decorations up in the first place.
Joanne had already left to travel to their parents' house, and even though his mom had promised to let him know the second that her flight touched down, Sam was still worried about his sister. She had stayed on another week, and though she seemed better than when she'd arrived at Thanksgiving, Sam still wasn't happy with her progress, and now he couldn't keep an eye on her, which only added to his frustrations. And now it looked like he wouldn't even have work to distract him.
Originally he was booked to work over Christmas, but he'd been informed that very day that there'd been a mix-up in the scheduling, and he was now relieved of duty from Christmas Eve through to the twenty-eighth. He had insisted – almost forcefully by the end – that he was fine with working the festive period, but once the administration assistant (who was off his Christmas list forever) had pulled up the last five years' worth of schedules, he hadn't had a leg to stand on.
Unless he wanted to tell them that this would be his last Christmas as an employee of Hillcrest, and he wasn't quite ready to do that yet.
This meant he could spend Christmas with Cassie, but all that mistletoe and no kissing seemed unfair to him. He knew Christmas was tough for her; it was always a stark reminder of who wasn't around to spend it with you anymore.
Great, now he was pissed off and feeling guilty.
Maybe he should go and see if she was holding up okay?
If she wasn't, maybe seeing him in the ridiculous Santa costume might just cheer her up.
Damn you, Derek, he cursed under his breath, but this time all the fire of his anger was gone.
"Did you hear?" Abigail asked, nearly sliding into a crumpled heap on the kitchen floor. This is what she got for wearing fluffy socks on the hard wood, and definitely not because karma could be a bigger bitch than her. "Martha somehow harangued Sam into being Santa for the Christmas pageant this year."
"Really?" Cassie replied, and though she tried to suppress it, she couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. "I doubt he's very happy about that."
"Me neither," Abigail agreed. The cousins looked at each other for a moment, and then both broke into simultaneous bursts of laughter. Cassie had to hold onto the edge of the sink as her stomach cramped and her eyes began to water. Wow, she couldn't remember the last time she had laughed like that. And it was at poor Sam's expense.
Speaking of Sam, they'd both better get a hold of themselves before he came over to collect his dinner. They hadn't made plans, but both Merriwicks just knew.
"If he asks," Abigail said, a little breathless still. "I absolutely, categorically did not tell you."
"My lips are sealed," Cassie replied. "As long as you don't tell him about…" She gestured between them, and had to hold down another peal of giggles. "This."
"Scout's honour," Abigail told her, then carefully backed out of the kitchen before she gave into the hysteria again. It wasn't really that funny in the grand scheme of things – and she did feel sorry for Sam, Martha really was a force to be reckoned with – but it was good to see her cousin let go like that.
It was still snowing when Sam returned home, taking the garment bag inside the house with him and throwing it over the back of a chair. Martha had shrilled something about not letting it get creased, upsetting the children, blah blah blah, but that was a problem for another time.
What he wanted was to pour several fingers of whiskey – into a glass or straight into his mouth, he wasn't fussy – and pass out on the couch, but his stomach gave a rumble that was more of a lurch and the welcoming warmth of the Grey House kitchen (and it's occupant) won out over the charms of Jim Beam. So much so, in fact, that he didn't even glare at the garment bag when he passed back through the kitchen, nor did he fantasise about it being the innocent victim of an arson attack.
See: progress.
"Hi, Sam." Cassie was already pulling the kitchen door open when Sam reached for the handle, and he found himself enveloped into the warm, and the dry, and, as usual, a wonderful fragrance.
Whatever Cassie was making for dinner smelled pretty good as well.
She helped him out of his coat, setting it near the heater so the wet droplets of snow would dry. If either of them felt the sparks as they carried out this ordinary domestic but nevertheless intimate activity, neither of them mentioned it.
Because they were friends, right?
Just friends.
"Something smells delicious," Sam commented, bringing a moment that could have turned awkward to a close. "Not that it's a new phenomenon around here."
Abigail appeared and poured a glass of wine each for the three of them, and apple juice for the twins. She had eaten so many meals alone here over the years, and was almost surprised to find how naturally she'd adjusted to having a kitchen full of family at dinner times.
And soon there'd be one more.
The elusive Merriwick had updated Abigail on her itinerary, and she could be arriving in Middleton as soon as January.
Abigail still wasn't sure how she felt about that, even though she'd been the one to initiate contact, and things had gone so smoothly with Cassie's arrival in town. Although smooth was not a word she'd currently use to describe the way her cousin and her neighbour were dancing around each other in the kitchen; not exactly flirting, but not not flirting either.
It was driving her to distraction, but they melted her cold, cynical heart just a little bit. That same cold, cynical heart that had frosted over again the moment she'd seen her best friend with her arms around another new boyfriend.
She wasn't sure why, more than a week later, it still bothered her. Neither she nor Stephanie spent a long time being single, unless it was by choice, so why had seeing her and Simon together shaken her so? She actually wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer to that.
Everything seemed to be changing around her and, though she'd instigated a lot of that change herself, she wasn't sure she liked all of it.
Change often meant you gained something, but Abigail was more worried about what she might lose.
Rather than focus on her own discomfort, she turned it outward.
"So, has Martha cornered either of you about this year's Christmas parade? She already demanded I place orders for poinsettias and holly wreaths back in July."
Cassie shot a brief warning glance, certain that Sam wouldn't see it. What had happened to not telling him they already knew?
"Abigail," Sam said, deadpan. "I'm sure half of Middleton already knows, so I'm not sure why you're pretending you don't?"
Had their non-magical neighbour just out-Merriwicked her?
"Have you got the costume yet?" Abigail asked, sidestepping the question.
Sam grunted something that sounded like an affirmative.
"I bet you'll look super cute in it; it's always been a little tight on Derek," Abigail continued. "What do you think, Cassie?"
Her cousin fired a bewildered look back at Abigail. First, Sam had out-witched them and now she'd caught Cassie off guard. Was there something in the air tonight, Abigail wondered.
Except the shimmer of unresolved sexual tension, of course.
But no one wanted to talk about that, least of her all her. Especially as the twins would be coming in for dinner at any moment.
In fact, the patter of their feet on the hardwood floor ended the adults' conversation, for which Cassie was very relieved. She was glad that she and Sam were on friendly terms now, and had been able spent a very lovely day together at the Christmas tree farm, but she really didn't need to think about how he'd look in a Santa Claus costume.
Because she had a feeling she already knew, and she wasn't sure what to do with that.
One week before Christmas
"I hope you know that I'm making a voodoo doll of Martha," Sam muttered darkly. "And Tom, because he enables her."
Cassie tried really hard not to laugh or show any sign of amusement at all while Sam actually pouted. Damn it all, Abigail had been right: Sam did look cute in the outfit, even with the fluffy red hat and ridiculous fake beard.
Actually, cute wasn't the right word. Unfortunately, 'sexy' was more appropriate.
Or inappropriate, really.
"You know, Abigail could probably help you with that," she said instead. She still wasn't quite sure how much Sam knew about the Merriwick family, or how much Abigail had confided in him over the course of their friendship.
"That wouldn't surprise me in the least," he replied, his voice a little muffled as tugged on the uncomfortable beard. It was itchy as all hell.
"Oh Sam, your face!" Cassie exclaimed.
"Is ruggedly handsome – boyishly so – I know."
Cassie ignored him. "I think you must be allergic to something in the beard…"
Without thinking, she gently unhooked the fake beard from behind his ears and lifted it off. The lower half of his face had taken on an unnaturally pink tone and it looked like a rash was starting to form. He couldn't keep the beard on all evening without making his skin condition worse, but he couldn't face the kids in the Christmas pageant looking like that either.
"Stay right there," Cassie instructed him, and he was too stunned to do anything but obey the authority of her 'mom' voice.
She was back in a moment, holding a small glass jar (that might once have held store bought jam or applesauce) filled with a clear, viscous liquid. Sam's 'doctor of science' hackles rose a little, even though he'd just freely joked about voodoo dolls.
"No offence Cassie, but you're not putting that on my face."
She rolled her eyes at him in fond exasperation, reminded of the time she'd tried to get him to try the 'tea that tastes like coffee' and he'd acted like she was attempting to poison him.
Ah, memories.
"It's just an aloe remedy, I made it myself. It'll stop you from scratching your face raw."
Sam guiltily dropped his hand to his waist, looking like a very woe begotten Santa indeed.
"Okay, fine," he acquiesced, still very much grumpy Saint Nick.
But when Cassie stepped in close, her fingers coated in the thick liquid and began to gently apply it to his cheeks and chin, well…he couldn't pretend not to enjoy himself. This was the closest they'd been physically in, wow, too long, and he was going to enjoy every moment of it.
"Better?" Cassie asked, avoiding his gaze as she reached for the jar again.
"I feel like a brand new Santa," he replied, teasing her with a wicked grin. He lowered his voice. "I'm this close to asking you if you'd like to sit on my lap and tell me what a good girl you've been this year."
Cassie's hands were unsteady as she screwed the top back onto the jar.
"Sam…" she began, a hint of warning - and of wanting - in her voice.
"This stuff is amazing," he said, changing the subject but not having missed the flush in her cheeks and the way her eyes had darkened.
Yup, he still had it.
And he still had it bad for her, too.
Tentatively he touched his face, which was now starting to feel cool and tingly, rather than hot and gosh darn itchy.
"It's one of my own remedies," Cassie explained, glad of the subject change. It gave her something to focus on other than trying to stop her heart from beating its way out her chest.
"Ah, so you could tell me the ingredients, but then you'd have to kill me?" he guessed, raising an eyebrow.
"Something like that," Cassie replied, glad that things were back to something resembling normal between them. "Take the rest of the jar," she told him, pressing it into his hands and hoping their skin didn't brush. "Just reapply it as often as you need."
"Yes, Doctor Nightingale," he agreed, and though he was teasing her, for the first time he saw her as a healer, too. He might not go much on natural remedies himself – not where tried and trusted scientific solutions were available – but this, whatever this magical concoction was, was probably far better for him, and the environment, than anything he could've picked up at a pharmacy. "Thank you."
He fixed his fake beard back into position, and even then his skin didn't start to each again; she'd certainly cast a spell on him.
"Will I see you at the pageant?" he asked hoping that he didn't sound too, well, hopeful.
"Of course, I just need to make sure the twins are ready…" she paused. "Speaking of, you'd better go. I'll have some serious explaining to do if they think their next door neighbour is Santa Claus."
He smiled, nodded. "See you later, Cassie," he said, his voice low and his tone warm.
How she wanted to lean into him, even in his ridiculous red costume, but instead she opened the kitchen door and ushered him out into the cold.
This certainly wasn't the Christmas she'd been expecting, but, so far, she could hardly say it was dull. And, as she shut the door against the swirling snow, she heard her children thunder down the stairs, Abigail's slightly more sedate footsteps not far behind them, she doubted if she'd ever get a dull moment again.