“Sure, that’s nice if you’re into fur.” One of the others rolled her eyes.
“He harvested it from a dead rabbit. I swear.”
“Okay, well, either way, my idea is much better this year.”
“What is it?”
“Like I’m going to tell you. You’ll just steal it like you did last year.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Sure, that’s why there were two Secret Santa presents made out of fresh pine cones, green twigs, and imported glitter.”
“He’s probably telling the truth. I mean, the design was pretty uninspired.” The third person shook his head. “The goal is creativity, not imitation.”
“Precisely.” The woman smirked. “No imitating, Nick.”
“I didn’t imitate you!”
My eyes widened with every word I heard. Were they really discussing the Secret Santa I’d just signed up for? Was I expected to make something rather than snag it off a shelf somewhere at the last minute? Would I even have to wrap it? This was not what I expected, but I’d already signed my name. I slid the clipboard back across the table toward Santa.
He grinned at me and leaned across the table. “Well, well, Samantha, Santa has to know one thing if you want to participate in this program. Have you been naughty or nice?”
I laughed. “Oh, you know—a little of both.”
“Really? Just how naughty?”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, you know, if you want to have a good Christmas, you have to tell Santa about all your naughty moments.”
My mouth dropped open. It disturbed me to the core to think of Santa as a creepy old man. “I don’t think that’s how it works. If you’ll excuse me.” I turned to walk away. As I moved away from the table a sharp crack on my bottom startled me.
“Hey! Not okay!” I turned around and slammed my fist into Santa’s fluffy white beard.
“Mommy!” A little girl in pigtails shrieked. “That lady just punched Santa!”
Santa fell back against his chair and tipped it over. He landed in pile of fluff and red suit behind the table. In the shocked silence of everyone who had witnessed the act, I realized that I’d become the most hated woman in the library. I spun on my heel and rushed toward the door. The little girl’s crying chased me right out the door.
As I ran down the sidewalk I wondered if anyone was running after me. I looked over my shoulder to check and ran right into a parking meter. It hit me hard enough in my stomach that I let out a shriek.
“Miss? Miss, are you okay?” A police officer ran toward me.
“I swear, he’s not the real Santa! He deserved to get hit!”
Then I continued to run.
Chapter 3
By the time I reached the safety of my living room, I was covered in sweat. My heart pounded with fear that either small children or police officers were going to barge in at any minute. How had a simple trip to the library turned into something so horrifying? It was enough to make me want to hug the couch for the rest of the day and never see the sunlight again.
As I drew deep breaths and tried to focus on finding my inner peace I thought about where it had all gone wrong. I’d met new people, at least. I recalled that I signed up for the Secret Santa before attempting to knock out Santa. Which meant I had to come up with an amazing Secret Santa gift. I decided to do some safe web surfing from the comfort of my couch.
As I searched for the craftiest, sparkliest, Christmasy-est craft, I began to calm down. So my first attempt at having the most meaningful Christmas ever had failed. I likely traumatized a child and might have fractured Santa’s jaw. I couldn’t get stuck on that. There was too much to do. Even though I had yet to decide on a craft for my Secret Santa gift, I decided that I needed to switch gears and work on my book.
I opened up the story that I’d been neglecting and settled in to get some work done. As soon as my fingers touched the keys my mind went blank. I blinked a few
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