Page 23 of Winter Break

Austin shrugged. “I don’t know if I want to live at the beach my whole life. I kinda liked it when we visited Upstate New York. You know I love to ski. I mean, do you see yourself living here for the rest of your life?” It was Austin’s turn to wave a hand around the store as if Breakwater Toys and Gifts was a stand-in for the entire town or maybe the entire region. Or hell, the entire lower forty-eight states if Mallory was to be believed.

“I mean, all you ever talk about is that research project in Alaska,” Austin prompted. And why did Dalton’s reply suddenly seem so important? Why was I attempting to eavesdrop at all?

But I’d heard enough. There it was. Proof that he was thinking about Alaska. Which was really fucking far away. Not that it should matter to me.

I didn’t hear Dalton’s response over the cries of a toddler and the question the next person in line asked me, though he did say something to Austin before slipping into the back of the store to deposit his jacket.

“It would be really cool, though.” That was all I heard as the curtain flapped and took him away.

He was wearing a golf shirt with the Breakwater Toys and Gifts logo on it when he popped back out. Not the new one I’d had commissioned in time for our big sale over the summer but the old one. The shirt barely fit him, stretched tight over his broad chest, the cuffs straining as his biceps fought to burst out. I half expected to find him in shorts and smiled to myself at the dark-blue, snugly fit jeans that complemented the wine-colored shirt perfectly. I mean, except for the fact that they were both way too tight and showed off that swimmer’s body perfectly.

Dalton nodded at me and immediately started interacting with customers. If he’d caught me staring, he didn’t acknowledge it. He smiled at a child holding a stuffed animal up to him and knelt down to talk to the boy. In a roomful of excited children, festive music, color, and chaos, that smile rose above everything. For a moment, it was just his face and the ebb and flow of the ocean over the din of the busy store. The customer in front of me handed me their purchase, and on autopilot, I scanned it and told her the cost. But my gaze and my focus were never far from Dalton as he moved around the room.

Austin stood off to the side, next to the Christmas tree in the window. He actually may have caught me staring at Dalton but turned away quickly when I glanced his way, examining ornaments on the tree. But I noticed that every so often, he looked up, found Dalton, and smiled.

Dalton commanded the room. Kneeling down to talk to kids, guiding adults to the perfect gift, and demonstrating some of the toys we had available. His laughter filled the room more than once.

Austin approached him after a few minutes, whispering in his ear before leaving the building. Dalton checked his watch and made his way over to me.

“You ready?” he asked as if we’d done this a million times. As if it wasn’t the first thing he’d said to me since he entered the store. As if I knew what he was talking about. Of course, I did.

He looked at the computer screen register, remembering. “Oh shit, I was supposed to clock in on your fancy new system. I can do that now.” He looked at his watch again, which had a pride flag background.

“No. No! I’ll do it.” I didn’t ask him what time he had started working, and he didn’t tell me. I clocked him in from the moment he’d walked in the store.

“Okay, now I’m ready,” I said.

“Preference?” he asked.

I shook my head no, and Dalton walked with purpose to the riser, standing in front of the big comfy chair.

“BT&G guests,” he bellowed. “Welcome. If you’re here to shop, please make your way to the register now. We will be shutting it down for a few minutes because …” He clapped his hands, then rubbed them together. The twins and a few other kids sat down in front of the riser, and he pointed at them.

“You guys know what’s up.”

“It’s Breakwater story time!” he shouted, and the kids cheered. I handed a paper bag to a confused-looking grandparent and made my way to the riser, dropping into the chair, like I’d done once a week since the end of the summer, when Anita had passed the duty on to me.

Dalton scurried behind the chair and plucked a book from the shelves but didn’t return immediately, instead running behind the curtain to the back rooms. It seemed everyone in the store watched as he disappeared, returning almost immediately with a green cap on his head, complete with elf ears. He handed me a book with a mouse on the cover, a mouse ready to go to the movies for the holiday. I started to open the book, but before I even could, from behind the chair, Dalton place a hat on my head.

The kids smiled and laughed, and I looked over my shoulder to smile at the man looming over me. There it was again, the sound of the ocean and his smile as if nothing else existed.

“Now you’re ready, Santa. Let’s take Mouse to the movies.” He had to nod over my shoulder for me to stop staring and turn around.

I opened the book, surprised when Dalton found a spot on the floor, sitting with his legs crossed and paying attention while I read. Before I was done, one of the twins had found their way to him and snuggled up against him. He looked cautiously over at her mother before putting an arm around her.

As soon as I was done, Dalton and the twins were on the riser, Dalton with a stack of mouse (and moose) books in hand.

“Back to the register, Santa,” he said as he and the girls passed out books.

Eventually, the story time crowd dissipated, and the store was empty. I loved it when the store was busy, but I relished it when we found a few quiet moments. I could hear the strong beat of the ocean clearly, and it always gave me a sense of peace. I was right where I wanted to be, in the historic beachfront building and the big comfy chair that Anita insisted would one day be mine.

I reached up to remove the hat. From behind me, Dalton’s hand gripped my wrist, and I don’t think the zing I felt was entirely from surprise, though I did jump at the touch.

“Sorry,” he acknowledged. “We’ve got a little more time before we close, Santa.” He came around the chair, still holding my arm. He dropped it when he was in front of me, first shoving the elf hat tighter on his own head before leaning in close and doing the same for the one atop my head.

“Hat on,” he insisted as he pulled it down with two little tugs. Then his hand came up to arrange my bangs, our faces close, his warm hand possibly trembling slightly as it stroked my forehead, then back behind my ears.

Eventually, though I couldn’t tell you how long, he removed his hand, muttering, “Perfect,” but he didn’t move. He just continued to lean in front of me, so close, our eyes locked.