“Nick, Nick,” a kid not more than five or six came barreling at Nick and Grier watched as her surly, scowling boss who was grimacing at her cousin’s offspring, swept the boy up in the air joyously as if grateful for the interruption. “We got our tree. We found our tree. It’s perfect. Just like you said I would.”
“Yeah, really? Where is it?” He carried the boy back to his parents who were apologizing for the way he crashed into him and set him on his feet. Nick watched as Curly shook the tree out near the family’s truck. “Wow, kid, you picked out a good tree!” He squatted down and looked the child right in the eyes, “now remember, what kind of cookies are Santa’s favorites?”
“Chocolate chip.”
“That’s right. If you leave him a chocolate chip cookie and some milk, he’s definitely not going
