“Ho, ho, ho,” he said merrily when he saw me. Could this man always read my mind? Apparently so, and there was nothing I wanted more at that moment than to be swept up the stairs by Santa and shown some lovin’.
I walked toward him, relieved him of half of the packages, and gave him a big hug and a long smooch. I shivered, and not just because he was cold.
“How are the roads, Santa Claus?”
“Terrible, Mrs. Claus. You’re still doing the MacArthurs’ shindig?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“Better take your sleeping bags, then, because the snow’s really coming down.” He picked up the packages, then walked past me into the kitchen, where he heaved his bags onto the marble counter. “I, meanwhile, have been given my marching orders by the boys, who are still outside on their snowboards.”
“Please tel
