The Santa Society Read Online Free PDF Page A

the rest of it.
    “It is, isn’t it?” He agrees, and turns himself around to face me.
    He grins as he extends his hand. I shake it, but I find myself staring at his mouth. His lips have such a healthy pink flush and his teeth—they glisten. An awkward silence brings me back to my manners. He studies me with a strange expression.
    “Do I—” To my horror, he closes his mouth and checks his teeth with his tongue. He smiles again. “All clear?”
    “No—I mean, yes. All clear.” I can’t believe I just made him think he has something in his teeth. “Come in.” I step back and turn toward the living room, trying to compose myself.
    “Thanks.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see him pause to check his teeth with his tongue and wipe his mouth with his shirtsleeve.
    He steps in and heads straight for the sofa, where Klaus stretches in greeting. He gives him a scratch behind the ear and wedges himself into the tight space between Klaus’ rump and the armrest.
    Today, I don’t perceive Reason as just a tall guy. He’s huge—lean, muscular, and stands more than a foot taller than me, and I am 5’5.
    I take a seat in the chair, not sure if I feel comfortable being alone with a person of such formidable size. His nose seems slightly flattened, as if it’s been broken before, and a small scar accents his left eye. His rugged face wears a relaxed expression which tells me to relax too. Because really, the more I look at him, his attractiveness makes me forget.
    Reason attempts to cross his legs, but he doesn’t have enough room, so he leans forward instead. I consider trying to persuade Klaus to leave the couch, but then decide against it. I didn’t like his remark about me not liking dogs, and since he pushed this one on me, he can just deal with it.
    We discuss the house, its history, and the asking price. He explains how the process will work, and I try to stay focused, but it’s hard. My mind keeps wandering to the scar next to his eye. Whenever he smiles, his eyes crinkle, and it disappears. I wonder how he got it.
    “Ms. Sinclair?”
    I snap back to attention, realizing he waits for my answer.
    “I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?”
    “Sure.” His dark eyes twinkle at me. “This is a difficult time of year to sell. Are you prepared for it to be on the market a while?”
    I stare at him. “I don’t know.” My eyes start to sting. “I really need to sell it before Christmas.”
    “Before Christmas?” He shifts in his seat and looks away.
    “Yes, before,” I insist.
    “Maybe I could help you better if I knew more about what your future plans are and why you’re selling, but I don’t want to pry.” He looks me in the eye.
    “I grew up in this house,” I begin, and then I stop. I feel like I don’t know the rest of the story anymore. He watches me as I gather my thoughts. It’s hard to do with him looking at me.
    I try again.
    “My mother died here last Christmas—on Christmas Eve. I had a life in New York, but I left to come back here and care for her. I don’t have anything here now, except memories. I need a new start somewhere else. Maybe back in New York. I haven’t decided that part yet. It’s just very hard to be here . Too many memories.”
     Something passes in his expression, and he nods slowly. “Walls and places hold memories. I understand. I’m sorry to hear you won’t be staying in town.”
    “It’s a nice town, but it’s not for me. Even the name “Christmasville” bothers me. My mother was a fanatic about Christmas. My birthday is on Christmas day, I left home on my 18th birthday—Christmas, and I rarely spent a Christmas with my mother until the year she died…on Christmas Eve. That’s enough Christmas for me—enough to last a lifetime.”
    He falls silent again. Gloom hangs all around us, and we both breathe it in. I’m contagious, I realize.
    I try to change the subject. “So, do I need to sign anything?”
    “Right. Paperwork. I forgot it.”