Happily Ever Christmas

~Two~

I clamped a hand over my mouth.

This couldn't be happening.

This couldn't be real.

I must have passed out on the couch and was now experiencing a very drunken but vivid dream.

Those big black boots crushed the embers, and little sparks burst forth to scatter across the hardwood floor of our colonial home.

Then a man dressed in a red velvet suit came ducking out from our fireplace, carrying a heavy sack full of presents.

                                                                              *~*~*~*

I had a moment where I looked at the wine in my hand and wondered if I had gotten a defunct bottle or something.

Then I blinked hard several times, staring at the man standing upon my hearth in a state of catatonic disbelief.

This couldn't be real.

"Santa?" I heard myself hiccup, then hastily covered my mouth with my hand.

If I hadn't been sloshed off my bum right then I would probably have been much more freaked out and pissed off. I probably would've assumed I was being robbed, first of all. But I was currently just drunk enough to be willing to believe that this was really happening.

Santa was here. It was Christmas Eve, after all, it did make sense, according to the old lore.

I hiccupped again and the man who was Santa looked at me.

He straightened up from the pack he had dropped onto the floor, and pushed his hood back off his head.

It was the same man as before, with his shaggy black hair and a five o'clock shadow and his bright, crystalline blue eyes full of zest. And those eyes were just as kind as I remembered, too.

The man seemed that much more handsome to me now that I was an adult and could appreciate his chiseled jawline, his perfect cheekbones; his full, masculine lips.

I felt myself flushing bright, Christmas red, from the wine, of course. I was still a married woman, after all, even if my husband was cheating on me and Santa Claus was sexy as hell.

"Well, hi there." He said, eying me with that wry smirk I had somehow forgotten about. "And a ho ho ho to you, my dear! You know, most of the time, adults can't see me."

I was still staring at him in my fascinated stupor.

He chuckled at my expression and went about his job; fishing presents wrapped in pretty, shiny paper out of his bag to deftly slip beneath the tree amidst the other gifts Peter and I had already gotten our children.

"It's really you." I whispered. "All this time, I thought I was crazy."

"Nope. I exist." He sighed, straightening up with a groan as he stretched his back. "God, this job is gonna be the death of me.

"Oh, and I see you've eaten my cookies." He chuckled dryly when he saw the demolished plate of cookies.

"No! There's one left!" I protested, jumping up and thrusting the plate at him. "Take it! My daughter made it, though I guess you know that already."

He took the cookie and munched on it happily enough. "It's delicious. Though I still prefer your oatmeal raisin ones, Emberly."

I blushed, setting my empty bottle of wine on the coffee table. "You remember me?"