Harry:
It was Christmas Eve, and the house was filled with the smell of cinnamon and pine, the soft hum of holiday music playing in the background. The kids were in the living room with their grandparents, eagerly awaiting the moment the bell would ring, signaling that Santa Claus had delivered their presents.
You and Harry were in the adjacent room, arranging the last of the gifts under the twinkling Christmas tree. Harry wore a festive red sweater and had a Santa hat perched jauntily on his head, looking equal parts adorable and ridiculous.
“Think they’ll love it?” Harry asked, holding up a wrapped package.
“They’ll love it,” you assured him, smiling as you adjusted a bow on one of the boxes.
Harry leaned closer, his green eyes sparkling mischievously. “I think I deserve a little Christmas kiss for all my hard work.”
You laughed softly but indulged him, standing on your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his lips.
What you didn’t realize was that your daughter had slipped out of the living room, her tiny feet silent on the hardwood floor. She peeked around the corner, her eyes going wide as she saw the scene unfold.
Santa—her beloved Santa Claus—was standing there, placing presents under the tree… and her mother was kissing him!
Her gasp went unheard, and she quickly ran back to the living room, her mind racing. She plopped down next to her little brother, her arms crossed, her face red with a mix of betrayal and confusion.
The bell finally rang, and the kids rushed into the room, their eyes lighting up at the sight of the gifts under the tree. But while your son immediately dove into the pile of presents, your daughter clung to Harry’s leg, her tiny fingers gripping his pants tightly.
“Daddy, don’t leave me,” she said firmly, glaring at you from her position.
Harry bent down, puzzled. “What’s wrong, love? You’ve been so excited all day.”
She glanced at you, her lips trembling. “I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus!”
The room went silent for a moment before the grandparents burst into laughter, their joy echoing through the house. You covered your mouth, trying not to laugh too loudly, while Harry’s eyes widened in realization.
“Sweetheart,” Harry started gently, kneeling to her level. “I think there’s been a little misunderstanding.”
“No!” she said firmly, tears forming in her eyes. “I saw her! She was kissing Santa!”
You crouched beside her, trying to soothe her. “Honey, that wasn’t Santa. That was Daddy wearing a Santa hat. See?” You pointed to Harry’s head.
She frowned, her little brows furrowing as she looked between the two of you. “Daddy? You’re Santa?”
“Well, not the Santa,” Harry clarified, his tone playful as he scooped her into his arms. “But I was helping him out tonight. He’s really busy, so he asked me to leave the presents under the tree. And Mommy kissed me because… well, she loves me.”
Your daughter sniffled, still unconvinced. “But why did she kiss you when you were Santa?”
“Because even Santa needs love,” Harry said with a wink, making her giggle despite herself.
She finally relaxed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Okay, but no more kissing Santa,” she demanded sternly.
You and Harry exchanged amused looks before he nodded solemnly. “No more kissing Santa. Only Daddy, okay?”
