Naughty or Nice

1. Rora

1

RORA

DECEMBER 3

“ I s there a reason you want me dressed like I’m starring in low-budget Christmas porn?”

I stare in horror at the green velvet mini skirt, top, and candy cane striped stockings my best friend is clutching. Noelle hands them to me, frowning. “Low budget? I paid a hundred dollars for this.”

When I hold the skirt up to my body, it’s tiny. “You overpaid. Seriously, Noelle, this is obscene. It’s so short my ass is going to be on full display.” I can’t tell without trying it on, but I’m pretty sure my cleavage will be too.

She tosses a matching scrap of velvet at me, which lands atop the camera bag slung over my shoulder. “There are shorts.”

“This is underwear.”

“Potayto, potahto.”

I bunch the fabric up and look around The Enchanted Workshop warily. Noelle’s family loves Christmas—like, loves Christmas. So much so that they moved to Wintermore over twenty years ago, specifically to open up a toy store. It’s my first time back here for Christmas since I left for college, but I don’t remember things being quite so … sexy.

“This is a toy store. The children don’t need to see me half naked when I take their pictures with Santa.”

“Maybe not, but you’re hot, and I’m not above dressing you in next to nothing to convince their parents to spend more money.”

Ah, capitalism .

“Do you really think your dad will be cool with this?” I hold up the sad excuse for a dress.

Noelle’s dad, Charlie, has been The Enchanted Workshop’s Santa every year since they opened, and he’s practically a second dad to me.

“About that.” She grimaces. “My dad’s not playing Santa this year. He was trying to hang more Christmas lights on the house and fell off the roof yesterday morning. Broke both his legs.” She says it matter-of-factly, like falling off the roof is a regular occurrence.

“Oh my god, is he okay?”

Noelle waves a dismissive hand. “He’s fine. The breaks were clean, and he was discharged this morning.” I must look as worried as I feel because she rushes on. “He’s in great spirits. He says he’s in his The Santa Clause era and made me bring his laptop to the hospital last night so he could watch it in bed.”

The tightness in my chest eases. If Charlie’s still up for Christmas movies, he’s probably okay. I make a mental note to stop by the Whitten house to visit Charlie and Noelle’s mom, Kate, after the store closes.

Speaking of which…

Today is the first Saturday of December, which is the first day of the month kids can meet Santa and have their picture taken. It’s the store’s busiest time of the year, and people come from all over western Wyoming to meet Santa and buy toys. The Whittens have stuck to the same schedule since they opened, and I can’t imagine them canceling so last minute.

“Who’s going to be Santa? Felix?”

Noelle clenches her jaw. “As if we could count on my darling brother to actually show up and not disappoint the kids. ”

I wince. Felix is technically the store manager, but I know Noelle picks up most of the work he should be doing.

“My uncle, Henry, is flying in, thank god. He should be here any minute.”

“Your uncle who lives in Greenland?” I ask, and Noelle nods. “He’s flying, what, four-thousand miles? To play Santa?” Hard as I try, I can’t entirely hide the disbelief from my voice.

“He was already coming for Christmas. He only had to pull his flight forward a few days, and he’s bringing his own Santa suit.”

His own Santa suit. Jesus. I’ve never met Charlie’s brother, but I’m not surprised he has his own suit. The whole Whitten family is Christmas-crazy.

Every second standing in the toy store is a glaring reminder of why I avoid my hometown of Wintermore, Wyoming at this time of year: this whole town is Christmas-obsessed. It has been since a popular Christmas movie used it as a backdrop when I was seven, and upon the movie’s release, tourists started flocking to Wintermore for the holidays.

The quiet, quaint town my parents fell in love with when they moved here to raise me is long gone. These days, Wintermore is nothing but a tourist trap disguised as a Winter Wonderland, and I make a point to visit only during the warmer months.

It’s not the first time Noelle has asked me to come home for Christmas, but it’s the first time she’s begged. Their usual Santa photographer pulled out, and the timing was perfect, considering she called the day after I was fired from the photojournalism job I’d had for six years. But I would have come for her even if I hadn’t been fired. She’s family.

At least it’s familiar; I shot The Enchanted Workshop’s Santa pictures all through high school. Still, there’s no nostalgia as I look around the toy store, just dread and resignation that, in a couple of hours, this place will be teeming with rowdy holiday shoppers making a mess of Noelle’s carefully stacked shelves .

I can see how hard she’s worked to get this place in shape for the start of the season, and it’s that—and only that—that has me grabbing the shorts from where they’ve fallen on the floor. “I’ll wear it this weekend, but I’m ordering something with more fabric.”

“Deal,” Noelle agrees with a shit-eating grin. “You can change in the back room.” She darts away before I can change my mind, busying herself with a crooked bough of holly hanging in the window.

I sigh and push through the squeaky door behind the counter. Even the staff-only hallway is decked out with twinkling lights and huge red bows. A massive Christmas tree towers in the corner of the tiny back room, its branches weighed down with too many ornaments to count.

It would be easy to assume it takes them weeks to put their Christmas decor up every year, but they keep it up year-round. The Whittens moved from Central Texas to Wintermore because of our town’s Christmas obsession, and they fit right in. They are, admittedly, the only thing I don’t mind about it all.

I strip off my leggings and sweatshirt, and pull on the skirt and candy cane stockings. And the shorts, of course. I groan, inspecting myself in the mirror stuck on the back of the door. With my lacy red bra, I look like I’ve just stepped off the pages of the Christmas issue of Playboy : hot, but not exactly toy store friendly.

I reach for the tiny green shirt I dropped on my bag as the door clicks open. Good. Maybe Noelle will see sense when she sees this on a human body.

“I don’t think I—” I stand up and stop in my tracks as I turn around.

Not Noelle. Definitely not Noelle.

My mouth goes dry as I take in the man standing in the doorway. He’s wearing red velvet pants and nothing else. Aside from chestnut leather suspenders and tattoos scrawled across his pecs, his chest is bare. He has a red jacket, a white shirt, and a duffel bag slung over his arm, but I can see more ink peeking out. The man is fucking gorgeous, and my eyes haven’t even made it past his torso yet.

When I finally drag my gaze to his face, my eyes widen. He has piercing blue eyes, and his cheeks are scarlet from the cold. His salt-and-pepper hair is windswept, but his short beard is flawless.

It isn’t until I clock his expression, as stunned as I feel, that I remember I’m standing in front of him in nothing but a bra and a sorry excuse for a skirt. I hold the green velvet shirt over my chest, and he blinks, looking away as my movement breaks the tension between us.

He clears his throat. “I’m so sorry. I spilled coffee on my shirt, and Noelle said I could change back here. She didn’t mention anyone would be here.” He has a strong Texan twang that’s all too familiar to my ears, but his voice is much deeper than his brother’s.

I swallow. How did I not know Noelle’s uncle Henry looked like this?

“Don’t worry about it. I was just finishing up.”

“Right. Shit.” He turns around, the tips of his ears blazing red, and I take a deep breath once his back is to me.

I quickly pull the velvet shirt on. “I’m decent.” I look down at myself and shake my head. I might as well be wearing nothing. “Decent might be pushing it, actually,” I grumble. When I look up, he’s facing me again. His gaze quickly jumps from my chest to my face. “Noelle picked it.”

His throat bobs. “It’s very … festive.”

“That, it is. You must be Henry.”

He nods, setting his bag on the floor and reaching to shake my hand. “The accent gave it away, huh?”

His hand is warm in mine. Holy shit, it’s massive. I swear he could hold both of my hands in one of his with room to spare .

“The Santa suit helped. I’m Rora. Aurora Stanley. But Rora is fine,” I ramble before pressing my lips together so I don’t continue speaking.

Henry squeezes my hand once more and gently lets it go. “The famous Rora. I’ve heard a lot about you over the years.” His smile is so blinding I have to look away, pretending to brush a spot of lint from my skirt.

“Likewise,” I say, though at this point, all I can remember about him is that he’s a climatologist, working in Greenland, or something like that. And he’s Noelle’s uncle, so it really shouldn’t be this hard for me to keep my eyes on his face and not on his bare chest. “It’s lucky you could fill in for Charlie this year.”

“I’m happy to help,” Henry replies as he unclips his suspenders.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I need to get out of here. I also need to get a grip.

I open my mouth, hellbent on offering to leave him in peace to change his shirt, but he continues speaking before I get the chance. “And I’ll take any excuse for a couple extra days here. I love Wintermore at Christmas.”

My lips twist into a grimace. I try to hide it, but I’ve never been great at hiding my feelings.

Henry laughs, a deep, rumbly sound I can feel in my toes. “You don’t like Wintermore at Christmas?”

“I don’t like Christmas, period. And Wintermore is as Christmassy as it gets.”

Henry wrinkles his brow like I’ve spoken another language as he pulls a crisp white Henley out of his duffel and over his head. Unfortunately for me, he looks no less incredible covered up.

“Everyone likes Christmas. How can you not like Christmas?”

I hardly process the words coming out of his mouth as I watch him shrug on his jacket and buckle the thick black belt that closes it. He doesn’t have the hat on yet, thank fucking god .

What is happening to me? What is this? There’s not a chance in the world that I’m attracted to this man in a Santa suit.

Henry tilts his head, an amused smile playing around his lips.

Shit, he asked me a question.

“I just don’t,” I answer, trying my hand at a nonchalant shrug despite my racing heart. Giving him no chance to respond, I shoulder my camera bag and nod to the door. “We should probably get set up in the grotto.”

Henry steps back and gestures down the hall. “Lead the way.”

I rummage in my camera bag, walking with purpose toward the back of the toy store, and pull out a sour watermelon candy. I unwrap it and sigh when it touches my tongue with a comforting sting.

Noelle is placing some last-minute plastic snowmen along the vinyl path that leads to the grotto. “Perfect, you found each other.” Her eyes widen as she takes in my outfit. “Shit. Yeah, I see the problem now. I’ll look for a different costume for you. You good to get everything set up?”

I nod, and she claps her hands excitedly, dancing across the store and singing along to the Christmas music.

“I think you look great,” Henry says beside me.

I jump. “Huh?”

“Noelle said she sees the problem, but I don’t. You look great.”

Nothing about the compliment feels sleazy or suggestive, but I can’t even begin to process it as I face the entrance to the grotto and see the real problem: Henry and I, inside a dark, ten-by-ten room, alone, while he’s dressed like that and I, apparently, am losing my fucking mind.

Fifteen hours across two flights. A two-hour drive to Wintermore. Eight hours photographing excited, sticky children. Nine hours in the grotto with Henry. It’s been a long fucking day.

But not one of those things excuses what I’m about to do.

I swirl the white wine around my glass and narrow my eyes at my laptop. My favorite porn site stares at me from the screen.

Blowing out a breath, I drain the glass.

“Fuck it,” I mutter, pulling the laptop closer and typing one word into the search box: Santa .