I rush inside Sleigh By the Bay, my arms filled with poinsettias, to a long table set up by the fireplace. I begin to arrange the holiday flowers next to the paperwhites.
I always go all out for Desiree Delmonico. My parents and I loved and championed her work long before she was a perennial New York Times bestseller and had a nonstop run of hit Netflix series. Unlike Phillip Strauss, Desiree has never forgotten and always repays our early belief in her with great events and oodles of kindness.
She may be as kooky as Blitzen at a reindeer happy hour, but she also still makes a lot of lonely readers believe in love.
Desiree loves red and white flowers for her Christmas launches. She also loves to sip rosé as she speaks and signs, a bottle of which I have chilling on the table, as well as to nibble on Christmas M&M’s, which I have poured into a large glass bowl.
“I’m here!”
Holly rushes through the door.
“For real?” I ask, looking at her outfit.
She is dressed as a sexy Rudolph, complete with adorable baby antlers popping forth from her hair, which is curled and pulled into a high pony, big doe eye makeup, and, of course, a red nose. She is wearing a formfitting red sweater that reads Team Rudolph.
“I’m livestreaming this event, girl. You’re gonna sell out before she’s done speaking! Get ready for the online orders!” She points at her feet. “You missed all this, by the way.”
I look down. She is, quite literally, wearing reindeer feet. They’re actually the most adorable shoes I’ve ever seen, adorned with a T-strap featuring appliques of happy reindeer faces, a sweet red satin bow and a green glitter heel.
“Right?” she answers for me. “I made them! Already sold out. Just like I’m going to do for you.”
“Diva! Those shoes!”
Noah comes rushing over to greet Holly, arms open wide.
“Back at’cha!”
The two rock back and forth. As they do, I notice Noah has a faux reindeer tail attached to his backside.
“Obviously, you two reindeer have been in cahoots.”
He shakes his tail, and his body jingles. I groan.
“Jingle My Bells!” Noah says.
“It’s all for Desiree,” Holly adds.
“Right,” I say. “Are you sure it’s not all for the hot Santa on the cover who’s coming?”
They throw their hands over their mouths in mock surprise.
“Do we have time to get a coffee before this starts?” Holly asks. “I need a little pick-me-up. The traffic getting out of Chicago was horrible.”
“I’ll finish up,” Leah says, walking over and hugging Holly. “I can’t go from coffee to wine that quickly anymore.”
We head out the front door to Petoskey Scones. As we wait in line, Holly eyes the baristas.
“That guy is hot,” she says.
“That’s Fred,” Noah says. “Actually Fred Jr. He’s a trainer. And works here, obviously.”
“Go on,” Holly says with a laugh.
“Okay, I will,” I say, emphasizing every word. “He’s in his twenties.”
“And I look like I’m in my twenties,” Holly says. “And he’s wearing a Santa hat!”
Holly nudges me with her pointy elbow.
“Ouch,” I say. “And diapers. No go.”
“I told Susan a long time ago that I think he looks just like Fred from Scooby-Doo,” Noah says.
“Oh, my gosh! He does.”
Holly walks up to place her order. “I’ll take a nonfat, no-whip gingerbread latte with an extra shot.” She leans over, putting her arms on the counter, and blinks dramatically. “This little reindeer is very thirsty.” She winks. “And apologies for my nose. It always turns red when I talk to a cute guy.”
The tall, muscular-chested Fred’s face flushes, even in the warm shop.
“So,” Holly continues, “what Scooby Snacks do you recommend?”
“I don’t really eat carbs,” he says, “but we’re known for our scones. It’s the name of our shop.”
“Pick something out just for me.”
“Okay, ma’am.”
I can see Holly’s soul leave her body when Fred calls her “ma’am.”
Holly and I check out and head to a table.
“He called me ma’am,” she says. “Did he just have cataract surgery?”
She looks at her scone and then her receipt.
“Oh, my gosh! He gave me a prune scone! How old does he think I am?”
Noah walks up to the table. “My latte was on the house,” he says. “Isn’t that sweet?”
Holly’s eyes widen. She looks at me.
“What did he say?”
Noah takes a sip of his coffee and cocks his head. “He said it was a Christmas gift for always being so nice when I come into the store.”
Holly looks at Noah and then his mug. “He drew a flying reindeer on top of your coffee! He made you latte art! He put my latte in a to-go cup! He’s gay!”
People have turned and are now staring at our table.
“No, he’s not, diva,” Noah says. “He’s shy. I’ve seen him on dates with women.”
“My gaydar is never wrong,” Holly says.
“Your straight radar is,” I say under my breath.
“I heard that,” Holly says, giving me the eye. “He’s fake dating. We all do it. I mean, Susan’s been fake dating her whole life.”
“Ha ha,” I say.
Holly continues. “He’s too hot not to have a girlfriend. Trust me.”
“Just eat your prunes, ma’am,” I say.
“I’m not saying I’m buying a word of what you’re saying,” Noah says, “but why would a guy like that...” Noah hesitates, and his always chipper voice drops to a low hum “...be interested in a guy like me? We’re total opposites.” He stops again. “People think dating in the straight world is easy. Try being gay.” His voice quivers. “No one wants someone like me. No one’s ever wanted someone like me.”
My heart cracks.
“Everyone wants someone like you, Noah.”
I reach out and take his hand.
“You’re a sweet, smart, sensitive, funny, nurturing guy who doesn’t focus solely on looks.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” he says.
Holly laughs.
“Thank you, Susan,” Noah says. “I just want someone who...”
He glances toward the coffee counter.
“...believes. In me. In us. In all the good in the world. In Christmas.”
“Me, too,” Holly says.
“Me, three,” I finish.
The lower level of the bookstore is jammed with over a hundred fans listening to Desiree Delmonico with rapt attention.
She reads:
“Gigi waited until the last family had taken a picture with Santa. As he stood, Gigi asked, ‘Do you have time for one more photo?’
‘I thought—’ Santa started.
‘But without your costume,’ Gigi said, removing his beard and his glasses. She took off his Santa cap and placed it on her head. ‘We all wear costumes, but you and I don’t need any of that. All we need is each other. All we need to remember is the spirit of Christmas. You’re the only gift I need. You’re the only gift I ever needed.’
He swept Gigi off her feet. Gigi closed her eyes, and he kissed her deeply.
When she opened her eyes, the crowd in the mall was applauding.
And then the two walked out together, knowing that although there was no sleigh waiting or a retreat to the North Pole, they had rediscovered not only the magic of one another but also the magic of Christmas.”
Desiree removes her red-framed glasses and smiles at the applause that follows. “Thank you very much for coming. I can’t tell you how much it means to see all of your smiling faces every holiday season. Does anyone have questions?”
Fifty hands pop up. I already know the question: Are you dating the shirtless Santa sitting beside you that graces this year’s book cover?
I shout out a question to delay the inevitable. “Can you talk a bit about what Christmas means to you?”
“Wonderful question, Susan.” Desiree stands. She has old-school Jackie Collins glamour with loads of makeup and huge hair. She is wearing a glamorous, fitted tuxedo jacket in red with green lapels, a gold Christmas tree pin with rubies as the ornaments and a mega diamond on top.
“I grew up very poor in the Ozarks,” she says. “My grandmother was a seamstress who made all of my clothes. She saved coins in a crock in her garage so I could go to college. Her sacrifices changed my life. And yet, she and my grandfather were the richest, happiest people I’ve ever known. I will never forget the way they looked at one another, or the way they reached for each other’s hands when they watched the sunset, or the way they fed fresh strawberries to one another seated in the garden. They not only modeled the way true love should be, they modeled the way a relationship should grow over time.”
Desiree looks at me with the slightest of smiles and continues. “One of the first big Christmas presents I remember receiving was an aqua blue Selectric typewriter, from my grandparents. It’s what inspired me to start writing. About love. I still have that typewriter on a shelf in my office, and I look at it every day and feel as if my grandparents are still with me. That’s what Christmas means to me.”
I think of my poem and my parents, and a tear springs to my eye. My grandma puts her hand on my back.
“Are you dating the shirtless Santa sitting beside you?” Holly asks.
My eyes widen. I look at Holly, who shrugs and whispers, “Someone had to ask, right?”
Desiree laughs. “The eternal question. Luka, why don’t you answer?”
“His name’s Luka,” Holly whispers to me. “Hers is Desiree. Just like one of her books. Of course.”
Luka doesn’t stand as much as he overtakes the room. If The Rock and Jason Momoa were fused and injected with a touch of Ryan Gosling, Luka would be the scientific result. He’s wearing slim-fitting tuxedo pants, a black tux jacket with red lapels, no shirt and a Santa cap. He doesn’t just look like the book cover—a giant poster board of which sits beside him—he looks better than the book cover.
“I prefer not to discuss my personal life,” Luka says in a voice like thunder with an accent I cannot place. “I will say, however, that I have never met a more talented or beautiful woman in my life.” He turns and takes Desiree’s hand. “She is my greatest gift this year.”
The crowd applauds wildly.
“Desiree will be signing at the table with the flowers,” I say, “and Luka will be posing for photos.”
An hour later, we’ve sold out of books, and we have online orders for another two hundred. Suffice it to say, it’s been a very, very good day at Sleigh By the Bay.
When the crowd finally thins, I tell Desiree and Luka that we have reservations at Chandler’s at seven.
“Why don’t you meet us there after you have a chance to rest and relax.”
The two head off to the Perry to change. A few minutes after they leave, my grampa shows up to take Santa photos for the families already lining up outside and run the store until closing.
“Ho-Ho-Holly!” he booms. “How’s my favorite girl?”
“Hey!” I say.
Holly races over and hugs him with all her might.
“Why don’t you be in the pictures with us tonight?” Grandma asks. “Your outfit is too adorable!”
“I’ll make Manhattans after to celebrate!” Grampa says.
“And I’ll make dinner!” my grandma adds. “Roast chicken with all the fixings!”
Holly turns and gives me a sheepish look.
I know that Holly uses her oven to store shoes. I joke that her DoorDash deliveryman is in her will.
“It’s okay,” I say. “I can see you salivating. Why don’t you have dinner with them after they close the bookstore, and we’ll go to Chandler’s, okay?”
Noah’s head whips back and forth between us.
“You can go with Holly,” I say with a laugh. “I know you two are connected at the hip.”
“Thank you!” Noah says. “It’s so much easier to talk about you when you’re not around. And I’m not sure how much of a conversationalist Luka is going to be.”
“And he’s going to be wearing a shirt, too,” Holly says with a sigh.
“It’s a win-win,” I say. “I’ll actually save a lot of money in my expense account, considering the way you two eat and drink when you know it’s free. Leah, you still want to come with me, right?”
“I do,” she says. “I have so many questions for Desiree. Thank you.”
As Leah breaks down the tables and returns the lower level of the store back to normal, I head to the office to double-check the online orders and gather the hundreds of bookplates that I will need Desiree to personalize and autograph so I can stick them in books tomorrow and get them in the mail.
I stop and look at all the literary plaques lining the walls that I have been gifted over the years by friends and authors.
One is a quote from Dr. Seuss: “The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you’ll go.”
The next, from Margaret Mitchell, was given to me by Desiree as a not-so-subtle joke: “In a weak moment, I have written a book.” That plaque features a glorious photo of her, hands fluttering over her typewriter like a hummingbird, her face looking both bemused and forlorn.
The next is the classic Emerson quote: “Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.”
Another plaque, given to me by the late, great Southern author Dorothea Benton Frank, is a quote from Dorothy Parker that reads, “If you have any young friends who aspire to become writers, the second greatest favor you can give them is to present them with copies of The Elements of Style. The first greatest, of course, is to shoot them now, while they’re happy.”
And, finally, there is a quote from Erma Bombeck that my father gave my mother shortly after they were married: “Great dreams...never even get out of the box. It takes an uncommon amount of guts to put your dreams on the line, to hold them up and say to the world, ‘How good or how bad am I?’ That’s where courage comes in.”
Dreams. Courage. Places to go.
Outside my office, I can hear my grandparents cackling with Holly and Noah.
“What!” I hear Noah yell. “How did I not know this?”
I stick my head out of the doorframe.
“I can hear you! Spill the beans.”
“I was just saying that maybe Luka, since he’s wearing a Santa hat, could be your Single Kringle,” Holly says.
“And then we mentioned your childhood poem,” my grandma adds with a sheepish grin.
“Which I never knew about!” Noah yells. “Now I understand everything. How could I work here this long and have you keep such a secret from me? I feel very, very duped, diva.”
“First, come down a notch, Bette Davis,” I say. “I guess I thought you knew...” I stop myself. I don’t want to lie or make excuses. “Actually, I guess I never talked about it specifically because I didn’t want any more attention brought to it. It’s like this Game of Thrones holiday legend hanging over my head. Will I find my true love awaiting me wearing a Santa hat? When you say it out loud, it just sounds so silly. I’m forty years old, and I wrote that poem when I was just a little girl. I’ve dated enough bad Santas to know perhaps I’m better off alone. Or, maybe I’ve had it wrong all these years, and I should be looking for a cute Cupid, or loving Leprechaun.”
“You remember St. Patrick’s Day, right?” Holly asks. “Every potential Leprechaun thought you had eaten a bad bowl of clam chowder.”
“The point is,” my grandma says, “you wrote that poem when you still truly believed. After your parents died, you lost faith. We all understand why.” My grandma gestures with her arms. “But all of this—love, friendship, literature, life—is too grand and too planned to simply be happenstance. We miss it all if we don’t have faith.”
My grampa steps toward me. “Let’s be honest here. Your grandma and I don’t have a lot of time left on this earth, Susan. The only thing we want is for you to be happy.”
“I am happy.”
“Then we’ll let this all go,” Grampa says. “All this Single Kringle silliness ends today. Deal?”
My eyes actually pop from my head. I look at my grandma. Her eyes match mine. “Really?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says. “I just have one question for you?”
“Okay.”
“If you could only have one Christmas gift for the rest of your life, what would it be?” my grampa asks.
Tears spring to my eyes. “That you and Grandma would live forever.”
“We can’t, honey,” he says, gently. “And we won’t. At some point, we’ll be reunited with your parents.” My grampa takes my hand. “You are a strong, smart, sensitive, funny, wonderful woman, and I have no doubts the rest of your life is going to be amazing. But I’m not convinced it will be completely fulfilled unless you forgive yourself for a tragic accident and learn to believe in miracles again.”
For the first time, I see him, not as Santa, or as my grampa, or as others see him in our tiny town, but as a real, flesh-and-blood man who’s had lost hopes and dreams, who’s laughed and cried, who’s suffered just the same as I have.
He continues. “I actually think the one gift you want for Christmas—and out of life—is what your grandma and I have and what your parents had.”
My cheeks quiver. I cannot make them stop.
“True love. You want someone, as you wrote in your poem so long ago, who makes you feel like the only gift in the room. That’s all any of us want, Susan. And it’s okay to verbalize that, even if it scares the heck out of you and you think it may never come true. You have to utter it into existence, otherwise it remains only a wish.”
My grandma grabs my other hand. “We must believe because faith is not a game...” she starts. My grampa joins her. “There is purpose beyond us, otherwise life is a shame. So, until my day comes, I’ll remain happy and bright, and I will believe in my Kringle with all of my might.”
I hold them with all my might.
“I’m not crying, you are!” Noah says, rushing over with Holly to join us in a big group hug.