“Can you hold my gloves for a second?”
“Of course,” I say to a man dressed as Santa. “Are you okay?”
“I usually warm them by the fireplace, but you’re way hotter.”
I turn to my friends.
“Okay, I’m out!”
I start to walk away, but Noah grabs me on one side, and Holly grabs me on the other. They usher me away from the second consecutive Santa Claus to hit on me since we arrived at the Santa Run.
“I sort of thought the last pickup line was adorable,” Noah admits. “If I was the Grinch, I wouldn’t steal Christmas, I’d steal you.”
Fred and Holly both say, “Awww!” at the same time, and I begin to second-guess the group of friends with which I’ve chosen to surround myself.
“Uh-huh,” Holly says. “I know that look. Too late now.”
Everyone is here. Noah and Fred, Leah and Luka, Holly and me.
Noah and Fred are holding hands, so are Leah and Luka. My heart smiles. Perhaps this was all meant to be: I was the conduit to two people I love finding the loves of their lives.
Both, of course, whom they first met while wearing Santa caps.
My work here is done.
Almost.
“Well, if it isn’t the Peanuts gang!”
Three handsome Santas approach.
“And Mrs. Claus!”
Tristan, Micah and Jamie—all dressed as Santa—approach. They pull down their beards.
“Now you show me your faces!” I say.
They laugh.
Holly wanted our group to come as the Pink Ladies, but Luka and Fred both protested when they realized one of them would have to come as a Christmas Sandy in red leather pants, so Holly recalibrated and decided on a Peanuts Christmas. As a result, I’m surrounded by Luka as Charlie Brown, Fred as Linus—blanket in tow—Noah as Snoopy, Leah as Peppermint Patty and Holly as Lucy. Due to all the publicity, I had no choice but to return as Mrs. Claus.
“Thank you so much for doing this,” Tristan says as he hugs me. “I can’t tell you how much it means.”
“It’s an honor,” I say. “I’m thrilled we could bring such awareness to your after-school program.”
“We’ve raised over ten-thousand dollars thanks to you and Holly,” he says. “And these guys.”
“It’s good to see you again,” I say, hugging Micah and Jamie.
Three Santas surround me.
“I’m really sorry how things ended,” I say. “I think all of you are incredible, but I just wasn’t ready.”
“And, let’s be honest, we weren’t the right guy,” Tristan says. “But it actually...”
He stops short, and I notice Jamie and Micah both giving him a “stop talking” hand sign.
“What?” I ask. “What’s going on?”
Jamie looks at them, and they nod. “We all actually met someone as a result of all this,” he says.
“So many women reached out to us after what happened in July,” Micah says. “And we each ended up meeting really wonderful women.”
“Thank you,” Tristan says. “You led us to the women of our dreams.”
“Yeah,” Jamie says, “you led us back to the women we met a year ago at this race who we thought were you, the ones dressed as Mrs. Claus who we hit on.”
“The ones we felt we had an instant connection with,” Micah adds.
I feel both simultaneously elated and upset by this news.
The Single Kringle conduit.
“I’m happy for you?”
My response comes out sounding like a question, and everyone laughs.
“Really, I am. That is just so amazing.”
A bell rings, signaling the race will start in a few minutes.
I see three very pretty woman yell for Tristan, Micah and Jamie, and they walk over and begin to pose for pictures together. Holly is live on Instagram talking to the Peanuts gang.
I feel a flake on my nose. I look up. It is beginning to snow lightly, those dry snowflakes that seem to dance in the wind.
“You look just like my wife!”
I roll my eyes. Some poor girl getting the same line I got last year.
“Are you Christmas?”
I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn.
“Because I want to Merry you.”
Another Santa stands before me.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I can’t do this. Mrs. Claus has had a long year.”
He laughs. “Tell me about it.”
This particular Santa is better dressed than the lot, and I do know my Santas. His costume looks vintage. The jacket is a rich, dark red velvet, and the white fur trim is not used sparingly: it runs the length and circumference of his jacket, rings his wrists and even outlines the top of his black boots. His white gloves are white, and not dingy, and his black belt—even from a distance—looks like real leather, not shiny plastic. He’s wearing a red velvet cap that falls just-so over his white hair. His red lips are curled in a genuinely happy smile behind his long, curly beard. And, unlike so many of the surrounding Santas, I can tell that his bowl full of jelly is all stuffing because he’s wearing running shorts and has legs made of marble.
And it’s then I notice his eyes: they are the color of the sky behind him. Not just blue, the hue of a snow sky.
It begins to snow in earnest.
“I dialed this up to impress you,” Santa says.
My heart stops.
His snowy eyes land on the Christmas pin I’m wearing on the fur lapel of my Mrs. Claus coat.
“That was your mother’s, wasn’t it? I knew it.”
I touch my angel.
“I feel like we already know each other,” Santa says. “Like we have a history, just like your pin.”
“What’s going on?” I ask. “Did Holly set you up? I’m super fragile right now. I can’t take another joke.”
“It’s no joke,” Santa says. He pulls down his beard. His handsome face is so familiar...the sky blue eyes, the dimples, the little scar on his chin from the time he fell off his bike delivering newspapers and the McCann’s dog chased him, the white blonde hair and curled bang that still dive bombs his right eye, the boyishly handsome face.
And then I know.
“Kyle?” I gasp. “Kyle Trimble? What are you doing here?”
“Holly didn’t send me. Rita did.”
I feel as if I’m the figure standing inside a snow globe that someone has picked up and shaken. I have to grab Kyle’s arm to steady myself.
“I was the Santa you met last year,” he says. “I was the Santa you met so long ago. Remember our date at McDonald’s?”
My mind flashes back to him wearing that Santa cap and telling me he was the one. I had forgotten that I was wearing my mother’s pin for good luck. He remembered.
“I don’t understand,” I say.
“It was me, Susan. It’s always been me. That’s why we seemed so familiar to each other.”
“But you didn’t show up at the bar?”
“When the race started, I got a call from Doctors Without Borders. I’d signed up to volunteer, and Ukraine needed doctors immediately. I ran home to pack and then to the airport. I’ve been out of the country and off social media for a while now. I had no idea it was you until Rita reached out to me. Somehow, she found me. Somehow, she knew.”
“Because I voted for you instead of myself in the 4th Grade Petoskey Christmas Poetry Contest,” I say almost to myself. “She knew I voted for you.”
Kyle looks at me curiously with those snow eyes.
“And because she was at McDonald’s,” I add. “That’s how she knew. She always knew.”
I shake my head and continue.
“But don’t you have a girlfriend?”
“Oh, you mean the last time we texted?” he asks. “That was a long time ago, Susan, and it didn’t work out.” He hesitates. “I think I was meant to meet you again.”
“You left Petoskey, though,” I say. “You have a life in Chicago.”
“I didn’t run from Petoskey. That’s my home. It will always be my home.” He looks at me shyly. “I always thought you were too special for me.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. You’ve always been so strong, so smart, so independent. I thought you had it all figured out.”
“Not until now,” I say with a laugh. “It only took forty years.”
“Then the next forty should be amazing,” he says.
I hear sleigh bells jingle. A waving Santa in a sleigh pulled by a team of runners parts the crowd.
“Runners, take your positions!” a voice echoes.
A big bell chimes to start the race, echoing in the cold air. A crush of people pushes us forward, and Santa begins to be swept away. At the last minute, Kyle grabs my hand.
“You’re not getting away this time!” he says, pulling me close.
“I like you, Susan,” Kyle says. “If you’ll let me, I’ll be your Single Kringle.” He grins. “Maybe forever.”
The same words he said to me at McDonald’s so long ago.
“You’re the one,” I say. “You’ve always been the one. I just know it now.” Bells jingle again. “I can just hear it now.”
Kyle takes off my Mrs. Claus glasses and kisses me, and the world stops.
We stand in the middle of the street, runners cheering and applauding as they race by us. When the crowd finally clears, I see Holly and the Peanuts gang, with Tristan, Micah and Jamie, watching us and shouting and jumping up and down. Holly has her cell trained on us.
“This story has a happy ending after all, folks,” she says. “The Single Kringle has found her Santa!”
Kyle holds me close and whispers, “I can’t believe I found you.”
I look into his eyes and whisper, “Again.”
And then he grabs my hand, and we begin to run toward our future.