The Wrong Santa

By Kendall Rivers

How can the wrong Santa be so right?

Santa is late for the party but when he arrives—it's the Wrong Santa!

Amy has her life all wrapped up tightly but when Rob shows up for one of her events, everything falls apart! He's no white-bearded elf but a great looking guy with a crooked smile and ready to rock. When the music starts, she panics.

The mistake could put a serious dent in her ambitions to start her own event planning company. She hopes to bring dreams alive…a tough job for someone who's almost forgotten how to dream. When Robbie strides into her life, she knows she ought to run. He's a surfer who rides whatever waves Fate sends him, but she's too afraid of drowning.

Roped into helping Rob finish his gigs for the weekend because he needs the money, Amy knows she's in trouble. He's called her his North Star, but will Amy let herself shine or bail as fast as she can?

A sweet romance for fans of Debbie Macomber, Noelle Fox and Anne Chase, just in time for the holidays!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rhondi Vilott Salsitz
• Release date: Oct 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9781950300259

Book preview

1

Amy checked the time again for the unbelievably, inconsiderately late performer. Was she the only person left on earth who believed in keeping appointments?

A high-pitched voice behind her asked, Where’s Santa?

Yeah, if Santa doesn’t get here, I’m gonna ‘splode!

He’s coming, I promise. He’s just…a little late. Amy, who’d arranged everything and had begun to wonder if anything ever went as planned, turned about to target the owners of the childish voices. The juvenile crowd was obviously getting restless. No, no explosions, she said firmly. But we have time to visit the bathroom if you need to.

The seven-year-old in question pushed out a lower lip. I can’t wait any longer! The boy then turned his back on her, crossed his arms over his chest, and plopped down on the floor. I want my present. The vast lobby of the retirement home was lined in poinsettias, garlands, a massive tree which the preschoolers had already decorated with popcorn, cranberries and construction paper stars—the only thing missing was Santa Claus.

She couldn’t wait any longer, either. She peered out the window blinds as a car pulled up and it looked like a passenger in a red velvet suit got out. Could it be? She couldn’t be certain. The mixed crowd at the Golden Sunrise Retirement home stirred impatiently. She didn’t know how the elders who rightfully occupied the home would tolerate their mini-me guests more than another few minutes. Amy worried that the children might cause a minor riot. She didn’t like things she hadn’t planned herself. There was no such thing as a lucky accident in her experience. Not planning and not being organized had caused the accident that took her father from her. She’d never let the unplanned hurt her again. She had the Santa sack with presents for all the participants hidden behind a floor-standing urn with an immense decorative gold tree in it. Another two minutes and she’d retrieve it to give the presents away herself. The party would go on!

It had seemed such a good idea at the time, fool-proof even, having the day-care pen pals celebrate the holidays with their retired correspondents. The Oldies but Goodies dances went well, but some of her other events—well, she was lucky they kept hiring her for small parties at Golden Sunrise. Things happened. Despite all her scheduling, little bumps popped up. Building a reputation as an events planner came with difficulties in this day and age, and she wanted to be independent some day. She could feel her lower lip descending in imitation of the seven-year- old. She tried. She really did. But it was hard pulling surprises on the retirees who’d seen a lot in their lifetime. They could be suspicious about the simplest things.

Another little one, a boy with his hair pulled back into a man-bun, began to bounce up and down at the lobby window. I see him! I see him! His sister or maybe it was his cousin, with her hair in braids that stuck out in every direction, jumped up with him.

Seventy-five-year old Simon, bald as an egg and with thick glasses, squinted his eyes as he towered over the children. Where? Where? He’d worn his good blazer over his suspenders just to be festive for the day and looked like he regretted dressing up. His mini-me correspondent stood protectively next to him, with suspenders clipped to his tiny trousers and a bow tie about his chubby neck. Both of them stared suspiciously out the window for the horribly late Santa.

Leaning forward to peer out the blinds that partially shuttered the front windows again, Amy spotted him too. A positive ID--her jaw dropped. No beard, short blond hair with a bit of chin scruff…and the red velvet coat flapped open to expose a bare chest as he strode across the parking lot. He produced up a cell phone and adjusted what could only be a music track on it, but it didn’t matter. Exposed six pack stomach, coat swinging, no white hair telegraphed the problem.

She’d been sent the wrong Santa.

The disaster deepened as he threw open the door with a Ho-Ho-Ho to the sound of a pole dancing anthem. He grinned, his sun-tanned face good-natured and care-free as he pulled his coat open even more.

Good lord. He’s going to strip. Simultaneously, she could hear a few bawdy laughs and chuckles from the senior crowd even as the children’s voices rose in confusion and dismay.

Oh, no. No, no, no, she got out but he didn’t react or slow a bit. He just shrugged those muscular shoulders and spread his red velvet coat wide as music continued blaring from his phone. His bare chest made a magnificent appearance as he rolled his hips sensuously to Jingle Bell Rock. It seemed as though nothing would stop this gorgeous hunk of man from bumping and grinding his way into getting her disgraced and fired from Golden Sunrise events for good.

A little voice pealed out Grandma, what is that man doing?

Another cried out, I want my hot chocolate!

So she did the only thing her wildly beating heart and racing mind could think of doing: she moved to tackle him. Her ballerina flats slipped on the polished flooring and Amy went sliding, barreling into his arms and they both went down.

The phone fell. The music died. The two of them skidded across the front lobby floor, coming to a stop at the closed door with a thump. For a moment, all Amy could think of was how good he smelled, how warm he was, and how muscular the body next to her felt. And how totally embarrassed she was.

Ho-ho-ho? he said.

You’re fired, she answered and sprang away from him as she scrambled back to her feet. She managed to accidentally stomp on his phone as she did, the screen splintering into a spider web of cracks. Looking down at the damage, it seemed to add insult to injury.

One of the smaller guests had heard her declaration, even though Amy’s mouth had been tucked very close to the blond Santa’s ear and neck. Her face crumpled up. Santa! You fired Santa?

Worse and worse.

But Mister Santa sat up, looked around and, miracle of miracles, caught on to the scene before him. Hey, dudes and dudettes! I’m Surfing Santa, helping out for the holidays! I just wiped out on your very shiny floor. But you’ve always gotta get up and ride the next wave in! Have I got stories about how Santa surf boards to bring Christmas to the oceans? You bet I do! Who wants presents? He pulled his coat together, buttoning away his tanned chest much to the great disappointment of some of the older women. Their sighs of disappointment filled the air, Edith Katz’s in particular. Max Wheeler blustered at her, You don’t act like that when I’m bare chested!

She waved a dismissive hand. And you know why! She shook her head, short silvery curls bouncing. Max reared back a step and tried to frown, but his always jovial and lined face failed. He settled for leaning on his three-footed cane. Edith and Max were sometimes an item, and often not.

Amy staggered a few steps and found a smile. She bent behind the urn with its metallic tree and pulled out the large red flannel bag. Here we go, Surf Santa!

He gathered it up, still smiling, and opened it with a flourish. I’ve lost my jammin’ music. Who can sing me a Christmas song or two?

The preschoolers broke into an off-key but supremely enthusiastic Jingle Bells. They sat down as he urged them to, their hands shooting up into the air when he called their name, and when they ran out of music, the retirees started singing some old standards. They accepted their presents with no less enthusiasm.

The hour she’d paid for went by in a hurry. Mothers started arriving to pick up their charges who carried fists full of toys, candy canes, and a cupcake or two. Eyebrows went up as they surveyed the surfer dude Santa and one of the moms even winked at Amy as she pulled her kids out the door.

Surfer Santa consulted the enormous analog clock on the wall. I think my work here is done. He held out his hand and Amy dropped the battered phone into it. He peered at it. He had the most intriguing sea glass blue eyes, a sparkling blue with just a hint of green.

I’ve got another gig in thirty minutes.

Well, that’s good. She held the door open so he could depart.

No, it’s not. I can’t call for a ride, and I don’t have my music. He did a quick hip swivel. Gotta have my music.

I—I’m sorry. Amy didn’t know what to say. Whatever she came up with wouldn’t quite be enough, but then—wasn’t it his fault?

I’ve got insurance. They’ll replace it. In the meantime, can I borrow your phone?

M-Mine?

Or you could drive me and lend me yours for, oh, say, thirty minutes?

Stunned, Amy repeated Mine? again, and then felt her face grow heated at her inability to recover. Her peach complexion warmed embarrassingly at the worse times.

He leaned a shoulder against the door jam. I’m open to suggestions. He put his hand out. I’m Robbie.

Amy Conrad.

See? Not so hard. His smile crinkled his eyes again. I work for those five star ratings, I’ll have you know. And it wasn’t me that got the assignment mixed up. We need to talk to the dispatcher. Sorry about the near striptease. It’s popular though, this time of year. I’ve even done bachelorette parties and actual weddings. He winked. Not to mention my springtime Bunny Hops.

Edith Katz had wandered up close by, her walker on stealth mode, her silver hair elegantly coifed. She dug a phone out of her blouse pocket. Amy had never known Edith to be unprepared for any contingency in her entire stay at the care home. Edith’s dark eyes shone as she handed it to Robbie. That’s my burner phone. Don’t answer any calls on it or the CIA will come looking for us both. Give it to Amy when you’re done with it. And yes, I have a music app on it.

Awesome. He leaned down from his six-foot-something height, giving her cheek a brush of a kiss as he accepted it. Edith cackled before gliding away. Now about that ride. Twinkling eyes assessed her.

She looked at the same large clock on the wall. My event here is over, so…I guess.

Excellent! He put his hand out. Car keys?

What? I—

You probably need to close out, and it’s cold out there. I’ll warm the car up. Don’t worry, I won’t be driving it.

She couldn’t seem to find her balance with this guy. He waited, hand out until Amy finally shrugged and dropped her car keys into his palm.

Out the front door he went and she turned about to find she had a crowd watching. Money seemed to be exchanging hands.

I’m betting she doesn’t get the car back.

My money is on Edith’s phone disappearing.

I’m taking odds on Amy getting kissed before the day is out.

Amy found herself shocked. Wha-a-a-t?

Edith Katz gave a little lift of both shoulders in mischievous delight. He’s a bold one, he is. Just what you need.

Amy fled the lobby and she wondered what she’d gotten herself into.

2

He lied.

He had three more jobs lined up that day, and she didn’t finish driving him around Las Palomas and even San Luis Obispo until nearly nine pm. He didn’t look the least bit abashed either as she finally brought her car to a stop at a curb in front of a duplex. A typical fifties stucco building occupied the address, two L shapes merged together, with a long driveway down the back which led to two separate garages. Glass bricks framed each doorway. Plastic pink flamingoes with holly and ivy necklaces adorned the patch of a front lawn. Even if he hadn’t given her the house number, she would have guessed this was his abode the minute she saw it.

Flamingoes?

They’re vicious, he returned. Like piranha. Picked our neighbor’s reindeer and sleigh to bare bones in seconds. We’re afraid to move them.

Amy shook her head, trying not to laugh. He handed back Edith’s phone. Please thank her for me.

I will.

Seriously, your evening wasn’t all bad, was it? We had some nice sliders for dinner and Rice Krispy treats at the end.

Delicious. But if I hear Jingle Bell Rock or I Like to Move It one more time, I’m going to vomit.

Robbie laughed even as he folded his hands together and put them over his heart. Oh, the burn. I work hard for my stars and that music fits my wave.

Why do you do this?

This isn’t my day job, I’m in construction but it’s the weekend. I need to get my truck out of hock. Lent it to a buddy of mine, and he hit a tree. I owe the city for a tree and the garage for repairs and body work. By New Year’s though, I should have it paid off. I’ve been doing Santa since Halloween. Robbie paused before putting his hands inside his red velvet Santa pants. She’d learned that he wore an equally red thong under it. He pulled out bills and sorted through them before handing her twenty-five dollars, still warm. Thanks for bailing me out. Here—For gas and hauling me around.

I couldn’t—

Of course you can. I would have paid a car and driver, so you get a cut. He waggled his eyebrows at her convincingly.

She looked at him. That would have cost you more.

"True, true,