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Christmas Wishes

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Shaye Evans

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“Harper?” Cash murmured after a long moment. “Hmm?” I turned my head. “Do you believe in Santa?” I shifted onto my side to look at him, smiling. “Yeah, I do.” He adjusted his head to look at me. “Even though he’s something our parents say isn’t real?” I nodded. “Yeah, definitely. There’s usually some kind of truth behind stories.” He looked up to the tree then to me. “Think we can see him tonight?” I laughed and sat up. “Who? Santa? Why not? It couldn’t hurt to try.”

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“At the beginning of the month I wrote a letter to Santa—I know, childish—but I needed something to hope for, even if it felt silly.” He smiled and shifted to sit by my side, winding his arm around my wait. “Wishing and hoping is never silly, Harper,” he whispered, nipping my jaw. I leaned into his hold and twined our fingers. “I had two things on it: you, and to be accepted.” I stared at the black ink marking my letter in my messy handwriting. He pressed his forehead against my temple. “You were on mine too, only, I didn’t send it to Santa.”

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“Colt, you’re going to be a nurse, not a cop. If anything happens, I’ll pay the fines for you.” “Still don’t need it.” “Why?” She paused for a moment, thinking. “Because you’re still trying to get into Daddy’s good books?” “Shut up,” I muttered, blowing my frustrations into another balloon—it grew between my palms. This had nothing to do with my father. “From what you’ve told me of the guy, he’s a jerking dick, Colt. I don’t know why you’re seeking his approval.”

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“You saved me, again.” I glanced around, thankful no one was around or they would have been staring. I felt so stupid in his arms. Small, weak, and klutzy. The side of Brett’s mouth quirked as his brows pulled together. “Again?” “Last night,” I murmured, looking back at him as he set me down beside him. “You’re like a knight—always there when I need you.” “I’m no knight, Colt. Far from it—you know that.” ”Robin Hood, then.” He chuckled.”

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