Santa's Playbook

“You’re on.”

The two-bit diner Claire dimly remembered from her childhood had morphed into something very quaint and prissy, but the hot chocolate came in enormous mugs with a mountain of whipped cream, so she was good. She would have been even better with one of the pastries winking at her from underneath the gleaming glass dome on the counter, but remembering the brutal look Miss Louise had given her hips, she passed.

“That was so nice, you offering to take Belly to dance class,” Juliette said, focused on her mug as she swiped a napkin over her whipped-cream mustache. “I’m sure Dad appreciated it.”

“No biggie. Glad I could help.”

“So it was a good thing we ran into each other at the estate sale, huh? And then you taking me home? Like...it was fate or something.”

Claire’s lips twitched. “Serendipity.”

“Exactly.” Juliette leaned forward, her eyes all blue fire, and Claire thought, And here it comes. “Don’t you ever think that things happen for a reason? Sometimes, anyway. Like there’s some big plan for each of us, if we can only see it?”

Claire sat straighter in her chair, a pink, curlicued confection that was hell on her back. “I certainly think life presents...opportunities,” she said carefully. “But being open to opportunity is very different from seeing something that’s not actually there. Or trying to make something happen.” She met the girl’s gaze dead on. “No matter how right it might feel to you.”

The girl sagged back in her own chair, hugging her mug to her chest. “Dad said something, didn’t he?”

“Even if he hadn’t, I would’ve figured it out on my own.” Eventually. Maybe. Juliette snorted. “So you have been trying to fix him up?”

“No! Well, okay, sort of. I mean...” She blew out a sigh. “What’s wrong with wanting him to be open to the possibility of getting married again? Or at least having a girlfriend.”

“Because that’s for him to decide, sweetie. Not you. Sometimes, when someone we love isn’t...around anymore—”

“Mom died, Miss Jacobs. It’s okay, you can say it. She died. And it sucks, and we were all miserable, and I know Dad still is, but...” She shook her head. “I know it sounds like I’m only thinking about myself, but I’m not, I swear. The extra work’s not that big a deal, and like I said, I’m cool with cooking. And I love my brothers and sister, even when they’re being pains. Except, for one thing, I’ve only got three more years before I’m gone. Because I’m so not sticking around for college. Not if I can help it. And for another...”

Juliette set her mug back down. “You didn’t know Dad before. When he was happy. I’m not saying he acted like a clown all the time or anything—that’s not his style—but at least he smiled, you know? I mean, for real. Eyes and everything. And laughed... Omigosh, his laugh... It was insane.”

Claire took a sip of her drink. “Having a hard time picturing that.”

“I’m having a hard time remembering it. Which is so sad.” The girl sighed, then scooped up a blob of whipped cream with her finger, poked it in her mouth. “I do remember, though, how he used to look at Mom when she didn’t know he was watching, and he’d, like, glow. Seriously. Like he’d struck gold or something. And that feeling... You’d walk into the house, and you’d just feel it, that glow. Like everything was okay. And it’s not there anymore.” She looked up, tears brimming. “And I can’t believe that’s how it’s supposed to be for the rest of our lives. Especially the rest of D-Dad’s.”

“Oh, honey...” Claire reached for the teen’s hand, her heart aching in spite of herself. Yes, the thought niggled that the girl might be manipulating her—or trying to—but something louder said that wasn’t what was going on here. Whether Claire fully understood or not Juliette’s reasons for confiding in her, that wasn’t the issue. The issue was that the child really was hurting, and for her dad more than for herself. That put a whole different spin on things, one she wondered if Ethan even realized. “Your heart’s in the right place, wanting someone to fill the gap in your lives. Especially your dad’s. But as I said, you can’t force these things to happen. If you father’s not ready—”

“But how does he know that if he won’t even try? It’s been more than three years already!”

“And I know, for you, that feels like a long time. For your dad, it might feel like no time at all.” She let go. “You know, not every kid in your situation is down with getting a new parent. In fact, many are absolutely horrified by the idea—”

“And you don’t think I’m not? Hey, I devoured fairy tales when I was little—all those wicked stepmothers?” She shuddered. “Serious nightmare material. So yeah, while I think things would be much better if Dad found someone else...” Her face pinked. “I don’t totally trust him to pick for himself.”

A startled laugh popped out of Claire’s mouth. “So you’ve decided to prescreen applicants for the position?”

“Seemed like a good idea.”

“And I’m on your short list.”

“Well...yeah,” Juliette said, and Claire laughed again.

“Why?”

“Because you’re sane?”

“Spoken like someone who clearly doesn’t know me very well.”

“Oh, trust me. I know from insanity. Not to mention desperation. At least you don’t go around shoving your boobs in guys’ faces.”

Claire smiled. “This is true. But, honey, I’m not your mother—”

“Duh, I know that—”

“No, what I mean is... Okay, let’s get real. Setting aside the fact that I’m no more interested in your dad than he is in me—”

“And maybe if you guys got to know each other—”

“Juliette—stop. Even if, by some very, very slim chance, your dad and I hit it off, it takes a special person to take on a ready-made family. And trust me, I’m not that person.”

“But—”

She lifted a hand to stop whatever the girl was about to say. “Four kids? And while I might be able to fake it with girls...your brothers? No way.”

“But...you obviously like kids—”

“I love them. Teaching them, though. Not raising them. I was an only child, honey. I’m doing well to keep a cat and two houseplants alive. Sweetie,” she said, “whatever’s best for you guys... It’ll happen. When it’s supposed to and without your...help. After all, your dad picked your mom on his own, right?”

Finally, the wind seemed to go out of the girl’s sails. “Guess I hadn’t thought of that.” Then she sighed. “But it’s so...hard.”

“I know, honey. Really.” Claire glanced up at the clock over the counter, dug her wallet out of her purse. “And we need to pick up your sister.”

Juliette fell silent after that. Until, right as they reached the dance studio, she said, “Can we at least be friends?”

“Of course! You need someone to talk to, I’m here. But you need to tell your dad your matchmaking days are over. Because he doesn’t need to worry about that on top of everything else. Deal?”

“Deal,” Juliette said on a gusty sigh as her little sister burst outside, and she squatted to hug her.

So, whew, done, Claire thought after she took the kids for burgers and shakes, staying in the car after driving them home. But listening to Isabella’s giggles as they ate, Juliette’s too-grown-up observations about her world... It hadn’t exactly been horrible.

And you know what else? Seeing the little one streak to her father, who was outside raking the last of the leaves, watching him scoop her into his arms, his eyes glued to hers as she relayed every detail of the past two hours... Having someone like that in her life might not be so horrible, either. Except there were way too many ifs and buts and excepts attached to that thought to even go there. Because if Claire had learned anything from her over-before-it-began marriage, it was that serious relationships required at least a certain level of self-sacrifice—something she didn’t seem very good at.

And this man—he glanced over with a nod and mouthed Thanks, and she nodded back before putting the car in Reverse—after what he’d been through?

Whatever he needed, Claire definitely wasn’t it.

* * *

Juliette fell back on her bed, making poor Barney jump, then pick his way across the rumpled Marimekko comforter to slather Juliette’s face with sloppy kisses.

“Stop, stop!” she squealed, trying to squirm away from the wriggling dog. Sprawled on the extra twin bed a few feet away, Rosie Valencia, her bestie since forever, laughed her not-exactly-small butt off.

“Get her, Barney!” Rosie cheered, which only made the stupid dog lick faster. “Maybe you can wash away that rotten mood.”