Page 348 of Seasons of Love
It’s hot enough that my forty-six-year-old dick is ready to go again. A fact that doesn’t go unnoticed, especially since I’m wearing a pair of sweatpants and nothing else.
Curtis? He’s back to wearing his elf outfit and throwing heated looks in my direction.
While he decorates the cookies, he tells me what to do with dinner. Thankfully this only involves rubbing some spices and herbs onto a piece of meat and then putting it in the oven to cook on a slow heat.
By mid-afternoon, we’re making our way across the snow to the cabin next door.
George cracks the door with Megan right behind him.
“Daddy!” Megan calls and opens the door for us to come inside.
Harrison peeks out from a hallway, holding a bunch of bedsheets in his arms. He waves for us to take a seat on the couch. “I’ll be with you in a second, just need to get these in the wash.”
“Daddy and Papa just had a shower,” George says. “They said they had some messy Christmas presents from Santa.”
“I think they spilled them on the bed too because they’re doing the laundry again.” Megan rolls her eyes.
I bite my lips so I don’t laugh because I don’t need two guesses as to what their parents were doing with whatever gifts Santa gave them.
“And what did Santa bring you?” Bubble asks.
“I got a new train set,” George says.
“And I got five books,” Megan says, adding, “Daddy said Santa knows we’re going to Disneyworld in the spring, so he’s giving more presents to children who need them because we’re very lucky already. When I finish reading my books, I’m going to donate them to the Goodwill store.”
“Yeah,” George says, “and then she can play with my train set.”
“Sorry, guys, we were…um…” Harrison looks a little flushed, coming out to the living room.
“Babe, I think they know,” Fletcher adds.
“We don’t want to interrupt your Christmas. It’s just that Santa left these cookies at our place, but I think he really meant to leave them here,” Curtis says, holding up a box filled with his cookies.
Megan and George look at each other with wide eyes and big smiles.
“That’s very kind of Santa to do that. Are you sure it wasn’t too much trouble?” Harrison asks.
“Absolutely not,” Curtis says, and then he leans over like he’s telling a secret. “I’m pretty sure I overheard one of the elves say that Mrs. Claus baked these cookies herself. She made so many that she asked Santa to give them to the bestest boys and girls.”
The kids look at their dads, who nod, and soon the box is taken from his hands.
“Don’t eat too many, or you’ll ruin your—” Harrison starts but doesn’t finish. He likely knows it’s hopeless on a day like today.
“Would you like to join us for coffee and some of those Mrs. Claus cookies?” Fletcher asks.
“Thank you, but we’ve got a Christmas movie marathon this afternoon, and I need to check on dinner. Thank you though,” Bubble says.
“I don’t suppose you know when the road out will be cleared,” I ask.
“They’re usually pretty good. As soon as they know the storm is over, they clear the roads. They know folks will need to get back home to their jobs since most of the cabins are vacation homes,” Fletcher says.
“Thank you. That’s useful to know.”
We leave the family and walk back to my cabin. Curtis is strangely silent.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
