Chapter 6

six

?. . .?

Pepper

Wrapped in the puffy red vest, my mother made me ages ago, I bounce on the balls of my feet in the snow like a wind-up rabbit the Easter Bunny puts in all his colorful baskets. We’re standing outside my parents' modest cabin, waiting for them to answer the door. It’s adorned with the same evergreen wreath that’s been there for as long as I can remember. Perfectly shaped snowflakes swirl around us in the gentlest breeze. The red-and-white twinkle lights covering almost every inch of my parent's roof and the perimeter of the windows haven’t changed a bit. The three snowmen we built when I was little stand strong in the center of the snow-blanketed yard. Mom must have changed their scarves. They look new. Everything else looks like home. Exactly like I remember.

Oh. Fudge sticks.

I’m stalling .

No.

I’m tense.

No.

Jittery.

No.

Excited.

Bah! I’m a lot of flippy-floppy things. Bonus for me, horny isn’t one of them. That’d be weird. Kudos to Santa for handling that before we left. Then, afterward, he forced me to shower with him, made me get dressed, and, despite my protesting, carried me down the front steps of our home to the gold, velvet-lined sleigh he asked Prancer to pull. Because I may have almost canceled our visit—the visit Nick scheduled with my parents through elf channels while I was busy working on our house with the contractors I booked, who dropped everything to get Santa’s house in tippy-top shape.

It's wild to think I asked him about meeting my parents two days ago, and now, here we are.

What will they think of everything?

Not of Nick.

Of me.

Of my new job.

Not only as head elf, which I haven’t settled into yet, but as Nick’s partner and magic baby maker—the only male anatomy baby maker in our existence.

Thanks for that, North Pole magic.

First, my mother and her late-in-life fertility, and now me.

What’s next?

Hands stuffed casually in his front pants pockets, Nick side-eyes me. I know he’s concerned, not from his face but from the one-way connection. I paste on a wide, too-bright smile and give him two thumbs up.

Rolling his eyes, grinning at me like I’m a silly fool, he adjusts the front of his black trousers.

I try not to notice.

But I can’t help it.

As does my asshole when it gets wet and my prick starts to wake up.

Thankfully, or maybe not, my mother chooses this moment to throw open the door. My willy shrinks in mortification as she rushes down the steps in her bedazzled holly apron and engulfs me in the world’s biggest bear hug. A full head shorter than me, she squeezes and coos like only my mother can. I try to breathe through the painful embrace as my father laughs heartily from the bottom step and extends his hand to Nick in greeting.

Not feeling bad for me in the slightest, Nick joins my father with his signature Santa laugh, then follows him in from the cold, leaving me with my mother to contend with. Traitors.

“Mom,” I grouse when she rubs her face against my shoulder like a cat, so often the skin might be raw.

“My boy is home!” she cries, sniffling as tears soak into my down-stuffed vest.

This is not what I expected.

“Mom.” Staring down at her full head of neatly styled gray hair, an homage to the former Mrs. Claus, I try to shake her off, but the stout woman won’t release me. “This is too much, Mom. Let your son go.”

“You’re home.” She rubs her snotty nose on my vest as I struggle to get my arm out from under hers to pat her back.

“It’s okay, Mom. I’m home. Now, let’s stop ruining my vest and go inside. I can smell the turkey and fixin’s from here.” Tilting my nose into the air, I breathe deeply. “And pecan pie.”

“And mint chocolate pie,” she tacks on as she finally releases me and steps back, but only far enough to get a good look at me. Up and down, she assesses every inch like she hasn’t seen me in years, not months. It hasn’t been that long.

When I left home a couple hundred years ago, I moved into a single-bedroom studio less than two blocks away, where she could visit anytime. The apartment’s still there, along with my belongings. I tried to sleep in my bed after the inscribed band appeared around my wrist, but that pit in my stomach, that need, kept pulling me back to the workshop. Ten out of ten wouldn’t recommend sleeping in a closet for months. It’s stuffy, and magic crackles across the ceiling all night.

My mom cups my cheek. “I missed you. You look good. You’re glowing.”

Smiling, I blush at her compliment as a gruff man clears his throat from the open doorway. “You coming inside, handsome?” Nick asks from his post, leaning against the frame, where his head nudges the top.

Elf-sized house. Human-sized man.

My heart picks up seeing him here, with me, visiting my family. Willingly. Happily. I’m… I don’t have the words.

Turning to face Nick, Mom gasps as she gets the full view of the Santa standing in her house, ready to enjoy her home-cooked meal. The woman throws an arm out as if she’s afraid she’ll suddenly faint. Shaking my head at Mom’s overreaction, I chuckle and escort the gobbed-smacked woman into the house and right past Nick, who lets us by and shuts the door in our stead .

In the kitchen, I help her onto her favorite twelve-days of Christmas stool I painted as a child. From the looks of things, Dad has already finished setting our four-person table as Mom blinks at me with owlish eyes. “Santa’s in our house,” she whispers, as if reality has finally set in. “Santa.”

“You can call him Nick, Mom.” There are not many elves in our world I’d be okay with calling him anything but Santa, but my parents are family. They can address him in any way they please. Plus, I know Nick doesn’t mind. He despises formalities.

Stealing a kitchen towel from the counter, she swats my arm. “I will do no such thing,” she scolds.

I lift my hands in surrender. “Okay. Mom. Okay. Whatever you want.”

“Come eat, Marybelle,” Dad calls from the dining room. “It’s rude to leave Santa waiting.”

Lighting a fire under her behind, my mother hops off the stool, grabs my forearm in her iron grip, and drags me to the dining table, thankfully set with a seat large enough for Nick. She pushes me toward my normal chair beside my partner and quickly claims the one on the opposite side, beside Dad.

“This looks amazing, Mr. & Mrs. Minstix.” Nick smiles politely and pats my knee under the table. He’s calm—far calmer than me. If only his emotions would dictate mine when I need them to.

“You may call us Monty and Marybelle,” Dad, in his infinite wisdom, notes to their guest.

Nick nods, pleased. “And you may call me Nicholas.”

“We can’t do that,” Mom cuts in, and my father grumbles under his breath in protest.

Squeezing my knee in support, Nick rests his massive hand there. The heat seeping through my trousers calms me the tiniest bit until he opens his mouth. “May I ask why not? I am your son-in-law.”

Oh no.

Not now.

Not yet.

After dinner, we could have talked about this over pie. Pecan pie. My favorite.

Pouring fresh apple cider into wine goblets, Dad falters at Nick’s words and splashes juice over the rim of my glass. I snap into action and mop up the mess with my linen napkin as Mom’s high-pitched voice pays us an unwelcome visit. “You’re our—you’re our… what?!”

“Son-in-law. Hasn’t Pepper explained everything to you already?” As cool as a cucumber, Nick offers his goblet for my father to fill.

Shrinking down in my chair, wishing the floor would gobble me up, Nick sidelong glances my way, eyebrow raised in question. Surprise radiates through the bond. I shrug all the way to the top of my pointed ears. What can I say? Surprise?! Whoopsie? Gotcha? He was curious why I wanted to postpone this family dinner. Now he knows. I’d planned on telling him. I promise I did. It slipped my mind when he slipped into certain orifices. Then it slipped my mind again when he swooped me up like we’re living in some romance movie, then whisked me down the stairs of our house and set me in a reindeer-guided carriage. I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting any of the lovely eight. I was a bit star-struck. It’s not every day you meet a legend. Or have one pull you through the snow to your parents while you and your partner make out like we didn’t just finish half a dozen times at home.

So yeah .

I tried.

I did.

It… slipped my mind.

Mom gulps down her cider, and Dad follows suit. An uncomfortable silence hangs in the air, half choking me to death as Santa remains oddly chill.

“Pepper,” Nick addresses me.

“Yes?” I squeak, looking up at him halfway under the table, where I wish to escape.

He nods toward my parents. “Do you want to explain, or should I?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Leaning over like we’re not sitting in front of my family and I’m not having an internal meltdown, my partner, who was a giant mess until recently, leans down and kisses me on the cheek. It’s simple. Just a peck. But it means everything.

Swallowing down the sudden lump in my throat, I slowly turn my head to face him. He nudges his nose with mine and kisses my lips.

My mom gasps.

My father refills his glass.

The sweetest man in existence nudges his nose to mine a final time, turns to my family, and explains everything… about the tree, what our pairing means, and how his father never informed him of pretty much anything about his new job. He admits to the lack of sleep and our bond.

I listen to every word, staring at the side of his face in awe of this person. I am grateful for him—for his patience and for taking the lead. Slowly, I slide back into my chair and tentatively rest my hand on his knee. Santa seems to appreciate the connection when he cups his hand over mine .

“So, he’s your… he’s…” my mother fumbles once Nick’s finished explaining.

“Mr. Claus,” Nick confirms, nodding.

Hearing it put like that for the first time, I still.

I am Mr. Claus. His Mr. Claus. We’re the Clauses.

Oh. My. Jingle Bells.

“But what about children?” Mom asks as she serves herself a helping of turkey and stuffing.

Following her lead, Nick fixes himself a plate and adds a heaping of mashed potatoes next to five sweet cornbread slices before moving to the protein. “We spoke with Doc. It seems the giving tree has supplied Pepper with the means necessary for us to be parents.”

“How?” my father blurts and quickly looks away as his cheeks flush tomato red.

I steal a slice of cornbread from Nick’s plate and nibble on the corner. “Don’t ask, Dad. Trust me. You don’t want to know.”

Sitting forward in her chair, Mom grips the edge of the table. “I’ll be a grandma?”

“Yes,” Nick replies, with a forkful of food halfway to his mouth. At the same moment, I lift a hand to tame my mom. We are not at the baby-planning stage yet. We’ve got time. Hundreds of years. There is no rush. “We’ll get there,” I reassure her, hoping that suffices.

“How many babies?” She bounces in her seat.

“We haven’t gotten that far,” I grouse, hating that we’re even discussing this.

“Eight. Please have eight.”

“Mom,” I scold.

“What?” She shrugs. “Eight is a good number. You have eight reindeer. One for each kid. ”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“We have twenty-five reindeer,” Nick supplies around a mouthful of food.

My head swings to him in surprise. “We do?”

“Yes. They don’t pull my sleigh, but they help around the Pole.”

“How come I haven’t seen them?”

“Because you were a mural painter.”

“I still am a mural painter,” I remind him.

“Yes,” he agrees. “But you’re also my husband and head elf, making you the most important person in the North Pole.”

“I’m not the most important.”

“To me, you are,” he says with such sincerity my heart races. To my parents, he declares, “However many children Pepper will have with me, I’ll be happy to father. One. Eight. One hundred. Eight hundred. That’s his choice.”

What?

Sputtering at his words, I nudge my shoulder to the side of his arm. “We’re not having eight hundred children, Nick.”

“Maybe not.” He shrugs. “But if you wanted them, I’d give you that many. We’d have a lot of fun trying.” Nick waggles his brows suggestively over the edge of his glass, and I catch on fire.

What is it with this man?

One minute, he refuses to sleep, and now we’re talking about having eight hundred children.

Two children. We can have two children. That’s two more than I ever thought I’d be able to have, considering I couldn’t even get an erection until recently.

With the bombs officially out of the way, the tension at the table slowly disperses, and we fall into normal, comfortable chatter as we enjoy our home-cooked meal. Dad talks to Nick about plans for the Pole. Mom asks me about our house and how I plan to use my artistic gifts next. Babies are long forgotten, as is the awkwardness of bringing my partner home to meet the family.

After dinner, we retire to my parents’ living room, but not before Mom takes a plate of vegetables outside for Prancer.

Seated beside Nick on the elf-sized family sofa, I lean into him as my mom regales him with stories about me as a child. I tune them out to listen to the crackle of the fireplace and soak in the heat of the man beside me. It’s comforting, so comforting, I don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep until I’m floating with my head tucked against a yummy-scented neck.

“It was a pleasure seeing you both again,” Nick says as a door opens and cool air bites my cheeks.

A small hand pats my shoulder. “See you soon, Pepper. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Okay, Mom.” I yawn. “Tomorrow.”

“Bye, son.”

“Bye, Dad.” I raise a lazy hand in farewell as Nick carries me down the steps of my parents’ cabin and over to our fancy ride. He doesn’t bother setting me on the seat when he climbs on and keeps me tucked against his chest as Prancer sets a quick pace home.

“I don’t know why I’m so tired.”

“Stress and turkey.”

That makes sense.

“Thank you,” I say to Nick, grateful for… everything.

He kisses my head. “There’s nothing to thank me for, Elfie.”

“My parents are a lot.” Especially my mom. She’s a meddler. Always has been, always will be .

“No, they’re not.” He sighs. “They love you. We need to get together more often. Maybe have them over for dinner at our place soon.”

“We do?” I squeak, shocked by his desire to spend more time with them.

“Of course we do. They’re family,” Nick explains and clucks his tongue, which slows Prancer as she rounds the corner of one of our many evergreen forests in the North Pole. White lights twinkle across the traditionally decorated trees as swirls of the purple, blue, and green aurora borealis dance across the night sky.

“But—” I start, only to be cut off.

“No buts. When Holly returns to the Pole, we’ll have her over for dinner. Well, she’ll likely stay with us.”

I snuggle my cheek to Nick’s chest. “I’d like that. If she’s half as great as you, I’ll love her.”

Nick cups the side of my face and holds it to his shoulder. “Awe. I love you, too, sweetheart. Now rest. Because once we get home, you’ll be up all night.”

Yes. Please.

My little cock gives a cursory twitch.

Life couldn’t be any sweeter.