Christmas At The Beach by Girl Friday

I love the beach. More importantly, I love *this* beach. No kids
allowed. Peace and quiet. Glory Hallelujah.

I know what you’re thinking … how can you go to the beach and
not have kids screaming and running around making life miserable?
Turns out … it’s actually quite easy. You book your annual
vacation on a remote tropical island and stay in a resort that
specifically prohibits children. Sure it costs more, but it is so
worth it.

No, I don’t have anything against kids. I love kids. Kids are
great. But when your work centers on children, they are the last
thing you want to see on vacation. This was my vacation, the one
time each year when I could relax.

Relax.

Oh yes, it’s wonderful to lie on a towel in the warm, white sand
with the ocean gently lapping at my toes. Some people, most
people in fact, might prefer to spend Christmas morning sitting
around a tree opening gifts, but not me. I prefer the nice quiet
beach with the sun shining down and a cold margarita in my hand.

I come here every year. I spend Christmas Eve traveling with the
promise of waking up and spending Christmas morning on this
wonderful private beach. While the resort is exclusive, I’m
never alone. There’s always one other regular who is here year
after year. Like me, he prefers a towel on the sand to a chaise
by the pool. He’s here every Christmas morning when I arrange my
towel and order my drink.

This year was no different. I rolled out of bed on Christmas
Day, put on my favorite red bikini, and headed to the beach. Sure
enough, there he was — sprawled out on a towel, snoring softly,
just like every other Christmas morning for the past 4 years. He
was an ordinary looking man, pleasant but not stunning. Sandy
blonde hair, regular build, nice tight buns; I allowed my gaze to
linger there just for a minute before settling down on my own
towel. Giving my usual order to a passing waiter, I settled in
for a long relaxing day in the sun.

*****

“Excuse me … Miss?”

I blinked in confusion. My sandy-haired neighbor was kneeling
next to me, gently shaking my shoulder.

“Yes?”

“You might want to turn over. You’re getting a little pink.”

I rolled onto my back and sat up. Shading my eyes against the
sun, I looked into his eyes for the first time. They were a soft
gray, touched at the moment with concern.

“Thanks for the warning.” I held out my hand, “I’m Tina.”

“Tina, pleased to meet you. I’m Shawn.”

Shawn grinned mischievously as he took my hand in his own. I was
surprised when he didn’t shake it, instead raising it to his lips
and brushing a soft kiss across my knuckles. My tummy did a
little flip-flop as his lips touched my skin. How long had it
been since I’d felt that flutter? Long enough that it scared me a
little. Long enough that it excited me a whole lot more.

We spent the rest of the day together. It was a little scary how
quickly we clicked. I haven’t talked to a stranger for more than
ten minutes in years, and here we were — talking incessantly for
hours. Shawn was intelligent, educated, charming, and he made me
laugh. I was completely smitten. I hadn’t felt this way in such a
long time.

The only bump we hit was when he asked me about my job.

“So what do you do for a living, Tina?”

Shit. How do I answer this? Damn, damn, damn. I really didn’t
want to talk about this yet.

“Shawn, I’m sorry, but this is my vacation. The first day of the
only vacation I get all year, and the *last* thing I want to talk
about right now is *work*. Do you mind?”

He smiled that easy, sexy smile that caused my stomach to
flutter. “Not a problem at all. How about a dip in the ocean to
cool off a bit?”

I laughingly agreed, racing him down to the warm, clear water.

*****

He asked me to have dinner with him that evening. Saying no never
even crossed my mind. I took my time getting ready. Hair, check.
Make-up, done. Dress … killer. Why was I so nervous?

Shawn was right on time, knocking on my door at 7:30 sharp. I
took a deep breath and opened the door. The look on his face made
my primping worth the effort. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t
have to. His face said it all.

Dinner was wonderful — soft music, candlelight, delicious food.
He took every opportunity to touch me, holding my hand under the
table, brushing the hair back from my face. Each time he did, my
skin tingled and my heart sped up. I couldn’t believe how quickly
I was forming an attachment to this man.

We went dancing after dinner. It was a small nightclub on the
resort grounds and not many people were there. It suited us just
fine. The band played a lively mix of popular music, slow and
fast numbers. Shawn loved to dance and he was quite good. It was
a joy to dance with a man who knew how and enjoyed what he was
doing.

I came to dread the fast songs. I couldn’t wait for the next slow
song. Shawn would pull me close and settle my body against his,
then start that slow rhythmic movement that moved us around the
floor. He smelled so incredible, and his body felt so good
rubbing up against mine. Every slow song we danced made me more
aware of Shawn and how much I was attracted to him.

The bar announced last call and the band moved into the last
number. Shawn folded me into his arms as the first notes to one
of my favorite songs, “When You Say Nothing At All”, began to
play. The delicate melody washed over us as the smooth, smoky
voice of the singer brought the words to life. As we moved around
the dance floor, I felt Shawn’s lips brush my temple and I lifted
my face to his.

Oh, this man could kiss! Everything I had been feeling all day
surged to the surface and I returned his ardent caress without
reservation. My world narrowed until all that existed was the man
kissing me and the song weaving its magic around us.

It’s amazing
How you can speak
Right to my heart
Without saying a word,
You can light up the dark
Try as I may
I could never explain
What I hear when
You don’t say a thing

The smile on your face
Lets me know
That you need me
There’s a truth
In your eyes
Saying you’ll never leave me
The touch of your hand says
You’ll catch me
Whenever I fall
You say it best
When you say
Nothing at all

As the song ended, Shawn gently ended our kiss and drew away
slightly, looking into my eyes. He studied me for a moment before
that incredible smile of his began to form. I felt it tug at my
heart and I couldn’t help but wonder if I had finally found the
one man I could share my life with.

*****

The rest of the week was damn near idyllic. We spent almost every
minute together — walking on the beach, windsurfing, snorkeling,
sitting quietly and watching the sunset. We’d have dinner
together each night and afterwards we’d explore the resort and
the small town nearby. We always made sure to stop at the
nightclub for at least one dance. The band knew us on sight and
by unspoken agreement they always played “our” song. Every time
Shawn took me in his arms I fell deeper in love.

At the end of the song, he would kiss me and look deeply into my
eyes. We never said anything. We didn’t have to. Joining our
hands together, we would walk the short distance to Shawn’s room
and make love. When we touched each other it was magic. The world
ceased to exist and all that mattered was Shawn. It didn’t matter
if we were laughing and teasing, rutting like bunnies, or making
slow, tender love – I always felt my soul connect with his. In
that moment it ceased to matter that I was 160 years old.

*****

I knew I had to tell him soon. The week was almost over and I had
to get back to work. I knew Shawn loved me, I could feel it. That
doesn’t mean I wasn’t scared out of my mind at the thought of
telling him my secret. We had only been together a week. Would he
be able to accept me for who I was? Was love enough to convince
him I was telling the truth? I didn’t know but time was running
out. I would have to tell him tonight.

We spent the day quietly, lying on beach holding hands. Both of
us knew today was our last day together. Shawn was flying home in
the morning and so was I. Every moment that day was bittersweet.
I had finally found the love of my life. I could only hope for
the best. After dinner, we went to the club and danced to our
song. When it was over, Shawn and I went to the band and thanked
them for making our stay at the resort special.

Making love that night was special. Shawn kissed and caressed
every inch of my body, expressing with every touch his love for
me. I did the same in return, telling him how much I loved him
with soft touches and passionate kisses. When he slipped inside
of me I felt truly complete. Time and again, Shawn brought me to
the brink of release and then gently pushed me over. When I
thought I couldn’t take any more, he buried himself in me,
moaning my name as he collapsed against me.

Snuggled into his embrace, I knew my time was up. I had given a
lot of thought to how I would start this conversation. Screwing
up my courage, I snuggled closer and took a deep breath.

“Shawn, why do you spend Christmas at the beach?”

He pulled back a little and looked at me in surprise. “We haven’t
talked about this yet?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well, two reasons really. First, I design toys for a large,
privately held company. I spend most of the year working long
hours and the time between Christmas and New Years is our only
downtime. Everyone who works there is on vacation right now.
Second, I don’t have any family. I lost my parents a few years
ago. They loved Christmas and always made it special for me. Now
I find sitting at home alone on Christmas pretty depressing. A
few years ago I started coming here. By lying on the beach, I can
forget that it’s Christmas and enjoy my vacation.”

“I’m so sorry about your parents, Shawn. I didn’t mean to bring
up bad memories for you.”

He stroked my arm and dropped a reassuring kiss on my temple.
“You didn’t love. It’s kind of nice to talk about them with
someone. They are never far from my thoughts this time of year.
They truly loved Christmas.”

This was the opening I had been hoping for. “Were they the ‘There
is no Santa’ types or were they ‘Santa is real’ types?”

He laughed as he answered, “Santa is real, definitely. We always
put out cookies and milk for Santa and carrots for the reindeer.
Mom and Dad always made me go to bed early on Christmas Eve so
that Santa would come. Of course I could never sleep, but they
made me go to bed anyway. What about you?”

I ignored his question and asked another one of my own. “And did
*you* believe in Santa?” I held my breath, my whole life hanging
on his answer.

“Yes, I did. I remember when I was a kid, eight years old, my dad
lost his job. My parents told me they were sorry, but they
couldn’t do much for Christmas that year. I wrote letters to
Santa every week for two months, begging for a basketball. When I
woke up that Christmas, I raced downstairs and sure enough —
there was a basketball for me under the small tree we had. My mom
and dad both swore they had nothing to do with it and that Santa
must have brought it. I know as an adult they must have scraped
up the money from somewhere, but a little part of me still
believes it was Santa.”

Shawn sat up in bed and looked at me intently, “Why all the
questions about Christmas and Santa?”

It was time for me to lay it all on the line. “Do you remember
our first day here? Christmas Day? You asked me about my job and
I brushed it off.”

Shawn nodded then grinned mischievously. “Let me guess, you’re an
elf who lives at the North Pole and vacations on the beach each
year at Christmas.”

“No, I am not an elf. I’m Santa Claus.”

Shawn laughed, obviously taking my answer for a light-hearted
joke. “Very funny, Tina. No, seriously, what do you do?”

I got out of the bed and wrapped the sheet around me. For some
reason, being naked while trying to explain your existence to
someone is a little too distracting.

“Shawn, I am being serious. My name is Christina Kringle and I
*am* Santa Claus.”

He looked at me in utter disbelief. “You? You’re not Santa.
Everyone knows that Santa is a man.”

“Traditionally, yes, Santa is a man. My father was Santa for
almost 1,200 years before I took over. His father didn’t go quite
that long. He was Santa for 734 years. But Dad kept hoping for a
boy, so he hung on as long as he could. I am the first female
Santa ever.” Shawn’s eyes were getting a little big. “It’s a
hereditary position. When Santa retires, a new Santa — a direct
blood relation — takes over. Mom and Dad tried for years and
years to have another child, a boy, after I was born. They were
unsuccessful. So, when Dad wanted to retire, I was the only blood
relative eligible for the position.”

Shawn’s eyes had taken on a glazed, somewhat condescending look.
“I see. Why a direct blood relative? Couldn’t some other guy take
over?”

“No. Part of being Santa involves magic, very specific, very
powerful magic. This magic is only found in my family line. My
dad had every male relative, out to 4th cousins – twice removed,
tested for the magic. None of them had enough of it to take over
the job.”

“So you’re Santa?”

“Yes.”

“For how long now?”

“I’ve been Santa for 61 years now.”

There was a vein throbbing in Shawn’s forehead. His expression
was hard and angry. “And just how old are you, Santa?”

“I’m 160 years old.”

“Bullshit. You don’t look a day over 27. This little fantasy of
yours has gone on long enough, Tina. I don’t know what kind of
game you’re playing, but it isn’t funny. I was going to tell you
I loved you and ask you to consider moving in with me. If this is
the type of thing you do for kicks, then I’m not so sure that’s a
great idea.”

“I couldn’t move in with you anyway, Shawn. I have to stay at the
North Pole and oversee the day-to-day operations. Being Santa
doesn’t just involve riding around in a sleigh one night of the
year. It’s a full time job.”

“Stop it, Tina. You are not Santa!”

I’d had enough of this. I strode over to my handbag and fished
out my cell phone. Quickly dialing home, I waited impatiently for
my call to be answered.

“Hello. This is Tina. Can you connect me to central filing
immediately? Central? I need you to pull a file for me: Shawn
Adams, date of birth 8/15/70. I need the hard copy, ready for
transport, now. Thanks.”

I closed my phone and turned to face the man I loved. He was
looking at me like I was out of my mind. “If you don’t want to
believe me Shawn, that’s your choice. The fact of the matter is,
I *am* Santa Claus and I can prove it.”

Concentrating hard, I drew on the magic of Christmas that was
part of my very soul and transported Shawn’s file into my hand. I
flicked a glance at Shawn to see his mouth hanging wide open.
Ignoring his stuttering, I sorted through the file until I found
what I was looking for. Pulling the letters out, I handed them to
Shawn.

“Those are the letters you wrote when you were eight, begging for
a basketball. I read every single one of them. I left you a
basketball, two books, and new sweater. You believed in Santa,
Shawn. You had to for your letters to reach me. Only letters from
people who truly believe can make it to the North Pole. Like it
or not, you believed in Santa. You believed in me.”

Shawn kept looking from me to the letters in his hand. Clearly
stunned and unable to decide what to believe, he looked at me
helplessly.

“I love you, Shawn. If you ever decide to believe me, you know
how to reach me.” I nodded towards the letters in his hand then
drew on my magic once more to take me home — home to the North
Pole.

*****

Three months later I was straightening out a major design problem
in the toy shop when one of my assistants asked me to come to the
office. Why was everything this year a struggle? Since I left
Shawn that day on the beach, every day that followed was
miserable. Wondering what was wrong now, I trudged to my office.

Sitting in the center of my desk was a letter. That was unusual.
Normally there were hundreds on letters sitting there. Curious, I
sat down and opened the envelope.

Dear Santa,

I’m sorry it has taken so long for me to write. I’ve spent the
last three months getting caught up at work and getting my
apartment packed. I’m hoping you can help me. You see, I met this
woman. She’s smart and beautiful and she made every day we were
together special. But I messed it up. She trusted me and I didn’t
believe her.

Please Santa, I just want one thing for Christmas. Would you
please tell Tina that I’m sorry, that I believe in her … and
that I love her very much?

Sincerely,
Shawn Adams

P.S. Do you have any job openings for toy designers at the North
Pole? I can start immediately.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I quickly called the stable. I
would need the sleigh to go pick up my new toy designer. I was
about to make two Christmas wishes come true, Shawn’s and mine.

But it isn’t Christmas yet, you say? Hey, being the boss does
have *some* privileges.