Santa's Stolen Secret

The lock on the back door clicked open faster than I expected. Cheap deadbolt. Three seconds with a tension wrench and a rake pick. I slipped inside and pulled the door shut behind me, the cold air following me in like a breath I couldn't shake.

The house was dark. Silent. Rich people always thought their alarm systems and security cameras made them safe. They never thought about the fifteen-year-old lock on the garden entrance or the dog they didn't have. I'd cased this place for three weeks. Watched the family's schedule like a hawk. They left for their ski trip to Aspen this morning. House wouldn't be touched until New Year's Eve.

I had four days.

The living room opened up in front of me, and I stopped. Just for a second. Because these people had money. Real money. A Christmas tree that touched the twelve-foot ceiling, covered in ornaments that probably cost more than my rent. Presents stacked underneath like a department store display. I counted twenty. Thirty. More than that.

My bag was in my hand. I worked fast. Small things first. Jewelry boxes. Gift cards. Anything I could slip into my pockets without making noise. The big stuff I'd come back for. I was halfway through the pile when I heard it.

A floorboard creaked.

Not the house settling. I knew the difference. I'd been doing this long enough to know when a house was breathing and when it was holding its breath.

I froze. My hand was on a velvet box, mid-lift. I didn't move.

The hallway light clicked on.

She stepped out of the shadows like she'd been waiting there the whole time. Dark hair falling over her shoulders. A silk robe tied loose at her waist. Bare feet on the hardwood floor. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five. Her eyes were dark and sharp and they pinned me where I stood.

I should have run. Door was five feet away. I could have been gone before she screamed.

But she didn't scream.

She just stood there, looking at me. Looking at the half-empty pile of presents. Looking at the bag in my hand. And then she crossed her arms and tilted her head and waited.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Nothing came out.

Think. Think. What would a normal person say? What could possibly explain this?

And then it hit me. The dumbest idea I'd ever had. The kind of idea that only works if you commit to it completely.

I straightened up. Pushed my shoulders back. And I said, in my deepest voice, "You can't tell anyone you saw me."

She blinked. "What?"

"You saw Santa." I pointed at myself. "Me. I'm Santa."

Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "You're wearing a black hoodie and jeans."

"Off-duty look." I kept my voice low. Gravelly. "You think I wear the red suit everywhere? That's a uniform. This is casual."

She stared at me. The silence stretched out. I could hear my heart beating in my ears.

"You broke into my house," she said slowly.

"I didn't break in. I came down the chimney." I pointed at the fireplace. "Obviously."

"There's no chimney. We have central heating."

"Then I came through the vents. I'm flexible."

A laugh escaped her. She caught it with her hand, but it was too late. I saw it. The corner of her mouth twitched.

"You're a terrible liar," she said.

"I'm an excellent liar. This is just a very unusual situation."

She stepped closer. The robe fell open just slightly at her collarbone. I tried not to look. Failed. Tried again. Failed again.

"So what happens now?" she asked. "You give me coal for the rest of my life?"

I shook my head. "Worse. If you tell anyone you saw me, I have to give you coal every Christmas. For the rest of your life. That's the rule."

"What rule?"

"Santa rule. Section four, subsection B. It's in the handbook."

She crossed her arms tighter. The robe pulled across her chest. "I don't believe you."

"Fine." I shrugged. "But you'll regret it. Coal in your stocking forever. No more presents. Just lumps of black rock. Think about that."

She thought about it. I could see her thinking. The way her eyes moved, like she was turning the idea over in her head. And then she looked at me again and something shifted in her face. Something I couldn't read.

"There's another option," she said.

My heart stopped. "What option?"

"You give me something. A bribe. To keep your secret."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. "You're blackmailing Santa?"

"I'm negotiating with a burglar who thinks I'm stupid enough to believe he's Santa."

Fair point.

I reached into my pocket. My fingers found what I was looking for. I pulled it out and held it up. A candy cane. Wrapped in clear plastic. Red and white stripes catching the light from the hallway.

"Here," I said. "Special Santa candy cane. One of a kind. Keeps your Christmas magic going all year."

She looked at it. Looked at me. "That's just a candy cane."

"It's not just a candy cane. It's a Santa candy cane. There's a difference."

"What difference?"

"I can't tell you. That would break the magic."

She took it from me. Her fingers brushed mine. Warm. Soft. I felt it all the way down my spine.

"You're insane," she said.

"Probably."

"You broke into my house."

"I did."

"And you're trying to bribe me with a candy cane."

"It's working, isn't it?"

She unwrapped it. Took a bite. The crunch was loud in the quiet room. She chewed slowly, watching me the whole time.

"It's just a regular candy cane," she said.

"Told you. Can't taste the magic until Christmas Eve."

She laughed again. That real laugh. The kind that comes from somewhere deep. I wanted to hear it again.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Santa."

"Your real name."

I hesitated. I never gave my real name. That was rule one. Rule one of every job. Don't leave anything behind. Don't give anything away.

But she was standing there in her silk robe, eating my candy cane, and I couldn't remember the last time someone looked at me like I was interesting instead of invisible.

"Leo," I said.

She smiled. "I'm Clara."

"Clara." I said it out loud. Tasted it. "That's a pretty name."

"It's just a name."

"It's not just a name. It's a Clara name. There's a difference."

She rolled her eyes. But she was smiling. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm Santa. There's a difference."

She finished the candy cane. Crumpled the wrapper in her hand. And then she looked at me and her eyes went dark and serious and I felt the air change.

"You have to put everything back," she said.

"What?"

"The presents. You have to put them all back. Every single one."

I looked at the pile. The mess I'd made. The bag at my feet.

"And then what?"

She stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell her. Something floral. Something warm. Something that made my chest tight.

"And then we figure out what to do with you."

My throat went dry. "Figure out?"

She reached out. Touched my chest. Just one finger, right over my heart.

"You broke into my house, Leo. You tried to steal from me. You owe me."

"I offered you a candy cane."

"I want more than a candy cane."

Her voice dropped. Low and soft. The kind of voice that promised things.

I looked at her. Really looked. The curve of her hip under the silk. The way her hair fell across her shoulder. The way she looked at me like she'd already decided something I hadn't caught up to yet.

"What do you want?" I asked.

She didn't answer. Not with words. She reached up and grabbed the front of my hoodie and pulled me down and kissed me.

Her mouth was sweet. Peppermint. She tasted like the candy cane I'd given her. Like Christmas. Like something I shouldn't want.

I kissed her back.

Her hands found my waist. Pulled me closer. The robe fell open and I felt her body against mine, warm through my jeans and her thin silk and I knew I should stop. I knew I should run. I knew this was insane and dangerous and the stupidest thing I'd ever done.

But she tasted like peppermint and she was kissing me like she'd been waiting for someone to break into her house just so she could have a reason to do this.

She pulled back. Breathless. Eyes dark.

"Now put everything back," she said.

I didn't move.

"Put it back, Leo. And then come find me."

She turned and walked down the hallway. The robe swayed with her hips. She didn't look back.

I stood there in the dark living room with a pile of stolen presents at my feet and her taste still on my lips and I knew.

I was going to put everything back.

And then I was going to find her.