Faugh! More snow! And not likely to be much better, even when he got home. Really, there was nothing to look forward to until spring. Others of his kind might enjoy romping through the slush on all fours, but here was one furry laird who hated getting his feet wet.

And Boston! Gray, drizzly, dreary Boston, which smelled like damp wool and exhaust. He felt like pulling his scarf over his nose to muffle the smells of

(peaches, ripe peaches)

unwashed masses and

(peaches)

He stopped suddenly and felt a one-two punch as the couple walking behind him slammed into his back. He barely felt it; he hardly heard their complaints. He spun, pushed past them, and walked back, nostrils flaring, trying to catch that elusive

jangleJANGLEjangleJANGLEjangle

intoxicating

jangleJANGLEjangleJANGLEjangle

utterly wonderful scent.

He stiffened, not unlike a dog on point. There. The street corner. Red suit trimmed with white. White-gloved hand shaking that annoying bell. Belly shaking like a bowlful of jelly. The glorious smell was coming from Santa Claus.

jangleJANGLEjangleJANGLEjangle

He charged across the street without looking, ignoring the blaring horns, the shriek of airbrakes. The closer he got, the better Santa smelled.

jangleJANGLEjan—

“Jeez, there’s no rush,” Santa said in a startled contralto, pulling down her beard to squint up at him. Her eyes were the color of Godiva milk chocolate. Her cheeks were blooded, kissed by the wind. Her nose was snub. Adorable. He felt like kissing it. “I mean, the bucket and I aren’t going anywhere.”

“Nuh,” he said, or something like it.

“You really should forget that whole ‘pedestrians have the right of way’ attitude when you’re in this town…errr…everything okay?”

He had been looming over her, drinking her in. Now he jerked back. “Fine. Everything’s fine. Have dinner with me.”

“It’s ten o’clock in the morning.” She blinked up at him. A stray snowflake spiraled down, landed on her nose, and melted.

“Then lunch.”

The woman looked down at herself, as if making sure that, yes, she was dressed in the least-flattering outfit a woman could wear. “Are you feeling okay?” she asked at last.

“Never better.” It was the truth. This was rapidly turning into the best day ever. He had visions of spending the rest of the day rolling around on Egyptian cotton sheets with Santa. “Lunch.”

She peered at him with adorable suspicion. “Is that a question? Is this your first day out of the institution?”

Right, right, she was human. Be polite. “Lunch. Please. Now.”

She burst out laughing, putting a hand on her large belly to keep from falling into the street. As if he’d let that happen. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, “but the absurdity of this…you…and…it just hit me all at once.” She cut her gaze away from his to smile at the woman who had just tucked a dollar into her bucket. “Merry Christmas, ma’am, and thank you.”