“I’ve probably got a spare out in the barn at my place,” he said. “I can drop it by later, and help you get the tree set up in it, if you want.”

Ezra’s hopeful grin, his pure boyish enthusiasm for life, Ivy decided, was irresistible.

“That’d be fine. But you’ll have to stick around to help decorate it too.”

“You got a deal,” he said. “And, uh, I’ve got a favor to ask.”

“What’s that?”

“You know I told you my boss drafted me into playing Santa tomorrow night? Well, she dropped the old guy’s Santa suit off to me this morning, and I gotta say, it’s no bueno.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“I’ve got it out in the Jeep. Hang on and I’ll show you.”

He was back a moment later, holding a plastic garment bag. He draped the bag on the back of the sofa and unzipped it.

The suit was made of some kind of flimsy shiny polyester fabric that had once been red but was now faded almost to coral. He held it up so she could examine it. It was trimmed with yellowing cotton batting and the jacket was fastened with Velcro strips.

“Wow. That’s really awful,” Ivy said. “Plus it looks so flammable it could spontaneously combust at any moment.”

“I think the old Santa was more like a gnome,” Ezra added. “The pants barely hit below my knees, and I couldn’t get the jacket fastened across my chest. At all.”

Ivy guessed at the favor he was about to ask.

“Why don’t you just wear Santa Bob’s old suit? It’s a shame to just leave it sitting in my closet.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

She retrieved the box and set it on the living room sofa and handed him the jacket. “Better try it on.”

Ezra slid his arms into the sleeves and easily fastened the buttons. He pulled the excess fabric away from his chest. “Wow. I never met Santa Bob, but I’d say he was a pretty husky fellow.”

“That’s easily fixed,” Ivy said, handing him the pants.

He held out the waist of the pants to demonstrate how roomy they were.

“But the length looks right,” Ivy said. “I think you tuck the legs into the boots.”

Ezra easily pulled the pants of the Santa suit over his own jeans. “I’m gonna have to either start carb-loading before tomorrow night, or get somebody to alter these.”

“Let me see,” Ivy said. She tugged at the waist of the red velvet pants and noticed a drawstring casing on the inside of the waistband.

“Look here,” she said. “You can adjust them with this drawstring. Pretty clever.”

“I’m still swimming in this thing,” he protested.

“Stay right there,” she said, retreating to the bedroom. When she returned she held out a pillow.

“Here.” Standing close, she tucked the pillow beneath the waistband of the red velvet pants. She stood on her tiptoes and placed the hat, with its jaunty fur pom-pom, at a rakish angle on his head, then took a half step backward. “Much better.”