The hours flew by, and the more I talked to her, the more attracted I was to her. But Sylvia wasn’t the type to openly flirt, and I was careful to keep my words clean, even though my thoughts drifted. Her leg brushed against mine once or twice, which nearly made me lose my cool, but overall, there was nothing suggestive about either our conversation or our body language.

So when the party wound down and the bar was closing up, I was more than a little surprised when she asked if I’d like to come back to her house for one last drink.

“Don’t you have to put the kids to bed?” I asked.

“Yes, but then I have to wait for them to go to sleep, so I can play Santa.” She stifled a yawn. “If I can stay awake.”

“Ah. So my job is to make sure you don’t fall asleep?”

“Exactly. And to carry the heavy boxes in from the garage.” She laughed, squeezing my bicep through my suit coat. “I need those muscles. I don’t have any.”

“You’re going to get some, remember?” I said, growing hot under the collar at her touch. “You’re going to the gym.”

“That’s right.” She nodded defiantly. “Getting stronger is New Year’s resolution number one.”

“What’s number two?” I asked.

She thought for a second. “Find a way to be happy on my own. But I think they’re related, you know? I’m going to need strength—physical and emotional, to start over.”

I nodded slowly. “That’s true.”

“What about you?” she asked, getting to her feet. “Have you thought of any resolutions yet?”

“I’m not much for that stuff.”

“Well, I am. And I have one for you.” She lifted her chin.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. You should look into adoption as a single dad.”

“I think you’ve had too much wine.” I got to my feet and adjusted my tie.

She laughed. “That’s entirely possible. Come on, it’s almost midnight. Let’s get the kids and sneak out of here.”

* * *

While Sylvia was putting her kids to bed, her parents came in. I was a little embarrassed to be standing there alone in the kitchen.

“Sylvia asked for help playing Santa,” I explained. “She’s getting the kids settled.”

“I don’t blame her,” said Daphne softly, pulling off her heels. “I wish I could stay up and play Santa again, but I’m plum worn out. Plus I want to get up early and make waffles for everyone. That’s what I always did Christmas morning for our kids.”

“I don’t mind staying,” I said.

“Can I pour you a drink?” asked John. But he looked just as exhausted as his wife.

“No, thanks. I’m fine.”