“Santa School”

A grump-with-a-heart-of-gold rediscovers his ability to love at Santa School, in this charming second-chance romance by Rachel Grate.

Georgia says:

Frank has given up on love after the passing of his beloved wife, Mary. To get his concerned daughter off his back, he spontaneously enrolls at a local Santa School. Here, instructor Eva takes on turning this grumpy grinch into the most famous jolly and kind old man of all. Can Frank discover the spirit of the season? Get the tissues ready: this sweet and festive love story is sure to tug at all your heartstrings. Tis the season!

“Santa School”

Dear Rhea,

I’m afraid I must turn down your proposal to visit me on the anniversary of your mother’s death and your generous offer to take me to tour the nursing home down the street. I’d rather join her in the grave than join you on this visit, so I’m afraid I must decline. Besides, I will be otherwise occupied.

— FL

Frank always signed his emails with his initials, even those to his daughter, Rhea. Frank liked to grouse to anyone who’d listen that Rhea wanted to crate him off to assisted living in order to cash in on the home he’d lived in for 54 years. Granted, since Mary’s death, he used just two rooms in the three-bedroom house. The study, where he was now, and his bedroom. Mary’s things remained untouched. The Halloween costume she’d been making their granddaughter before her stroke was still ensnared in her sewing machine.

In the leather chair behind his desk, Frank tuned the radio to jazz and flipped open the paper. The laptop Rhea had bought him “dinged” in the corner with her response.

Come on, Dad, what plans do you have? I know from the neighbors that you've only been leaving the house for groceries. It’s not healthy to be so alone. You need community, and if you won’t make friends on your own, I have no choice but to intervene.

I’ll drive over tomorrow.

Love,

Rhea

Frank tsked and turned back to the paper. It wasn’t his fault his friends had gradually moved away (or worse) over the last few years, but Rhea had made it quite clear that she would only permit him to continue living alone if he had someone to lean on closer by.

“You’re hours away if something happens,” she’d fretted repeatedly on their calls. “Mom had you, but who do you have?”

What plans could he have for the anniversary of Mary’s death, indeed? He knew Rhea wouldn’t accept staying at home as an answer, though he saw nothing wrong with observing the day sitting in the garden by the rosebush where they buried Mary’s ashes.

Though even he must admit, the comfort of his own home hadn’t been nearly as comforting since Mary passed nearly one year ago.

He flipped to the lifestyle section, and the answer was right in front of him. A picture of a room of smiling men his age gathered just down the road — exactly the “plans” he needed to convince his daughter he had friends. Before he could second-guess himself, he began his response.

Dear Rhea,

Unfortunately, I must derail your plans. I have decided to attend the John H. Willis Santa Claus School during their special four-day training here in Orlando, which starts tomorrow.

You may surmise from this announcement that I have lost my mind; you would not be incorrect in such an assumption. This note, therefore, is in part a forewarning that I do not require an intervention — I am merely taking your ultimatum to find new friends to heart. In any event, perhaps this pot belly and beard I’ve grown since Mary’s passing have a purpose greater than I anticipated.

So, consider this my Season’s Greetings, encompassing Halloween, Hanukkah, Christmas, Boxing Day, Emperor’s Birthday, National Fruitcake Day, etc etc etc.

— FL

He settled back in his chair, pleased to have put off a visit, however well-meaning. Even if he just went to the training for a day, he should be able to get enough pictures to convince Rhea he’d made new lifelong friends (however short that life ended up being).

♥

As soon as Frank pulled up to The John H. Willis Santa School pop-up academy in Winter Springs, Florida (yes, that was a real town—he had double-checked), he began to think being put in a nursing home was the better option. He thanked the taxi driver for the ride (Rhea had insisted he wasn’t fit to drive the hour himself, one of her several requirements for “allowing” him to embark on this foolish adventure) and stepped out onto the lawn.

Palm trees swayed on either side of the driveway and a lake that likely housed an alligator was in the near distance. In front of him stood a Scandinavian-style cottage painted bright green with red window trimmings. “White Christmas” drifted from a speaker by the front door. Frank took a deep breath and opened the front door. A chorus of sleigh bells jangled as he walked in.

“Ho ho ho, welcome to Santa School!” A short, plump woman with snow-white hair sang in baritone.

Frank’s mouth dropped open. He’d never heard such a low voice come from such a petite woman.

She leaned forward and winked before continuing in a normal tone. “I greet everyone that way. Learned the hard way that I have to prove I’ve got the pipes before a bunch of old men will be instructed on their Santa-ing by a woman.”

Before he could think of a retort, a cloyingly-sweet smell overpowered him. The smell was so strong, he started coughing.

“What is that darn smell?” Frank cursed. It smelled like—

“Sweet peppermint,” the woman said. Eva, according to the name tag attached to her purple flannel shirt. Her hair had a soft curl as it fell on her shoulders, and she was wearing simple pearl earrings. Eva gestured to eight candles lined up at the check-in desk, each one lit and wrapped in candy-cane print. “We buy in bulk at the end of each season. Even Santa loves a discount!” She headed behind the desk. “Name?”

“I’m Frank,” he responded. “Frank Levi, with an I.”

“Levi with an I.” Eva bit her lip as she typed his name into the system. She wore red lipstick that made her full lips look as tempting as candy. When she spoke again there was a faint pink smudge across her front tooth.

Frank realized he was staring and glanced up. A row of multicolored Santa hats dangled from the ceiling behind her.

“I don’t know if we’ve had a Levi before,” Eva commented as she clicked on the computer and a massive printer whirred to life. “Isn’t it typically a Jewish name?”

“That would be fitting since I’m Jewish,” he said.

Eva gasped, her mouth forming a cute O at his words.

He flushed—he was staring at her mouth again.

“I’ve never taught a Jewish Santa, and I’ve been doing this for two decades!” Eva squealed. She handed over a printout and came out from behind the desk. Standing at Frank’s side, she was a full head shorter. Her head would fit snugly under his chin—just like Mary’s used to.

Frank swallowed to clear the sudden lump in his throat. “They say there’s a first time for everything,” he murmured. He scanned the hours of classes on the agenda she’d handed him. Frank wasn’t religious—he hadn’t gone to synagogue since Rhea’s bat mitzvah—but now he found himself praying to survive the four days of this training. Even he had to admit Rhea’s nursing home was looking pretty good now.

“It’s official: you’re my favorite of the weekend.” Eva touched his arm. “The malls will be fighting to recruit you once you’ve got your diploma.”

Frank opened his mouth to admit he wasn’t planning on becoming a working Santa, but Eva continued before he could explain. “Shall I show you to your room?” she asked.

Frank nodded and followed Eva down the hallway until she swung open the door to a room that looked—thank goodness—like a normal hotel room.

“I’ll see you in class in an hour,” Eva said as she trotted off, in a tone he could only describe as jolly. “I hope you’re looking forward to it as much as I am!”

Frank put his bag on the bed, debating how soon he could call a taxi to take him home. But then he pictured the look on Eva’s face if she found out he’d left before class had even begun. He sighed and started to unpack. He couldn’t leave before he had proof of new friends for Rhea, anyway.

♥

An hour later, Frank shifted in his too-small, back-row desk chair—they hadn’t counted on students with real Santa bellies. There was just one peppermint candle lit on the front desk, so he could breathe without coughing. Pine boughs hung from the tables and a wreath was in front of the window, framing the view of the lake outside.

The room was full of Santas of all shapes and sizes: Black Santas, Cuban Santas, and a few Mrs. Clauses. A round, middle-aged man with heart-shaped sunglasses, a rainbow suit, and a bedazzled Santa hat slid into the seat next to Frank.

“Whoa, you’re the real deal, man!” He pointed at Frank and mimed stroking a beard. “How long did it take you to grow that baby out?”

“A year,” Frank answered. A year minus two days, he supposed. He hadn’t shaved since the day Mary died.

“Right on. I’m Rory.” Rory held his hand out. His fingernails were painted in sparkly red and green polish. “I’m representing the Orlando Gay Men’s Choir. We wanted to make our annual Christmas performance a bit more spirited this year. Authenticity, and all that.”

Frank shook Rory’s hand, already imagining the email he could send Rhea at the end of the day documenting his new friend. Maybe he could convince Rory to take a picture?

Before Rory could say more, an elf entered the classroom. Frank blinked. No, not an elf — Eva, from the front desk. But instead of the flannel and khakis from this morning, now she wore a short green dress that hugged her curves, candy-cane tights, and her white hair was done in two cute braids. Her cheeks were rosier than before. When she saw Frank in the back row, she smiled. His stomach flipped. She seemed to have remedied the lipstick smudge on her tooth.

“You are joining the ranks of more than five thousand Santas that have been trained in this school’s 81-year history,” Eva intoned. “You may think being Santa is as simple as donning a costume, but I promise you: Santa isn’t known for the size of his waistband, but for the size of his heart. Heart is exactly what we’ll be focusing on in your lessons. I’m Eva and I’ll be your instructor.”

“I didn’t pay to be stuck with a woman elf for a teacher,” one of the front-row Santas muttered loudly.

Frank froze, watching Eva’s expression.

Eva’s lips pursed as she eyed the heckler. She approached his desk. He was so tall, he was almost her height sitting down. “As most of the students seem to have read in their orientation handbook,” she said, “we believe becoming Santa isn’t reliant on your gender or appearance, but on what’s on the inside. And a Santa never discriminates. If you don’t agree, I suggest you pursue another field of acting instead.”

Frank smirked. The Santa flushed but nodded his acquiescence; his cherry cheeks made the resemblance even more uncanny. Eva caught Frank’s eye and winked, and he felt his cheeks growing warm also.

Santa School might just grow on him.

Day One progressed with a history of Christmas and a workshop on child psychology (Frank took notes on Eva’s surprisingly thoughtful advice on how to deal with squirmy children and honor hesitant kids’ boundaries). “Reminds me why I don’t have kids,” Rory whispered after their lesson on tricks to soothe a crying child. Frank snorted a laugh.

By evening, Frank’s voice was hoarse, but he’d laughed more than he had in months. Literally. He’d been practicing Ho Ho Ho-ing all afternoon and was still failing to nail the perfect “hearty but balanced” tone Eva believed he could hit.

“Laugh from the gut,” Eva said, resting her hand over Frank’s diaphragm. Her fingers were warm and thin, her pressure just the lightest tickle against his belly. “It has to sound natural, like a chuckle.”

He chuckled. A woman hadn’t touched his chest since… well, since Mary. “Ho ho ho,” he tried again.

“Better,” Eva said, looking at him more familiarly than he expected, her brow quizzical. “But try to sound a little happier next time.”

“I’ll practice more tomorrow,” he said, not quite sure when he’d decided to stay through the weekend. But as Eva beamed back at him, he knew it was the right choice.

♥

As Eva started class on Day Two, Frank could hear… hammering? Singing? But the sound was coming from Eva’s desk. She lifted up the culprit: a speaker.

“The sound of the elves at work, piped straight from the North Pole!” She explained over the noise. Frank glared at the tall Santa in the front row who groaned at the joke, even though he would have, too, just a day earlier.

“The theme of day two is my personal favorite.” Eva quieted the sound effects and smiled widely at the students. “Toys!”

She gave a short talk on toy trends over the past decades, then they took a field trip to the local toy store to become familiar with the newest wares children might ask for. Some students took note of the latest stuffed animals and water guns. Rory beelined to the Princess Barbies (“I’m dressing up as a Barbie for Halloween,” he explained). Frank wandered until he found himself in front of a display of Star Wars Legos.

“Are you a Star Wars fan?” Eva asked when she found him in line to pay. “Because I am!”

Frank shook his head. “My granddaughter is. I always get her Legos for Hanukkah, and she wouldn’t stop talking about the new Star Wars the last time we were on the phone. Apparently it’s the first one featuring a woman?”

Eva nodded. “Rey is what the kids these days call an epic heroine,” she said, her eyes lighting up with excitement. They were pale blue, like a pretty frozen lake. “Your granddaughter has good taste. But as your instructor, I do recommend you familiarize yourself with the toys other, non-related children might want this year. Here, I’ll get this while you do.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but the optimistic look on Eva’s face quieted him.

“Just call it her gift from Santa,” Eva insisted, the longing clear in her voice. “I always wanted a grandkid to spoil, so please, let me spoil yours.”

Frank couldn’t argue. He thanked her, already imagining how his granddaughter's eyes would light up when he said her Hanukkah present came from a real live elf.

As they lined up to board the bus, Eva handed him the gift-wrapped box. “I’ve always wanted to have a chance to celebrate Hanukkah,” she said with a smile.

Frank took a seat next to Rory.

“What’s that all about?” Rory teased, nodding at Eva, who sat at the front of the bus.

“Nothing,” Frank said, running a hand over the gold, Menorah-themed wrapping paper. The paper selection was so thoughtful that he turned to face the window so Rory couldn’t see him smile.

♥

Day three of Santa School was the day of the first anniversary of Mary’s death.

Frank swallowed and looked at himself in his bathroom mirror. He was wearing the Hawaiian shirt in his collection that Mary liked the least. (“Do you really need one with parrots?” she’d groaned when he brought it home a decade ago.)

He shifted, studying his reflection. His eyes were brighter than before, the bags under them less pronounced. He pressed his hand to his lips and then his heart in an attempt at a salutation.

I miss you, he thought, then blinked away a tear and left his room. He was looking forward to today’s Santa lessons, which felt like a betrayal—he shouldn’t be allowed to have fun today.

“Not that way!” Eva called as she passed him and the other students in the hallway. “We’re starting class outdoors today!”

When he stepped outside, thoughts of guilt slipped away. Because in front of him was a line of eight reindeer eating the front lawn.

“Introducing your chariot,” Eva declared. “These reindeer are your version of Uber, folks. Some malls’ Winter Wonderlands over Christmas include domesticated reindeer. It’s important you know how to make the animal comfortable if you or the children interact with them. Come and say hi, get to know them—just don’t call them Rudolph.”

He waited until the rest of the Santas got bored, then wandered over to the smallest reindeer and gave it a pet. Eva walked over and handed Frank a carrot. He tried not to overthink what it meant that she gave him food for the reindeer and no one else, or how his fingers felt when their hands touched. They were still tingling when the reindeer swiped the carrot straight from his hand.

Frank laughed in delight. “Don’t let this one near any innocent snowmen.”

Eva looked at him quizzically.

“They’ll lose a nose,” he explained. His chest bloomed with pride as Eva laughed.

Once the reindeer got restless and started to poop on the lawn, Eva gathered the class. “I have one more surprise for you for transportation day,” she said. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re riding the Polar Express.”

The train was just an old steam train nearby, which they would ride to downtown Winter Springs to visit a costume shop. He picked out a seat in a car by himself. After the surprise of the reindeer wore off, he felt even more guilty imagining how much Mary would have loved it. Just as the train was about to leave, Eva slid into his car.

“You’ll get a question about transportation more often than you think as Santa,” Eva said as she moved closer. There was plenty of space, yet she sat across from him, so close their knees almost touched. “Kids are smarter than you think, they’ll want to know how you get around so fast.”

Frank didn’t respond—seeing Eva’s energy, her cheerfulness, was too much. But Eva didn’t seem to mind the silence.

“You’re lucky, with a beard like that,” Eva said, once the train was moving. They roared past palm trees, humid Florida air billowing through the window. Eva lifted her hand toward him. “May I?”

Frank nodded, not sure what he was agreeing to. Eva stroked his beard, just once, her hand lingering on his cheek. A pang struck his heart; he moved away at the same time as the train jolted them apart.

“Soft and healthy.” Eva admired. “The custom beard and wig will cost most of these Santas eighteen hundred dollars—you have it for free!”

“Eighteen hundred dollars?” His mouth dropped open.

“That’s not even considering the fifteen hundred dollar suit and boots. Handmade, of course. It costs to look as good as Santa!”

Frank’s blood pressure was rising. The last thing he wanted to do was go to a costume shop. Mary was the one who always made costumes for Halloween, sewn herself, while he refused to wear anything special. She had planned most of their holidays and celebrations, except for when Frank had insisted on surprising her for their 50th anniversary. They’d gone to a new Mexican restaurant that charged $20 for a margarita. Frank couldn’t hear himself think over the live DJ, but Mary had loved it. She’d tucked the paper umbrella from her margarita behind her ear like she was young and it was their honeymoon again.

Frank shivered at the memory. “I don’t have to buy one, right?” he grumbled to Eva. This weekend was already a barely-justifiable price to avoid a life in the nursing home, and he hadn’t factored in the cost of a costume.

“No, of course not.” Eva looked confused, her smile fading. “But what will you wear when you’re Santa?”

“I don’t want to be stupid Santa!” Frank snapped.
Eva paled.

He opened his mouth to explain—to say that he’s never celebrated a Christmas in his life, and if he did, he never could have imagined doing it without Mary. But could he even claim that? For a moment, speaking with Eva this morning, petting a reindeer in the sun—he had forgotten it was Mary's anniversary. He hadn’t even paused to miss her. A new ache throbbed in his chest as the train slowed to a stop.

“Right. I’ll stop wasting my time, then.” Eva sniffled and got out of the carriage. The look of disappointment on her face made Frank feel even worse.

♥

“You forget your coffee this morning or something?” Rory asked the next day. Frank shook his head—he’d slept horribly. The two coffees he’d chugged just made him more anxious for the last day of Santa School.

“Today will be spent preparing for the Graduation Banquet this evening,” Eva said to the class. She'd saved her most elaborate elf outfit for last: Her dress was red and green with a flattering white belt. Her hat was lined with lights that twinkled (it must have a battery pack somewhere), and she’d traded her candy-striped stockings for thigh-high red boots. “While I know you all can’t wait until we dress up this afternoon, we have to start the day with something even more important: acting.”

Eva started the morning by having them practice, of all things, walking. “Santa is all about the bouncing swagger,” Eva said, to Rory’s endless amusement. Frank couldn’t help but notice Eva hadn’t corrected his posture, and he knew it wasn’t because he had mastered the swagger.

Next, Eva had them prepare talking points for interviews (“A Santa must be prepared for radio and TV interviews. What are your elves’ background story?”). She split the class into pairs to practice mock interviews. After a few minutes, she walked over and tapped Rory’s shoulder.

“Rory, I need to ask a favor of my student with the most stage presence,” she said, then pointed at the Santa in the first row who’d been rude the first day. “That one’s interview has devolved into a series of escalating bragging that needs to be checked. Can you join their group to keep them under control?”

Frank froze. This was his chance to apologize to Eva, and he still hadn't thought of the right words to say.

Rory glanced at Frank’s panic-stricken face and back to Eva.

“Don’t worry,” she told Rory with a smile, “I’ll put Frank to the test.”

Frank gulped.

Eva sat down, staring straight into Frank’s eyes.“I’ll cut to the chase: Why are you at Santa School if you don’t want to be Santa?” Eva asked, her voice cool.

Frank’s mind raced. “The first time I was mistaken for Santa Claus was four days after my wife’s stroke,” he blurted out. Eva’s eyes widened in shock. He continued. “I was in the gift shop of the Boca Raton Regional Hospital looking at the stuffed animals with ludicrous messages across their chests. I’d picked up a revolting pink teddy bear wearing glasses.”

He had felt a tug on his red Hawaiian button-down shirt. A boy, no older than six, in an oversized jacket and a hospital gown, his hand on an IV pulley with a tube that snaked down and disappeared under his sleeve. His eyes were wide, his skin so translucent Frank could trace the faint blue lines of his veins.

“Excuse me, sir,” the boy had said, his voice raspy. “Are you Santa Claus?”

​​Frank just stared down at him, the pink bear still in his hands, speechless. Never having been mistaken for a mythical character of any sort, he couldn’t think of how to respond. Hell, he was a Polish Jew who had grown up in a prison camp in WWII—he wasn’t familiar with the strange idols of Christian holidays.

But in Frank’s silence, the boy must have sensed a knowing secrecy, and a smile spread so far across his face that Frank was concerned it might rip his paper-thin skin. “I knew it! I knew you were Santa! Who’s that for?” the boy asked, pointing at the teddy bear.

Frank contemplated the pink bear in his hands. The store clerk was busy staring at her phone. Frank looked back at the boy, then handed him the bear. “For you, of course,” he murmured, forcing a small smile.

“Thanks, Santa! I’m going to go show Mom!” the boy said, grabbing the bear before rushing with surprising energy out of the store and down the hall.

Frank had left a $5 bill on the checkout counter and returned to Mary’s room empty-handed, murmuring the story over her sleeping body, not sure if she could hear him or not.

She’d died three days later.

“I didn’t think much of it at the time,” he finished. “My beard wasn’t even as long as it is now. But when I saw the ad for this in the paper, everything lined up.” Frank summarized his daughter’s increasing threats of sending him to a nursing home if he didn’t make new friends in the area. “I thought I’d invent a new friendship to satisfy her. I never imagined I’d actually meet someone like you.” He flushed, self-conscious as the words left his lips.

“When did Mary die?” Eva asked, her eyes misty.

“A year ago yesterday.”

Eva paled. Before she could say another word, the Santa in the front row called out across the room: “I think we’ve mastered this interview business, and I’m hungry. Is it lunch yet?”

Eva stood up and nodded, flustered. “You can go to the lunchroom,” she told the class, resting her hand on Frank’s shoulder. He joined the students filing out of the room before she could stop him.

♥

He couldn’t pay attention to any of Eva’s hair and makeup lessons after lunch. Thankfully, Rory was more than happy to do both of their makeovers. He curled their mustaches, groomed Frank’s beard and plastered on his own, used powder on their forehead, rouge on their cheeks, and “stardust” to their beard (Rory’s term for hairspray with glitter). Plus, Eva revealed the secret touch to the class: A bit of peppermint oil on the beard.

Frank didn’t think he’ll be able to eat a mint for the rest of his life.

After hair and makeup, the Santas dispersed to their rooms to don their new outfits, then join friends and family in the main auditorium. Frank stayed behind as Eva tidied the room, putting away hairbrushes and blush.

“You don’t have anyone coming to the banquet to go meet?” Eva said, more quietly than he had ever heard her speak.

He shook his head. “Nor do I have a costume to change into. Someone was too grumpy to buy one yesterday,” he said. Eva smiled at the reference, but he couldn’t leave an apology as important as this one vague. “Eva, I have to apologize for my behavior on the train yesterday. When I’ve been with you this weekend, I almost forgot that it was the anniversary of Mary’s death. I’ve almost forgotten to feel sad. And I don’t think I can forgive myself for it.” His voice choked on the last words, and he turned away, embarrassed.

Eva walked toward him and lifted his chin with her hand. “I’m here because I lost someone too,” she admitted. “My teenage daughter. She died in a car crash three decades ago—she would have been an adult by now. My husband and I divorced soon after, and when I found this job, I just needed to do something to feel I was making a difference. Like I was making people happy.”

Eva dropped her hand, and Frank grabbed it with his own. He didn’t do anything but hold her, and she didn’t do anything but hold him back. He didn’t know how long they stood that way, smiling shyly at each other.

A knock at the door shook him out of his reverie, but he kept hold of Eva’s hand as he turned around.

“Grandpa?!” His granddaughter said in awe. “Your beard is sparkly!”

His daughter Rhea and her gangly six-year-old daughter filed in the room, staring at him—and the woman next to him. Eva pulled her hand away before he could react.

“There you are, Dad,” Rhea said as she approached him, smirking.

“What are you doing here?” Frank asked, trying to sound stern but unable to stop his delight at seeing them from slipping into his voice.

“Like I would skip a chance to see my grumpy father dressed up as Santa Claus?” Rhea laughed then grabbed him in a tight hug. “Not a chance in hell.” His daughter winced then took a step back, eying Eva in her elf costume. “Sorry for swearing.”

Eva laughed. “I’m an elf, not a priest.”

Frank beamed at Eva and offered his hand again. To his delight, she intertwined her fingers with his.

He looked at her face, her baby-blue eyes and tousled white braids, her twinkling elf’s hat lopsided on top. For a moment, Frank didn’t feel like the Grinch. He felt hopeful.

“Rhea, this is Eva,” he said. “I was about to invite her to join us for Hanukkah.”

♥

Two months later

December 15th

Dear Rhea,

I’m proud to say I’ve made it two whole months since Santa School without donning the costume again, but it seems my streak is about to end. Eva and I would like to invite you and the kids over for a Chrismukkah celebration that will involve latkes, lighting the menorah, and—if Eva has her way—myself in a Santa costume. I told her it was a terrible idea and then agreed to it immediately.

Rory invited us to go caroling with his choir after dinner, so I took the liberty of suggesting we stop by the nursing home for a song. I know how much you’ve wanted to visit.

Love,

FL

Rachel Grate’s writing has been featured in Mic, HelloGiggles, and Ms. Magazine, and she writes @haikusaboutdating on Instagram. She’s currently seeking an agent for her debut novel. Follow along at @rachelgratewrites.

Next week on Heartbeat, get ready for a short story from Lindsay Hameroff.

Follow Heartbeat on Instagram at @storiesbyheartbeat for upcoming behind-the-scenes sneak peeks at Lindsay’s story!

Three quick things from Georgia:

1. My skin has been looking pretty good lately, thanks in part to Oak Essentials’ Moisture Rich Balm. It is *super sticky* to put on, and takes a good hour to sink in (so, for evening use, although I use it day and night), but it’s packed with nutrients (sea buckthorn fruit oil, cocoa seed butter) and delivers serious hydration for winter. Good gift for skincare lovers!

2. I’m indulging my love of royal romance with a re-listen of The Royal We, by Heather Cocks and Jessica Morgan. Inspired by Prince William and Kate Middleton, American Bex Porter falls for her college pal Nick…who happens to be the Prince of Wales, and heir to the throne. It’s smart, sudsy, addictive fun. The audiobook is expertly performed by Christine Lakin.

3. Give the gift of romance this holiday season and support your favorite independent author (me!) If you purchase either of my last two rom-coms, It Had To Be You or Island Time, I’ll send you a signed bookplate, free o’ charge. Just send proof of purchase via the contact form on my website and I’ll mail you one (after I get home to NY at the end of the month.) US only.

What did you think of this week’s story? Let us know in the comments below!