The room smelled faintly of pine and cinnamon, the festive aroma clinging to the holiday cheer that practically oozed out of every corner of your house. In the small guest room-turned-dressing room, Frank stood awkwardly in his Santa costume, the red velvet fabric clinging to his lean frame as you adjusted the oversized belt around his waist. His tattoos peeked out stubbornly from beneath the sleeves, and you let out an exaggerated sigh as you tugged the cuffs down to cover the ink.

“Hold still, Frank,” you said, stepping back to assess your handiwork. The faux beard you’d attached to his face looked slightly crooked, and his hair stuck out from beneath the Santa hat in unruly tufts.

Frank groaned, sipping from a beer he’d insisted on bringing with him. “This is ridiculous. Do the kids even like Santa?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning in to straighten the beard and pat it into place. “They’re three and six, Frank. They’re obsessed with Santa. Now, try to look jolly, at least.”

He smirked, the expression only half-hidden behind the fluff of the fake beard. His green eyes sparkled with mischief as he looked down at you, clearly entertained by your insistence.

Pulling the white gloves snugly over his tattooed hands, you gave him a once-over, trying not to laugh at how out of place he seemed in the red and white getup. “There,” you said, stepping back to admire him, “Now you’re ready.”

Frank tilted his head, his smirk deepening. He tugged at the beard playfully, his gaze falling to meet yours. “What do you think, babe? I’m a pretty handsome Santa, huh?”

He leaned a little closer, the teasing tone in his voice melting into something softer, more familiar. You rolled your eyes again, though you couldn’t suppress the warmth spreading across your face.