John might not have had a great Christmas in twenty-plus years and might be over fifty, but even he could embrace the spirit in getting presents early. Her smile only added to it, though again, there was an edge to it that made him suspicious. A little too cat-with-a-saucer-of-milk to be completely innocent. Tearing the paper off with almost boyish abandon, something he wouldn't show to nearly anyone but her, his brow wrinkled at the red and white fabric and what looked like white hairs tucked in it.
It was only when he'd shaken out the fabric, the white beard and hat falling to the bed, that John truly realized what he was looking at.
A Santa suit.
Giving the outfit one last dubious look, as though it was going to come to life and attack, he looked up at his wife. "Mary." She couldn't be serious.