As Ashley Snow stood before the swank Heavenly Jewelry store in New York City, she wondered about going inside. Sure, she had their holiday-celebration pizza delivery, but could she really just drop off the three pies and leave? After all, Heavenly Jewelry was the finest store of its kind in Manhattan. What woman in her right mind would only enter the establishment and leave, before looking around--especially at Christmastime?

Get real, thought Ashley, as she neared the ornate façade of the golden-framed doorway. Nothing in there is anything that you can afford.

At twenty-six, Ashley's umpteenth minimum-waged job had afforded her only so much. As a high-school dropout, she'd been left with very few--what she considered--worthwhile employment opportunities. That was one reason why golden trinkets and jewels of any kind were strictly off limits to her.

It wasn't that Ashley had desired such things--she didn't. She had left home at the age of eighteen, "because" of her superficial upbringing. Her father had been a big movie producer in California, and her mother had been his perfect Stepford wife.

But while gold and elegance had been the norm for her parents, their phony lifestyle had never sat well with Ashley.

Perhaps that was why neither of her parents had objected to her decision to leave home--they had, secretly, wanted her out of their house. Ashley's parents knew that she had objected to their way of life. Trying to prod their daughter to change, though, they had felt, required just too much energy on their part. So, when Ashley had informed them that she had wanted to leave, her mother had helped to pack her daughter's bags.

Ashley never really knew why her parents had let her leave home, though--because she never had asked them.

An even trade-off, Ashley believed. After all, her parents had never asked her anything either. For that reason, they had never known about her having quit high school.

Still, that had been because her parents had both passed away by the time she had done so--killed in a car crash, Christmas Eve, on their way home from the airport, after having dropped off Ashley, the day she had left home to make a life for herself on the east coast--and not because they hadn't asked her about school.

Ashley's parents had willed her a large sum of money. But it remained in her bank account, untouched, for years.

It's a salary plus tips, Ashley now mused, inwardly, as she gawked at Heavenly Jewelry through the budding winter snow storm.

That's what her boss, Mr. Morgan, had told her about money, anyway--when she had applied for the delivery job. At the time, his amusement had made no sense to Ashley, but now she knew better.

Yeah, she joked inwardly, recalling her exchange with him, as she pushed the front-door buzzer of the jewelry store again. Ashley had been a delivery girl for one week, and already she knew that whoever could afford to give the biggest tips, stiffed her the most.

But Ashley really didn't care about that. All she was looking to do now was to occupy her mind. Christmas? To her it was humbug. If she had her way, she'd strike the holiday from the calendar.

"Come on," Ashley said, her teeth chattering, as she shifted and twisted in place to generate warmth.

Then, a frigid blast of snow-filled air whipped at her in the small, alcove doorway. She tensed her body and scrunched her face to bear the cold.

"I don't have all day." She pushed the buzzer again, as she peered into the store, through the fogging glass of the front door. Inside she saw a Christmas wonderland. Among a group of cheerful partiers, there were colored, blinking, icicle lights--daintily draped throughout the store. Golden, tabletop trees--perfectly decorated with tiny bows, fanciful, little wrapped packages, decorative miniature balls, and steady, white lights--were a breathtaking sight. She lost herself in the tranquil beauty of it all.

But Ashley never grew teary eyed over decorations. What was happening here?

Then, suddenly, Santa Claus swung the door open.

So immediate was his appearance, that Ashley gasped and jumped back--the corners of the pizza boxes catching her holiday hat, and knocking it from her head. Uncovered now, her hair cascaded past her shoulders, as her hat fell to the ground.

A curious look filled Santa's warm, caring eyes, as he glanced at her hair.

"Not what you expected, huh," said Ashley, slipping the pies from their thermal sleeve, and handing them to him. "You figured on a delivery 'boy,' right?"

"No, no, I just...I'm sorry I startled you," said Santa, taking the pies.

Ashley waived off his concern. Then she retrieved her hat from the snow-covered sidewalk.

"My fault," she said, hurrying back into the alcove.

"Your fault?"

"Customer's always right," she said with forced cheer, as she smacked her hat on her thigh, to free it from snow crystals. "Didn't you ever hear that?"

Santa watched her, blankly, as she finger-swept her hair up into a bun, and positioned it back onto her head, under her hat.

"It's not as if I wasn't expecting the door to open." She offered him a smile without parting her lips. "You the manager?"

He nodded.

"It's seventy-three dollars...'Santa.'"

"Oh...right. Sure," he said, handing the pies back to her.

Taking them, she watched with amusement, as he struggled to snake one of his white-gloved hands into a pocket of his red-velour suit. A giggle escaped her, as she spied his false, fat belly.

"Ho-Ho-Ho," he toyed, realizing her focus.

Embarrassed, she blinked away.

"So my, 'Ho-Ho-Ho,' won't lessen the charge?" he joked.

"No," Ashley said, emotionless.

Santa paused and his concerned look fell directly to Ashley's eyes. "Ohh," he sang out. "You don't believe in me."

Something in Santa's Cobalt-blue eyes stilled Ashley's heart. They had a sincere, tender, happy glint--a peaceful depth that she'd never seen before. They compelled her to stare at them, and, for some reason, she now longed to see the face of the man under the snowy-white beard in front of her.

But Ashley had never fallen for a stranger because of his eyes.

Still, the more that she fought to look away, the harder it was for her to do so. Yet, "Santa Claus" was no one with whom she wanted to mix.

"How could I lose something, 'Santa,' that I never had in the first place?" she asked, standing tall, a hint of triumph on her face.

"Belief in me, you mean?" he said, adjusting his suit some, with a tug and a pull.

She rolled her eyes. "Look, Santa. I was never into the whole thing of Christmas. Decorating trees?" She snorted. "What is that? Nothing but pine needles all over the floor to pick up."

"Sounds like you didn't keep your tree watered enough."

"Are you serious?" she said, disinterested. "I never even had a tree. Come on now. You're my last delivery. I have things to do."

"Oh, of course. Christmas Eve," he answered, handing her a crisp one-hundred dollar bill. "Wouldn't want to deprive you of your holiday celebration."

"Thanks just the same," she said, blindly taking the bill, "but I celebrate in the most unconventional way."

Santa's eyes grew sorrowful.

"Don't worry," she said, reading him. "It's not by getting drunk."

A smile lit his eyes.

A gentle pause held between them.

Then, fidgeting in place, Ashley glanced down at the bill. When her eyes fixed on it, she said in disbelief, "Hey. I can't change this."

"Merry Christmas," said Santa.

Just then, the wintery wind whipped again. Swirling in the alcove, it blew the bill from Ashley's hand.

"Hey!" She twisted, trying to snatch the bill back with clawing fingers, but the wind kept it just out of reach.

Wafting, out of the alcove, the bill blew down the snowy sidewalk. Ashley scurried after it, and snatched it up at the curb line.

"Got you!" she said to the bill with victory. Then, chuckling through her accomplishment, she turned to show off her win to Santa, but he was gone.

The darkness of the night came quickly in December--something that Ashley welcomed. For her, that brought Christmas Eve even closer to being over. Ashley could handle Christmas Day. Christmas Eve, on the other hand, had always been a struggle.

So, the "eve" had been the same "runaway" routine for her for the past eight years. That is, she would work to a preset hour-at whatever job she had at the time. Then, she would stew in her misery--walking the city streets, gazing at holiday-decorated store windows, and watching happy families, all the while thinking about what had been taken from her, when, and how.

It had been a gloomy way for Ashley to spend her holiday time. Still, under the circumstances, and wanting to despise Christmas, she felt that her actions suited her well.

Stepping down bustling sidewalks, through the subsiding wintery snow--for three hours after her pizza delivery to "Santa"--Ashley checked her wristwatch. The time read 11:43 p.m.

Good. Christmas Eve is almost over.

Standing now before a twenty-four hour coffee shop, she hesitated to enter. To the right of the door, she noticed a metal tripod holding a holiday donation bucket.

Where's the bell-ringing sidekick to prod donations?

She hurried into the shop.

"That's an invitation out there for stealing," she said, concerned, to the barista in a red-colored smock and Christmas-styled hat behind the counter. "Do you know you have an unprotected donation bucket out there?" she added, pointing back toward the sidewalk with her thumb. "I should report you to the 'charity society."

"The bucket's locked," a man from the dining area informed.

"Bug off, pal! This isn't your concern," Ashley replied, without turning away from the barista.

"Oh, but it is," bellowed the voice.

"And why's that?" Ashley challenged, keeping her eyes on the barista.

"Because it's 'my' bucket," said the man who came to stand beside her.

The barista offered Ashley a brightened face that underscored the validity of the man's declaration.

"So, we meet again," said "Santa," gazing down at her, as she turned to face him.

"You two know each other?" asked the barista.

"We met earlier today at Heavenly Jewelry," Santa said.

"Well, what do you know about that? A Christmas miracle, right here in my place. Café latte for each of you--on the house! Have a seat. I'll bring them over."

A moment of indecision raced through Ashley. What was she about to do, have a latte with Santa Claus?

She made a motion to step away. But because of what she'd recalled seeing in Santa's eyes earlier, and what she felt now from them, she turned back. Then she made her way to a table in a far corner of the room.

Happily, Santa followed.

"Penny for your thoughts," Santa said, taking a seat across from Ashley.

"Oh. I don't have any of those," she tittered, giving him a sideward glance, from her fixation out the window.

Petting his beard in contemplation, Santa said, "Surely, there must be something on your mind."

"No, nothing," she sighed, gaping at him.

The barista had strolled over with the prepared lattes on a tray. "Here we go." He placed one first in front of his female customer, then the other before Santa. "Enjoy," he said, beaming, then left them alone.

"Oh, come on," continued Santa, taking a sip of the latte. "A woman out here alone? This time of night? On Christmas Eve? I don't have to be Einstein to connect the dots."

"Okay. I'll play, 'Mr. Manager,'" said Ashley.

"So, you really do remember me."

She sent him a weak, sarcastic, half smile. Then looked Santa square in the face and added, "Why don't you take off that stupid beard, mustache, and phony glasses? You look ridiculous."

"Ouch."

She shrugged and said, "You asked what was on my mind," as she sat back in her chair, crossing her arms.

"So, I can keep on the velour suit and hat?"

Ashley cracked a smile, unhooked her arms, and sipped her latte.

"I knew that would get you."

She eyed him, quizzically. "Why are you trying so hard?"

Now it was Santa's turn to be forthright. "Because I see a sadness in your face."

His remark stunned Ashley, and she stopped drinking her latte, holding its cup still in her hand.

"I sense a loneliness in your heart," Santa continued. Pushing his latte aside, he nestled closer to the table's edge. Then he set his forearms on the tabletop, and leaned into the conversation saying, "I hear a cry out from you, for a love that you don't feel you're worthy enough to ever have in your life."

Ashley's mouth, mentally, dropped open. He read her so well, but she couldn't allow it to continue. She put down her drink and said, "What makes you so right about that?"

Santa sat erect, removed his phony glasses, and pulled off his false-white eyebrows.

Ashley gasped, covering her mouth with a quivering hand.

Continuing, he removed his snowy-white beard, unpeeled his fake nose, and shed his jolly hat.

At first look, Santa's disfigured face was more than alarming to Ashley--it was downright horrific! Reddened and unnatural-looking skin, in a wild, mapping pattern consumed the left side of his face. A bridged nose was nonexistent. His right cheek showed deep wrinkled skin. His right ear was severely shriveled. His eyebrows were missing.

"When I was eight years old," he began, "our house caught fire on Christmas Eve. The cause was an overloaded outlet, by electric Christmas decorations and lights. I had gotten caught in the blaze."

Ashley, impulsively, reached out and touched Santa's hurt. Then, hesitatingly, she traced his face with her fingers, as a tear rolled down her cheek. At that moment, she knew that he completely understood her, and marveled at that...because he didn't even know her story.

"I want you to have this," he said, working a small, triangle-shaped paper from his pocket. There was a fanciful, multi-marker drawing of a Christmas Tree on it. "I wanted to give you this back at the store, after I had paid. I went to get it from my desk, while you were chasing the bill I had given you, but when I came back, you were gone. This Christmas Tree is my 'Rosebud.'"

"Citizen Kane," Ashley uttered--she had heard about that key sled-burning scene in the classic film.

"Yes," said Santa, amazed that she had made the connection of his mention.

Ashley giggled through her tears. "I thought you were an apparition, because you didn't return when I was still outside at the store." She sniffled, then took a napkin from its holder, patted her eyes with it, and tapped her nose dry.

"I've carried this Christmas paper tree with me since that fire," said Santa. "I had made it with my mother the day before. She had found it, untouched, the day after the blaze, and set it at my hospital bedside. I regained consciousness three hours later."

Three hours? thought Ashley.That's as long as I've been walking around tonight.

"My mother had called it 'A Paper-Tree Christmas' miracle. I'd like you to have one, too."

Something about the word "miracle" from Santa, the three hours that Ashley had known she had been walking around, and her learning of the three hours that "young-child Santa" had been unconscious, struck something meaningful in her mind. She took the paper tree from him, tenderly admiring it.

"Guaranteed not to start a fire in your house, or, drop pine needles on the floor," Santa stated with warmth, as he sat back in his seat.

Ashley smiled lovingly, then said without thinking, "Why didn't you ever--"

He grinned. "Fix my face? Never had the money."

Ashley thought of what her parents had left her, and of how she had cursed that money for years. How some of what she had could help Santa.

"You see," Santa continued, "the only difference between us is that I embraced what had happened to me around this time of year." He leaned closer to the table, his eyes fixed on Ashley's, as hers held steady on his. "I take it that whatever happened to you, though, forced you away from this grand holiday."

Santa was reading Ashley so easily. Over the years, she had built, what she believed, an impenetrable defense wall. Now that wall was, easily, being smashed through...and, to her disbelief, she was welcoming in the person breaking it down.

"If I never see you again," Santa added, "I want you to at least have something that saved my belief in this wonderful world, and joyful time. And all the while I'll hope that 'that,'" he pointed, "tree encourages your belief in those things, too." He placed his hand back onto the table.

Ashley rested the palm of her hand on his. Squeezing it with affectionate care she said, "I'm...Ashley Snow."

"How ironic," he smiled, realizing their name connection, and sensing a budding relationship. "I'm...Craig 'Holiday.' It's a pleasure to meet you, Ashley 'Snow.' Here's to your 'Paper-Tree Christmas.'"