We’re messing around when we call our boss Santa. But the truth is, I’d die to sit on his knee.
Jack is burly and bearded, with silver in his hair. He’s generous and kind, and he always knows when we’ve been bad.
But the storybook Santa rides a sleigh, not a motorbike. And he runs the North Pole, not a whisky-soaked bar.
Jack took me in when I was a runaway. He gave me a job and put a roof over my head. He’s given me so much already, but now… I want more.
Please, Santa. I know exactly who I want this year.