Bernard Santa Clause Movie Novels & Stories

he mutters, rubbing his neck, “about that...” “Eh!” I shout, not wanting to turn his emotions into something sour, “I know all about your troubles, Santa.” I wiggle my nose, “I know the North Pole has been especially cold this year, and Santa's had to be very frugal this Christmas.” He nods, “I'm glad you understand.” I shake my head. “That doesn't mean Santa gets off scot-free.” He puffs out his chest, putting on his best deep Santa voice, “What can

I said nonchalantly and Nanny Agatha frowns, “Isn’t he too old to marry a young beautiful girl?” “No Nanny! Santa Clause is not old! He is young. He never gets old. He has told me.” After pausing for a minute I ask Nanny Agatha, “Tell me Nanny Agatha, if Santa grows old then why his pictures of this year shows the same Santa as few years back?”

Lowering myself to her level, I held her shoulders gently and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “No,” I said softly. “No, honey. You just had a nightmare. That’s all.” She didn’t look convinced. “Mummy has no reason to hurt Daddy,” I added quickly. “I’ll be back soon. And guess what? We’re spending Christmas here with Grandma and Uncle Elliot.” Her face lit up instantly. “Yeah.” “I’m just going to get a few things for Christmas,” I said. “I’ll be back.” I turned away before she could ask anything else.

she grumbled, pulling her hoodie up. She looked toward the big velvet chair at the end of the line. This Santa was tall, with broad shoulders that filled out the red suit perfectly, and his beard looked surprisingly real. The line was a nightmare of screaming toddlers and bells, but Jenna couldn't stop staring. This wasn't the usual mall Santa with a pillow stuffed in his suit and a beard held on by a visible elastic string. This guy was broad-shouldered, with a jawline that could cut glass and eyes so blue they looked like ice. He caught her looking more than once, his gaze lingering on her baggy jeans and the way her lips parted as she watched him.

We mainly kissed to show each other affection in intimate moments. I put my attention back on the milk and realized it was warm enough to add the chocolate; Adam mixed it while I grabbed two mugs and marshmallows. We cuddled next to each other with our hot chocolate and watched The Polar Express. We laughed at the irony as Hot Chocolate was sung by Tom Hanks. Once the movie was over, we were both ready to fall asleep, but I didn't want the night to be over. "Did you believe in Santa Claus as a kid?" I asked.

Wrapping his red scarf more tightly around his neck, Brady found a spot to watch the parade. It was a good show, though nothing like the parades he was used to in the big city. Still, the homemade floats, the bands, the clowns and Christmas characters throwing candy--it was all nice. He wore a smile most of the time he stood there watching, but it wasn’t enough to distract him from Noelle, not even at the end when Santa came by, and all of the kids went crazy. He needed to find her. But what if she still wouldn’t talk to him? After the parade was over, Brady decided to walk down toward the park. Maybe there was a chance she’d be there, near the Christmas tree. They’d had so much fun decorati

Logan awkwardly tugged at his fluffy, red sleeves, wanting for the floor to open and swallow him whole. Finally, Joy's mother cut through the silence, "Oh my God, it's Santa!" Everyone broke into a wild cheer, grabbing Logan and patting him on the back. Logan's cheeks flushed in embarrassment as he shyly glanced at Joy. She was wide awake, laid on bed with blankets draped over her and an impish smile slowly formed on her dry lips. When he had walked in this place, the nurse Jasmine had winked at him. Joy had made it. Logan shuffled closer to her when she beckoned him towards her. He leaned down and she rasped, "You're the skinniest Santa with the biggest heart I have ever seen." He chuckled

I didn’t even make it to the door before Clay had let himself in, arms laden with lumpy, amateurishly wrapped packages and sporting a sweatshirt with a print that said Santa’s Favorite Deadlift. “Merry Christmas!” he called, dropping everything with a dramatic grunt. “Where are my favorite niece and nephew? Let me hold the little monsters!” “They’re in cuddle mode,” I warned, but Leo immediately flung her arms out towards him with a gurgling squeak. Clay melted. “Okay, rude. I didn’t agree to love them more than anyone else, but here we are.” One second later, the front door was kicked wider, and Dad came in, right behind Mãe in her braided hair and coat that was flecked with snow. She was a

Straight out of a Christmas movie—the kind I used to binge while eating too many cookies. The barn finally comes into view, and my heart warms. It's huge, with rustic wooden windows, open doors, and the delicious smell of fresh coffee and baked bread drifting out. The hum of chatter, laughter, and clinking cutlery fills the air, welcoming. I step inside. Warmth from the fireplace wraps around me. Long wooden tables fill the room, each decorated with simple arrangements—green branches, candles, and red bows. Some families chat cheerfully; others take pictures near the decorated tree.

' song on repeat in my brain. Van chose Arthur Christmas. Val chose How The Grinch Stole Christmas. Ricky chose Home Alone 2, one of his favorite movies. Sara chose Christmas Chronicles on Netflix. I chose The Santa Clause. Wilder and Wyatt passed on picking movies, because it was late and they wanted Grandpa to have a turn. He pulls out his movie from his pocket, handing the DVD to Wyatt. Grandpa Mick has Jacks now, holding him close and I love the sight. I pull my phone out and take a picture.