Chapter 17
brewed awakenings
Holly
They sat near the back of the Maple Mug, close together in the corner booth, two conspirators hiding from the world.
Neither had spoken much. The forest had felt too sacred to disturb, and by the time they had reached the truck via broom travel, Ivar had doubled over again, hands on his knees, breathing hard before losing his lunch into the snow.
Now, inside the cafe, he remained pale but steadier.
“Again, I’m sorry about the motion sickness,” Holly said quietly.
“I guess you get used to it,” he managed, attempting a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The tremor beneath his words wasn’t only from nausea.
Emma arrived with their lattes, cheerful as ever. “Here you go. You two look like you could use some warming up. Sure you don’t want a seat by the fire?”
“We’re fine, thank you,” Holly replied, forcing a polite smile. She would have preferred privacy—her room at the inn, his cabin—but Ivar had insisted on somewhere normal, surrounded by chatter and clinking cups. She understood. He needed reality to anchor him.
Emma glanced between them. “Are you okay, Ivar?”
“Fine,” he said quickly. “Just something I ate.”
“I hope not from here.”
“No, of course not. Some questionable leftovers.”
Emma didn’t seem convinced, but she moved away all the same.
Holly took a sip of her latte to steady herself. What had happened between them today had shaken her, though not as much as it had shaken poor Ivar, and she wanted to reassure him.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Ivar said finally, voice low. “The things I read about your family.”
“I’m not sure what you read,” she said, keeping her voice gentle, “but I’ll tell you the truth. About me. About my family.” Hours before, she’d only wanted to tell him. And now, here they were. She didn’t need to ask him to guard her secret. He already understood. Somehow, she knew he always would.
Reaching across the table before she could second-guess herself , she wrapped her fingers around his. The moment their hands met, the faint echo of the Yule Tree pulsed beneath their skin. Ivar’s eyes flicked up to hers, startled, but he didn’t pull away.
“Everything I’ve told you is true-ish. My name is Holly Kringle, and yes, my family manufactures toys for Christmas.” She took a deep breath. “We also deliver them on Christmas Eve because we’re Santas.”
He blinked. “Santas? Plural?”
“The world’s too big for one Santa, so my family spreads the work around. My father and aunt oversee the global operation; the rest of us manage regions. I’m the Santa of the Northeast.”
She paused, watching him absorb the words.
After a long sip of latte, he said, “Maybe we should’ve gone somewhere I could get something stronger.”
“I wouldn’t blame you.” His hand had trembled slightly when he lifted the cup, so she tightened her grip on the one she still held as her way of saying, I’m here.
He replied with a small nod. “I’ll be okay. Please continue.”
“Um, well, we live in hidden villages all over the world. We employ regular people, not elves. Some stay for generations; others leave for the outside world. It’s a choice. And on Christmas Eve, the Santas deliver the toys.”
“How?”
“Santa magic.”
He raised a brow. “You say that like it’s scientific fact.”
“It is. But it’s fairly limited stuff. Here’s the Cliff Notes version: we can make sleighs fly, deliver toys, decorate rooms, craft magical toys, disguise ourselves as the iconic Santa, and pull off a few small tricks.” She nodded at his latte. “Case in point.”
He glanced down. The leaf Emma had drawn in the foam had reshaped itself into a perfect Santa face.
He stared. “How—”
“Santa magic.”
He leaned back, exhaling. “So your entire family are Santas?”
“Yes and no. All Santas are Kringles, but not all Kringles are Santas. My brother Henry and my cousin Jack have a different sort of magic. I’m assuming you’ve heard of Jack Frost.”
He held up a hand. “Okay. Stop there. My brain’s already at capacity. Just tell me about the tree. What does it mean? Why were you looking for it?”
“I wasn’t, not exactly,” she said, tracing a circle on the table’s surface.
“I was looking for the power it gives off. There are veins of magical power under the earth. We call them Yule veins. They sustain our towns, our work. But the Yule Tree? It was thought to be an ancient legend. And according to this legend, all Yule veins stem from that one tree. Its roots reach across the world.”
Ivar rubbed his temples. “So finding it means… what? Unlimited power?”
“I have no idea. As far as I’m aware, no one has ever seen a Yule Tree. I should be home right now, telling my father. But it hasn’t sunk in. I feel—” She searched for the word. “—humbled. Small.”
“Yeah,” he said softly, his eyes on her, studying her, and seeing her in a way that left her unguarded. She shifted in her seat, not to hide from him, but from the surprise of wanting to open herself to him.
Finally, he asked, “And me? How do I fit into all this?”
Her eyes lifted to his. “I have no idea, but it must be because you found the Yule Tree as a child.”
He nodded slowly, then looked down at their still-joined hands. “So when we touched back there, we…”
“Connected,” Holly finished. “Like we were part of each other and…”
“Part of the forest.”
A gentle silence settled between them. The noise of the cafe fell away, replaced by the soft beat of their connected pulse. They’d shared something rare and beautiful; they were connected, bound by something she couldn’t name.
After a moment, he cleared his throat, his voice rough. “One more question before my head explodes.”
She smiled. “Go ahead.”
“What’s up with the broom?”
His question brought them back to reality, back to the coffee house. “That,” she laughed, “will cost you another latte.”